The Reflection

I was doing my daughter’s hair on a weekend morning and like usual, this includes being serenaded by my IPod playlist titled, “My Favs” – one my children have no option but to be exposed on a highly consistent basis.   I went through the process of making my daughter’s hair to her specification; most 8-year-olds still want to feel like a princess, although they will completely deny it at this age.

As we stood there in the mirror, me performing my hair dresser duties and my daughter searching through my make-up bag the song What Love Really Means, began to play.  Without hesitation we both started to sing.  As my little lady sang the words, “Who will love for me, not for what I have or what I will become,” the message became eerily haunting with this pronunciation coming from a sweet young angelic voice of my child.

Here was my daughter who I knew I loved so much I would give my own life to protect hers, and I couldn’t imagine someone not loving her. Someone not seeing her as I did, someone not respecting her, and hoping that every day I showed her as the song is titled, what love really means.

Everyone whether they are 8 or 80-years-old seeks to be loved for who they truly are.  It is human-nature to want to be accepted, nurtured and loved.  As Mother Teresa so rightfully stated, “The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread.”  Research shows that in orphanages, children suffer and even die from what is called failure to thrive, the number one cause being simply the lack of touch, stimulation and love.    

Whether it is by a spouse, a family member, or friends love is something every soul on this Earth seeks to obtain. Often times I believe we seek it so much; we are willing to accept illusions of it and provide ourselves rationale to the justification.

I learned this recently from being back in the nightmare of the dating scene, this time in the mid-single stage where we all bring baggage and issues to bear.  I accepted a date with an individual that I soon learned was very disrespectful to women, yet I put up with his behavior longer than necessary.  It was only after a particular bad exchange through a text where the suitor demanded what I wear on our first date that I stopped.

I received this text as I was going through the nightly routine of getting my children ready for bed.  As they ran around; one brushing her teeth, the other helping her brother put the books away we had just read, I realized something profound.  I would never want my daughters to be talked to/treated that way by a man, nor would I want my son to treat a woman that way – why was it okay for me?

It was such a simple answer, yet one I failed to recognize.  The date was cancelled and I have discovered a new gate that I will use in any future courtship.  I will never be with someone who would not treat me with the same respect and admiration I expect for my children.

As the song continued, I looked at our reflection in the mirror and thought back to a year ago, when because of the same small voice of my daughter, I first started this blog –a time when the turmoil I was experiencing first drove me to my keyboard.  It has been nearly a year and a half since I started this journey of separation, divorce and transitioning to a single-parent household.    

In comparison to my world then, my life is so different in a positive way.  Although there are still bumps along the road in my journey, I am happy and at peace with my new life.  I have started to heal, to forgive not only others, but myself as well.  And as this song communicates, I know that there are at least three little hearts and God that love me for me. 

Independence Day

I knew this holiday weekend was going to be cut short as I needed to fly out today in order to support the last launch of the Space Shuttle. In fact with a launch of another rocket earlier in the week, I was afraid I might miss this weekend with my little trio all together.  Luckily all the technical and weather constraints were within requirements, we launched, and I was able to get home to my babies and plan a fun-filled weekend!

We started the adventure by picking out a line-up of movies to end each night with, ensured we had an adequate stock of popcorn and brain stormed what activities we wanted to do.

The first night we decided to go out to eat. Of course their first restaurant of choice was McDonalds; however, I talked them into going to the “diving place” also known as the Mayan – but due to poor navigation, we drove pass Classic Skate, a place my children were recently introduced to. 

My Trio chimed in with the “pleeeeease,” complete with big glossy cute eyes. My daughter even tried the, I’ll trade for doing extra chores routine.  I held strong. I knew they loved the diving place too, plus Mexican food sounded so good to me – after my 3-year-old started to cry, I broke.  For the first time in decades, I found myself with a pair of roller skates strapped to my feet – laughing right along with my crew as we skated in circles.

The weekend progressed with homemade breakfast every morning, followed by a plan of attack for the day and watching the scheduled movie each night. Hanging with my children without any distraction was incredible – I discover something profound within each of them. 

My oldest daughter is becoming very quick-witted, with most of her sarcasm seems to be directed at me – I found myself laughing at her flood of comments.  As I pulled through a parking spot for ease of leaving, she said, “fake backing again.”  The girl knows I can’t reverse into the parking spot for the life of me. When we were watching one of the movies that had a touching part, she stated to her siblings, “And mom will start crying right….now.”  And they all looked on queue to see me wiping my eyes.

I learned my sweet Belle is very protective of her siblings. I always knew Belle had a big heart, but had no idea she would stand up so bravely to protect her siblings. I watched her put herself between what she thought was an approaching threat to her little brother, shielding him. She even defended her older sister, which was more of a shock since at times they can be best of friends, but they also have mastered the art of sibling civil war.

My new found insight to my little man came yesterday morning when he came into my room to inform me that the sun was awake.  He crawled into bed with me and asked, “are you staying home today.”  When I answered “yes!,”’ he replied excitedly, “Oh thank you Mom!” As I was a getting ready to leave today he started to unpack my suitcase and begged me not to go.  I realized he recognizes when I am gone and longs for me to be home, something I thought was not as noticeable to someone so young.

So with this weekend filled with roller skating, a fake barbeque (I don’t have a grill), swimming, picnic, jumping on the tramp to music, chalk drawings on the patio, amusement park, and fireworks I learned something about me – I am happy.

I thought back to a year ago, and how dramatically different my life was then – in fact, I find it ironic the drastic comparison.  So many negative memories and emotions are fading now, hearts are healing, and a once tense relationship between my ex and I has began to soften. The effects of these changes are also noticeable in my Trio, they are more at ease and back experiencing life as they should, as children unburden by adult cares.

As I watched my children’s faces light-up under the glow of our fireworks, I realized Independence Day has a new meaning in my life.  One of peace, love, joy and especially hope for an amazing future with the most incredible children God has entrusted to me.  

Broken not Defeated

Thanks to a faulty switchbox in Space Shuttle Endeavour that scrubbed Friday’s launch, I had a work-free day in Florida where I was able to get in another round of reflection; this time on Mother Nature’s front porch of Cocoa Beach overlooking the ocean.   

So in a rare moment of complete alone time I sat on the beach and began my self-evaluation. I found that being surrounded by the sounds of the ocean waves, children playing, even the festive Spanish music coming from a family’s boom-box nearby was the perfect setting to reflect.

As I looked at the calm sea with it shallow waves, I knew that given the right conditions that can change. Those innocent waves can become one of the most powerful forms of destruction on this planet, in fact scars and remnants from past hurricanes can still be seen when you look around this area.  I thought about past storms that have hit the country with deadly results, such as Katrina, and I wondered why some people chose not to heed the warnings.  

I started making a mental list of maybe why some people did not flee when they had the chance.  Maybe they were too proud, they thought they were wiser than those predicting the storm, or they felt they could protect themselves.  They might have been physically unable, didn’t feel they had anywhere to go, they chose not to listen to their instincts or even worst they were afraid.  I could not imagine the justification when it is dealing with your life – or can I?

Like a swelling wave I turned those judgments inward, why do I struggle with listening to my instincts – one of my biggest faults.  There have been so many occasions in my life when I presented similar rational as I was making major life decisions – I can overcome, it’s not that bad, I don’t need to run, I am smarter than those who have informed me of the potential dangers, I am the one in charge.   

The problem is when I do not listen and override those instincts with justifications, I get hurt and I now have the potential of also hurting three little hearts who do not deserve that pain.  Like hurricane scars on the coastline, those storms have the potential to do permanent damage, although it may not be noticeable to the novice.  The hardest scars to heal are ones you can’t see or worst the ones we try to hide.

I know I am not alone in this painful self-wounding process of ignoring what needs to be done versus what is we know is right.  I have many friends who struggle down the same path only to watch them succumb to becoming a victim of their choices.  Unfortunately this happens often with women; we guide our choices by our heart and are often willing to overlook our instincts in hopes of finding that happy ending we all seek. 

These beautiful bright women make choices to be with people just to fill a void. Some enable themselves to be at the mercy and control of another out of pure fear, while I know some dear friends trade their happiness for not wanting to hurt another.  These women, like me at one time, hide in the shadows, afraid others may see their failures and learn they are truly broken. 

During the one of darkest time in my divorce last summer, when I could no longer hide what was happening in my house, a major thunderstorm hit.  My sister and I were woken by the sounds of the wind, rain, lighting and resulting thunder.  We watched out the window trying what to decide to do, when we saw it – the tree in my front yard had been broke in half from the fierceness of the storm. 

The next morning when the sun rose and I surveyed damage, the tree was so broken, I thought it was a total loss – the tears fell.  Because of the turmoil I was going through, I felt like that tree was a reflection of myself and I questioned if I would emotional survive the storm – I was broken and had almost lost all hope.

A few weeks later I noticed the tiny thin limb growing from the tall brown stump with buds of leaves, and by the last fall five or six branches and leaves adorned the scared tree – hope started to fill my soul. Now every time I sit on my front porch and looked at the tree it is a reminder of that I can overcome.

I am learning to listen to my instincts, to listen those friends and family who see the storm approaching and to learn how to control fear instead of letting it control me. I have made decisions I knew were right; and felt empowered when later they were later validated, but I still have a long way to go.

So although I know I am broken and I cannot hide it; I also know I can overcome and be stronger – even if it means growing one small branch at a time.

The Sandbox

I turned to this blog tonight as I struggle with a concept we learned on the playground when we were toddlers – sharing.

The past couple weeks I have had the opportunity to have some extra time with my children, especially my son, as I was able to have him two weekends in a row.  But it wasn’t only the extra time to play with them, but also the lack of distractions.

The divorce was final last month, which seemed to almost erase overnight the year-long angst and animosity.  Also during this time, work projects were a little lighter, so I actually was able to get home either on time or earlier for a refreshing change.  Taking those small diversions away seemed to just open up this world of enjoyment with my children.

We did not do anything major; just sincerely enjoyed one another’s company and quality time, whether playing the Wii or having fun talks about their lives. Friday night I took extra time with each one of my children as they fell asleep, crawled into bed with them and just held them.  To Dax this is normal – it is part of his bedtime routine – but my girls usually get a kiss as I tuck them into bed.  So as I climbed in with each of them they were both a little taken back but immediately loved the added attention.   

With no school Monday, my girls asked if they could go visit their grandma (my former mother-in-law and still great friend) for a sleepover. Even though I did not want them to go I said yes, knowing how much they love their grandparents and vice versa.  I also thought it would be a good opportunity to take Dax to Ryan’s Place Park in Logan, Utah.  A memorial park dedicated to Ryan Adams, who died in a drowning accident when he was two.  I was able to help participate in its development through an ATK donation to build a rocket.  What I did not know at the time when I helped build and paint this rocket, was that my little guy was there with me too – I found out a couple weeks later I was pregnant.

Even with icy cold temperatures and wind today in Logan, I bundled up Dax, replaced my heels with tennis shoes and hit the sidewalk running.  It was amazing hearing the excitement in his voice as we ran played, “look mom it’s your rocket…let’ drive the boat…come on mom you can fit, just duck down…can you push me higher!”  For almost two-hours and to the point my fingers were numb from the cold, we played together.  

I was pushing him on the tire swing and then “accidently” standing in its path so it would send me hurtling forward, resulting in an intense belly-laugh from my sweet son.  That sound was the very reason this park was built – so that sweet melody would be carried on by other children in memory of a little boy whose short life was full of laughter.

 It was in this moment as I heard his laughter, watched the pure joy in his face and his imagination in full force, I could not imagine a different life.  I thought of those who despise and have no desire to have children and I felt sorry for them; they have no concept of how much life they are missing.  If you truly want to discover the world, there is no better way than watching it unfold through your children’s eyes.

So tonight when Dax’s dad asked if he could see him – he had been missing him –  I knew I needed to take him. Dax put his arm around his dad and was excited to see him; he asked him if he could go to his house. His dad responded it is up to his mom.  I did not want to let him go, even after having such an amazing day with him. My girls were already gone and I was looking forward to holding him and watching him fall asleep. I did not want to share him tonight.   

I knew I was being selfish as I tried to come up with an excuse why he needed to stay with me; after all it was my time.  The more I tried, the more I knew I had to let him go. Even my sister noticed the defeated look on my face as I came home without my children.

I have always been one who played nice in the sandbox – I just never imagine that one day I would be in reference to my children.  So for those of you who have your children always; may you never tire of the sounds of their laughter.  And for those, who like me, have to face the many consequences of our choice to divorce; may you cherish every moment you have, and may your heart be comforted when you have to share.

Pepé Le Pew

I always cherish those moments when you know a memory has been formed with you and your children; one that will last a lifetime.  Last night we formed one of those memories thanks to the assistance of a member of the Mephitidae family and a police officer.

On the drive back from my best friend’s house (who lives in Eagle Mountain or BFE for those not familiar with this area).  My three bambinos were watching a movie as I drove along an unlit section of the highway.   The glow from the TV screen made it a little harder to see, but there was no mistaking when I saw the white stripe – I knew it was a skunk.  Unfortunately it was already directly in front of my tire and the eerie thump, ker-plunk sound instantly followed before I had time to react.

The mammal was big enough that the resulting jolt – similar to a speed bump—interrupted the hypotonic movies-induce trance on the kids, “What was that mom?” Followed by, “Oh my gosh, what is that smell?”  My answer, “I just ran over a skunk!!”

The smell engulfed the car.  I looked in the rear view mirror and saw all three kids, hands covered over their noses as they were bathed in the light from the screen, and I began to laugh hysterically. The questions started rolling out from the back seat, which caused me to laugh harder; Is it dead?,  how did you hit it?,  why didn’t  you swerve?,  when will it stop stinking?, and my all time favorite from my three-year-old, “Someone pooped their pants mommy!”

My stomach was hurting and my eyes watering, partly because I was laughing so hard, but also as a reaction to the odor. I began to drive faster as it seemed to make the smell less obnoxious, when my car was lit up by bright flashing red and blue lights.

I grabbed my license and supporting documents and rolled the window down as the officer walked up beside my car.  He asked me if I knew how fast I was going, and although I tried, I was unable to contain my laughter -- it was useless.  I said I had no idea, to which he responded more sternly that I had been travelling 75 in a 55.  It was then that I noticed his fac,e as he must have became aware of the smell.

I began to laugh harder and was barely able to squeak out the words, “Sorry about the smell, I just plowed over a skunk.”  Noticing he had not quite understand me, the back window was rolled down to reveal my three children still pinching their noses and my daughter translated (In a nose-stuffed voice) what I was trying to communicate, “my mom hit a skunk!”

The officer asked where I had hit it and I told him the passenger side, and then asked if he would mind checking to see if there were skunk bits on my car.  The kids asked if they could get out and look too, to which he responded they needed to stay buckled.

He walked to the passenger side and was scanning my car with his flash light, when I noticed that he started dry-heaving and holding his nose. He came back to my side and tried to remain as professional, although his skin coloring had become paler, he handed me my information and told me to slow it down. Apparently he must have thought we experienced enough stench for one night.

So I am issuing official apologies:

·         To those driving behind me (Jo Jo) after I took out Mr. Skunk, (as I am sure they also got to experience the reeking benefits) – sorry!

·         To the boys  at the car wash who had to scrub off my car – an extra tip!

·         To my neighbors who were wondering why there was a skunk in suburbia – it was just my car that is strategically parked outside!

·         Finally to Pepé Le Pew, sooo sorry, but thank you for helping me get out of what would be a rather large speeding ticket and resulting spike in my insurance cost – may you rest in peace!

Raising Dennis

“Can I call you back, I am standing in poop.”

This is how I answered my phone this afternoon as my toilet was spewing in contents of bio-waste that was recently deposited by my daughter. She was in total fear that she somehow had caused the mishap and kept saying, “It was not that much mom, I think someone had gone before me.”  She had unfortunately failed to notice the 4X4 truck that had been jammed in the toilet. 

I discovered the toy as I was screaming for my girls to grab more towels and was desperately plunging away to stop the contents from continuing to overflow. Upon seeing the truck I yelled that word that always seems to follow most disasters in our house, “DAAAAAAX!”

As he sat in the corner and I talked to him about putting things in the toilet, while he profusely apologized with his sweet three-year-old voice, “I ’m sorry mommy.” My thoughts turned to his ability to destroy in a matter of milliseconds, not in a malicious act, but out of pure curiosity to figure out how something works.  This is something that he has seemed to have inherited from birth, not a learned behavior. 

My girls were never like this as young children and maybe it is just my naivety to raising a son. It is about time I documented a few, but not all of his many moments as Dax the Destroyer for posterity – and to embarrass him when he gets older.

Durango Heist

Yes my three-year-old took my keys, went into the garage, started my car and was desperately trying to get it to go into gear. “I was going to drive your car mom.”

Baby Powder Tornadoes

Multiple times he has turned his bedroom into a baby power winter wonderland, they last time he came grabbed me and very excitedly said, "MOM, come look at the clouds!!!”

Cereal Killer

When in doubt, just dump the whole thing out.  Whether it was an accident as he was trying to poor more in his bowl, or a decision to hear how they crackle under his feet, this little guy has become a professional at cereal murders!  This started when he was able to pull himself up to a standing position



Now he uses a stool for higher access to a bigger victim pool



Downey Dump

When I combined his words, “I put it in the washer mommy,” with the fact I was washing my delicates at the time, the world started to spin slower and the TV suddenly sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher, “MWA waa waa” as I made my way to the laundry room.  I saw the two bottles of Downey with the lids off and blue streaks running down the side of the washer and my heart sunk.  As I opened the lid to see the wash water the color of milk I heard the loving words, “I help you mommy!”

Tampon King

For some strange reason my little man is absolutely obsessed with tampons.  He loves to open them take them apart and chew on the cardboard.  He has been doing this since he was one, and you would think he would grow out it; however, just today he came out of my bathroom with one stuck in his mouth.  The worst was at a grocery store when he dug one out of my purse and had it pulled apart and playing with it.  I was focused on shopping and did not notice until people around me started hysterically laughing.

His behavior with tampons has also created the need to explain to my girls what they are for (a conversation none of us were ready to have).  Imagine his horror when he is old enough to learn the same or I sneak the photographic evidence into his wedding video montage!

Despite the many mishaps and near heart attacks, I absolutely love his passion for life. It is amazing to watch him discover the world and through the process see it differently for myself. 

I am so grateful God gave me such and amazing son to raise – which is the phrase I kept repeating in my mind as I rolled up my sleeves and un-lodge the 4X4 Tonka truck!



When he is posing like this at one, you know you are in for it!



Little Prayers

If you ever want to know what is in the hearts of your children, stand outside their doors and eavesdrop on their prayers.  Or in my case, have your sweet daughter be so touched by a movie, she wrote hers down.

As I stated in an earlier post small voices, I think one of our biggest challenges as a parent is ensuring that we really take the time to truly listen to what are children are telling us or in most cases trying to tell us.     

This letter was written while I was on travel a couple months ago for the shuttle launch.  My trip kept getting extended as the program worked through issues to ensure a safe launch. When I finally came home I found this letter taped to my 7-year-old daughter’s door. (Exactly as written, not edited for spelling)

Help my Mom ples, that woud be great cuse she is giting in a devos and I want you to help her, ples pray for her. I love her a lot I wish she didet go to work cuse it fells like she is speding more time at work then she is with us, but she neds more money so she can get us things.

Upon reading this I learned that what I thought I had perfected as my game face was not fooling my children. In fact not only they could see my internal struggle as I walked through my challenges, they felt a responsibility to try to help me. Which no child should ever feel the need to carry such an adult’s burden.

I felt the pain of guilt for working so much, and always finding the rationale to justify my time away.  But most importantly it was a wake-up call and I came away with a desire and knowledge of an area I needed to improve.

I took this particular letter off her door and kept it in my room to read when a reminder was needed. 

With the kids gone for the weekend, I kept myself busy. But tonight (and this morning) I was struggling with some internal self evaluation after some difficult memories were triggered. I fired up the laptop (too cold for the front porch and cement stairs and my ankle are currently at odds) and decided to turn to my therapy writing to see if I could discover the root of my angst.

In the erie child-less quiet of my house – which feels wrong inside these walls – this reflection seemed even more brutal, as I was trying to piece together and understand my emotions, I saw my daughter’s folded note paper with the words on the outside, “To God from Belle, miss you God, love you.”

I stared in disbelief, I had read this letter multiple times, yet had failed to see what she had written on the outside – miss you God.

I realized how much of this journey I have really been trying to do by myself. Although I have not discovered the answers to my struggles tonight, I had a reminder from a tiny heart that it is a path I do not need to travel alone.

Christmas Prayer

As the Christmas season has drawn near, an internal battle ensues within the hearts of so many of individuals, who like me, have the heart-wrenching task of splitting this precious time and memories in their children lives.   And as I have written so many times, this is an extremely hard consequence that is only a result of our choices. 

So armed with my shield and sword I have forged forward this season trying with all my might to not have those thoughts of despair circum me.  However, every battle has not been successful.  I have been able to find the spark of Christmas spirit by listening to music, enjoying traditions with my children and capitalizing on the season to teach them the joys of giving – yet I have not be able to keep it lit.

The Christmas song that seems to fill my heart this season has been Where are you Christmas, from the Grinch. Even, my usual excitement of having the perfect Christmas gifts for my children has been tamed by this overhanging dread of the time when I have to let them go; followed by the thought of me alone in my empty house left with the evidence and ruminants of that morning.

I struggle writing this blog, because I usual attack my keyboard when I have discovered a solution that gives insight that will hopefully make a difference to another. Now I type with tear-filled eyes still searching for the medicine that will help ease the pain to so many hearts this season – many of them too tiny and innocent to be dealing with such heartache.  It is our children who pay the ultimate price in this game of love and loss.

So this post will be more of an analysis, as I attempt to find an answer to the most important question – why.  Why does an overwhelming feeling of loneliness fill so many people during this season, why can you feel homesick when you are already home, and why do so many of our consequences come at a price to those we love the most.

As I search for these answers looking around my decorated living room I am drawn to the same location – a manger (an odd conclusion for someone who has been struggling with my faith for years).  A replica of this humble scene sits on my piano with baby Jesus at the center and Mary and Joseph watching over him.  Right next to this nativity is a framed photo of my own new born son – peacefully sleeping. I realize the heartache and pain I am feeling is utterly the guilt I have for not only failing to protect my children from hurt, but being partially responsible for its cause.

I picked up the picture of my son, looking at his sweet angelic face and thought of the words to one of my favorite Christmas songs, Joseph’s Lullaby, by Mercy Me.  (If you have not heard this song, I recommend taking a moment to listen.)

I believe the glory of heaven is lying in my arms tonight, but Lord I ask that he,  for just this moment, simply be my child.

At this same moment, I received a call from my ex-mother-in-law who is not only the grandmother of my children but also my dear friend, even with the circumstances we are in.  She informed me that there was a death in their family, her nephew, a young father who has left this earth way too early.  

I talked to my girls and then cried on the phone with my ex husband who is at the house of this young man who just passed away.  He told me his little son is so confused and does not understand why is dad will not be coming home. I also thought about Joseph, holding Jesus in his arms knowing that he would not be able to afford him the protection he so wanted to provide.

I realized that what I am dealing is so insignificant – these feelings of despair, hopelessness and dread are pathetic and ultimately just selfish.  My children will just be gone for hours this holiday season, and I will see their face, hear their voices, touch their hands and listen to the sound of their beating hearts when they are sleeping. 

So my Christmas prayer is to send peace to those who have lost their children in this life and one of a thankful heart for blessing my life with one of the most glorious gift I have been given; my sweet little babies. Thank you for letting them simply by my children.

Finding Peace

My life seems to be continuously full of chaos and stress, especially over the past year; there are days when I just don’t know if I can take much more. In fact during the past six months, when I am in the confines of my room away from little ears, I found myself collapsed on the floor sobbing – a rarity for a strong independent woman who has built a shield against this type of emotion.  

This stress and awful internal angst, although partly a result of outside sources, is as equally a consequence of my own actions and choices. When you know you are responsible for some of the hell you are experiencing it is harder to overcome the pain and anger.  

As a result I initially found myself becoming extremely negative, angry and bitter.  Unfortunately these emotions were not limited to my own misery. It took someone telling me attitude was affecting others for me to step back (after I thought a few profanities under my breath).  I read through my statements I had posted and some of the emails I had wrote and I was sick inside.  The ugliness I was experiencing inside was being oozed out to those around me, and I was disgusted – this is not the person I am.

Which led to my first self-assessment on my front porch a few months ago; when I made my first goal – to work on a more positive outlook.  It was and still is an uphill battle to keep my chin up and to trudge ahead through all the *beep* and vile emotions that comes with divorce.

Through my quest to have a good attitude I discovered the way to do this is to look outside myself.  When you are no longer consumed with what is going on in your little world you start to truly see.  The world is full of happiness, joy and good people and you realize how much you have been missing.

I also realized that there is just as much sorrow and pain; so much it makes what I am going through seemed insignificant.  There were individuals who were desperately in need – and my biggest awakening is when I knew I could help them.  

The more I gave of myself, the more I started to feel peace, a condition I had unknowingly been seeking all along. Not peace as between two entities, which I thought is what I wanted, but a true calmness within my heart.  A softening of the turmoil that was raging within my soul – I began to feel like the true person I know I am inside.

Even if it was a small act like bringing a neighbors garbage can in from the street, helping a mother juggle her children in the store, letting a car in front of you in rush hour traffic or just listening to a friend in need, the tranquility  that filled my life started to balance out the torment  of my situation. 

This became clearer today, as I was talking to a friend who seemingly has a much easier path in life right now and I realized that given the chance, I would not trade him. 

Tonight as I held my son when he fell asleep and looked at his beautiful sleeping face, I knew that I found the secret to my midnights clear,  and I knew a key to gain more moments of calm in my tempests storm.

So I pass a challenge on to my many friends, and not just during this Holiday season when messages of giving and peace are abundant; look beyond yourself for opportunities to make a small difference in another person’s life.  Whether you are seeking it or not, by doing this, you too can be touch by this calmness from the ultimate example of serenity – The Prince of Peace.

Space Invader

When traveling via airplane there are certain unwritten courtesies to personal space, especially when in coach. There is nothing fun about being jammed into a small area with strangers for long flights. It’s like playing the lottery as you watch the people file in, and guess which ones will, and which one you hope will not become your future seat mates.

I always try to book the window exit row for the leg room and ability to lean against the wall and sleep. A lot of times I end up getting upgraded to first class so I don’t have to play seat lotto too often.  However, when I change my flight at the last minute to come home a day early and there was only one middle seat left – I knew I was in for trouble.

As the passengers boarded the plane my seat mates joined me in row 24; one very thin man to my right (sitting in my coveted window spot) and an average man to my left.  Doors were closed, final preparations were made throughout the cabin and soon we were airborne on our four and a half hour journey back to Utah.

The first task when in this situation is determining arm rest dominance – an important task for the middle-seat person. I quickly staked claim to the thin man’s side knowing I could over power him easily since I was twice his size. The average man just offered his up. I was like a queen in my thrown with two arm rests in my property.

After a week of long hours trying to get the shuttle launch, while trying to keep up with everyone at home, I was exhausted and airplanes have a way of soothing me to sleep. So I leaned my chair back (the entire inch those things recline) and I closed my eyes and quickly fell asleep.

I am not sure what I was dreaming about that cause me to suddenly jerk awake throwing every limb into a upward motion. This spastic twitch is not a good feeling when it happens in your bed, let alone when you are trap in the itty bitty space of an airplane. Being rather long-legged I felt my legs slam the seat in front of me, I am sure sending that person hurdling forward as I simultaneously hit both seat mates with my arms.

I profusely apologized to all those affected by abrupt seizure-like awakening. Average man just asked if I was okay, showing some concern. Thin man said nothing and moved even closer to the window (I believe he was already afraid of me after I commandeered his arm rest).

After two more jerk awakes – neither as damaging as the first – I decided I was too tired and it was too dangerous for me to sleep in such close quarters.  I turned on my TV in front of me and started watching an episode of Seinfeld – my eyes grew heavy...

I awoke to the sound of the pilot asking the flight attendants to prepare the cabin for landing, and I realized I was not totally in an upright position. I quickly assessed the situation. I had moved my legs to the side with them stretch into skinny’s area and my head was resting on the shoulder of the guy in 24C. I had to have been asleep for at least 2 hours.

As I lifted my head up I noticed the small area of what could only be drool I left on average man’s shoulder – I wanted to die. Red faced, I apologized to him for my total invasion of his space as he pumped his fist trying to get the blood back to his finger tips. He just smiled and said, “No worries it could have been worse.” and gestured his eyes over to very thin man who had all but flatten himself against the wall in avoidance.

I realized that I had just become my worst nightmare…a space invader.

The Decision

Parenting requires hundreds of daily decisions that ultimately affect our children’s future, and shape who they turn out to be –no pressure, right! Seriously, every decision we make, how we chose to react, whether we choose to listen; even choices we make on their behalf, have a consequence, negative or positive.

As the parent we can truly shape the outcome towards a positive, if we take a moment to think about the best result before we react or make a choice.  I learned this truth a few weeks ago as another episode in my daily sitcom unfolded.

Just before I was about to leave work to begin the madness that consume our house each night during soccer season, I received a call from my nanny, “Your daughter hurt her leg at school and does not think she can play in her game tonight.”

Instant panic! This child never misses soccer for anything; she plays in the backyard, at recess and will even attend her younger sister’s practice to get more playing time. She would miss a family member’s wedding if she had a soccer game that conflicted.  I knew it must be bad.

I arrived home and rushed in to assess the situation. Her face was swollen from crying and she would not let me touch her leg; which she could not fully straighten.  Trying to understand what happened she said she had drop kicked the ball while she was playing soccer at recess.  Her best friend, who is always at our house, gave me a better description of what took place.  From those two accounts, I thought she either hyper extended her knee or had ligament damage.

I made the decision that she need to be taken to the Urgent Care.  Upon my arrival I was the spectacle of the waiting room. Wearing my business clothes and high heels, clicking with every step as I carried my nine-year-old daughter across the lobby and she winched in pain with every movement.   As the nurse brought us back and I set her on the table, I stroked her hair wishing I could take the pain away and fought back my own tears.

In the exam room she screamed and begged the doctor not to straighten her leg.  After the doctor did a thorough analysis, she pulled me aside and we had a whispered conversation in the corner, where we discussed my daughter’s pain tolerance and then she told me her diagnosis – a Charlie horse.

My instant reaction had to be contained, so I took a moment and thought how best to react, then told the doctor to follow my lead.  The doctor and I turned around to see my daughter staring at us with those sincere eyes.   I kept a serious face and informed her that she kicked the ball so hard that she tied her calf muscle in a knot.  The doctor instantly jumped in and gave her the medical remedy to make it better. ( I thought I have got to toughen this girl up or she will need to adopt her children, and I can’t believe I just took my daughter to the ER for a muscle spasm.)

So that night as I rubbed the knot out of her calf and looked over and see my two-year-old covered in chocolate with a half-eaten box of Whoppers in front of him, and later as my son ran around the house coming down from his sugar high and my other daughter informed me she felt sick to her stomach and subsequently threw up, I made another decision – I laughed.

The Clocks

Part of our nighttime routine involves playing slow music and dancing with my two-year-old – something I have done with all my children when they were little. Last night when the music had finished the sounds of a quiet house gently filled the room.  My little guy – who I thought was asleep – suddenly asked, “What’s that sound?” 

After some investigation I realized he was talking about the sound of the ticking clocks in my kitchen and living room. The tick-tocks were just slightly off from each other so they produced a double beat. As we listen to the soft beat he pronounced, “It’s a heart, Mom.”  Often when I am holding him and his head is resting on my shoulder I’ve asked him if he could hear my heart telling him I loved him. 

I got him tucked in bed and came and sat in darkness of the living room and listen to the sound of the clocks pulsing like a heartbeat. It reminded me of a song my friend had sent to me earlier this week, “One Life to Love,” by 33 Miles. As I listened to the clocks, the chorus of that song filled my mind.

You only get just one time around
You only get one shot at this
One chance, to find out
The one thing that you don't wanna miss
One day when it's all said and done
I hope you see that it was enough, this
One ride, one try, one life...
To love....

My son was right; the sound of those clicks ticking away were the sounds of a precious heartbeat. There is no time machine – once those hands strike, I can never get those seconds back. How often have I taken sweet time for granted and how different would I act if spent every minute like it was the only shot I had to get it right?

I went into each of my children’s rooms and sat next to them on their beds, listened to the sounds of their deep breathing as they slept; I kissed them on their cheeks and told them I loved them. Then I went and sat on my front porch, wrapped my arms around my legs and looked up at the stars and made a promise that I would do everything I could in my life to not miss a beat of loving them.

For those who tune into this blog, I hope you too will realize the one life you have and ensure you take extra steps to love those around you, one precious second at a time. 

A Letter from God

I am always on the lookout for good DVDs I can watch with my kids for movie nights; events that are mostly for the girls and me as two-year-olds do not quite have the attention span for a movie.  

Over the weekend I saw the movie Letters to God at the store. I had remembered seeing trailers, and when I saw Wendy Griffith, of CBN gave it a glowing recommendation -- her quote, “a must see for all families,” printed in bold across the cover – I grabbed it (plus it was marked down).

With a soccer-free night I thought if we can get through dinner and homework fast enough we might have time to watch it; something I would not usually allow on a school night. At 6:30 I announced we were going to have a “Monday Movie night.”  My girls just stood and stared at me like I was ill. I said, “Hurry and get your pajamas on,” like I didn’t understand why they were so shocked, but at the same time stating it using a tone of confidence that indicated I knew I was being a cool mom. 

In a matter of seconds we all emerged from our rooms in our pjs complete with fuzzy slippers – even the two-year-old was excited about the change in routine and ran to open his pajama drawer and join in the fun.

My oldest, the unofficial microwave popcorn queen of our house, went right to the cupboard to get the snack – movie theater butter for them and kettle corn for me – while my other daughter began turning on the electronics and anxiously asked what we would be watching.  I showed them the movie and read the cheesy tag line printed on the front as I opened the adult-proof DVD wrapping with the steak knife I had enlisted to help me through this excruciating task.

As I opened the case, a greeting card envelope fell out – something a little out of the ordinary, much like this night.  I picked it up off the ground, opened it and took the card out. My girls were instantly by my side, curiosities peaked with this strange chain of events, asking “who is it from?”  I pulled the card out and began reading the message out loud:

Outside: “Even the strongest of us have moments when the burdens of life seem too great. It’s then that the Lord whispers to our hearts…Come to Me; all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28”

Inside: “Right here, right now, in the middle of all you’re facing, the Lord is there to give you strength and grace. Many prayers are with you too.”

As I fought back the tears, my oldest daughter kept asking who gave it to us, and finally her younger sister, who has just found her love for reading, held up the DVD cover reading the title and said, “Is it from God?” 

I watched the movie holding my two little girls and I thought about the message and the timing of that card. I knew it was put in every copy, and yet it was something I needed to hear – now.  Although I know I have not been on my knees for quite a while, many of my family and friends have been praying for my little family.  Tonight I felt peace fill my heart, and as I hugged my daughters tighter I thought, “We are going to be fine.”

The Quiet Reality

One of the biggest adjustments to being a single mom is the eerie silence that engulfs my home every other weekend; a sanctuary that is usually filled with sounds of three kids, their mom, aunt, nanny and dog – my family.  I was surprised this seemingly small change became my ultimate fear; especially since I was told repeatedly that I should be excited of this new found freedom.  

This fear of being alone was such an unexpected emotion to me; especially since my job requires travel – most of it alone. Last year I banked more than 100,000 sky miles, flying to different states to communicate major milestones for my company. Often times the location were so remote, it required three-hour drives from the closest airports to reach my destinations (non-populated areas are bests for large parachute tests, and rocket launches). Airports, rental cars, hotel rooms, restaurants, dinners, all tasks performed solo, never once feeling the sense of the isolation I am experiencing now.

While on travel I did feel guilty as I was not home to be with my kids.  Gone for weeks at a time, I missed major milestones in my children’s lives – first days of school, birthdays and others. In fact one year I waved to my kids via NASA TV as I stood by the countdown clock at the shuttle launch on Mother’s Day.  However, the ache and guilt I have felt on these solo weekends as I have walked past their quiet empty rooms has wrenched my heart.   

Initially when this freedom came into play I made every attempt to occupy my time. As the months wore on I knew this poor attempt to mask the pain needed to stop, and it was time to face reality.  During another reflection on my front porch I decided my quest for the weekend was to attack my trepidation of being alone, and discover the root cause of the fear.   

Although I did not spend the entire weekend alone (I went to dinner and a movie with friends), I did spend the majority of the time by myself and I came to two major discoveries about myself. 

The first is when you are a mother; your children love you unconditionally. No matter your failures, your mistakes, your insecurities, they are willing to forgive and provide you the ultimate love.  This is something I do not afford myself.  I have yet to forgive myself for my multiple mistakes and often find myself awakened at night with so many regrets just from that day. I realized I rely on my children to provide that love I am so desperately seeking inside.

Second, I am ungrateful.  I have a dear single friend who would trade places with me - even taking on the drama-filled life it offers - just to fulfill her dream of becoming a mother. Another friend lost one the twins she was carrying early in her pregnancy, although the other is healthy, her heart breaks for the life that will never be.  Yet another became a single mother because the love of her life lost his battle with cancer.  Even my ex-husbands have lost precious daily time with their children and are now restricted to one night during the week and every other weekend.  To all of you I say sorry. 

I was truly feeling sorry for myself and in doing so, I was being selfish. My fear of being alone was due to the fact that I was truly afraid to face the quiet reality – that this was my choice.

Although I know this sudden realization won't make future weekends totally better, I will make sure I keep a grateful heart. When I start to fall into the dark trap of self pity, I will look outside myself for opportunities to help others.  When I clean the handprints off the windows and doors, I will remember this quiet moment is just a temporary reprieve from the sounds of love and new dirty fingerprints that will soon fill my home.