A Little Bit of Cuteness=A Whole Lotta Thriving

I keep on going back to my suggestion of thriving vs surviving last week.

To be honest with you all, right now I want to just throw my hands up and "just survive" for a little bit, to stop pushing myself so hard, to stop expecting so much.  I can almost convince myself to do it, then I see this:

 I mean, let's be honest here....who can feel that they are just surviving when looking at these two?  Despite the drowning feeling that I sometimes experience (okay, maybe often experience over the last couple of months) this, THIS right here, gives me buoyancy.  I do more than survive because I want these smiles to stay on those faces for years to come.  (and selfishly because I want smiles like that on my face also.)

 I never feel more alive than I do when I am outside with my kids.  The fresh air invigorates me, the smiles and laughs spark a happiness inside of me that is not often touched.  The genuine joy the girls show prompts me to find new ways for them to experience joy--whether that is a walk in the neigborhood, a trip to the zoo, or a playground in their playroom (shhh...don't tell them--it's a Christmas surprise!)

 Despite that, I still find myself struggling.  I still ride that rollercoaster of highs (feeling like I'm thriving) and lows (feeling like I'm barely surviving.)  It may be the simple fact that I have four kids -------------------------------------------->

It could be that I just don't have enough hours in my week to meet all of the demands placed on me in the variety of roles I play.

 These roles make it increasingly difficult to find my happy in being a mom and in chasing my professional dreams.  The sheer number of roles and responsibilities almost cement the fact that I am often just barely surviving in each.

How can one possibly find a desire to thrive, and take hold of opportunities to do so, when each step towards thriving in one area is a step away from surviving well in another.

It feels like each "extra" I take on for school hurts my family and each "extra" I take on for family hurts my school.

 

 That's when icy reality sets in.  I am not a super hero (as much as my friends like to joke that I am).

I am a flawed individual.  I make mistakes.  I make really, really bad decisions sometimes.  The worst is that, particularly now, sometimes my really, really bad decisions effect others--others like my children (or my clients, even), whom I am supposed to protect and do the best for.  I hurt.  When I hurt, others hurt.

When I struggle to just survive, I threaten to limit the thriving my children may do.  I limit their abilities to become "super" and dampen the enthusiasm they need to see for life, for love, for seizing the day.  When I struggle to survive I am not present with my children, my husband, or my clients.  I am stuck inside, stuck in life, stuck outside of seeing me and the good in me, the good in the world, the benefits and strengths I can bring to the world, to my family, to my clients, to me.

That is what these photos remind me of.  That cycle I face daily.  The struggle I feel and the four main little reasons I have to keep pushing, to keep trying, to keep wanting to thrive.

It is a small but powerful fact that thriving does not start with the big, superhero powers but with the small foundations that create a strong base on which to draw strength when all you really want to do is just survive.

Activities like the family painting time above help me to build a source of strength from which I can create not only a thriving family but a thriving self.  I give my children my best, but at the same time, I take so much from them--a different way of viewing the world and my place in it, a humbleness, a smallness that is so affiming and so calming.  A reminder of those simple things in life and the fact that without those, without those moments, those smiles, that peace found in family and in nature--without those--then I would be just surviving.  As long as these simple things are in place, I have all the tools, strength, and support I need to not only survive but thrive.

What simple things helps you build a foundation of strength from which to thrive?

How would you define thriving?  Need it be an all or nothing concept or can it be fluid?

How much does strength=thriving?

What do you do when you feel yourself slipping into "just surviving?"

Please take a moment to ask youself these questions (feel free to respond in the comment section, but more importantly, just take the time to reflect.)  It is utterly important that we each find a state in which we feel empowered.  A state in which we feel we are in the place we belong and that we are thriving in that exact spot in this exact moment in time.  Good luck to each of you as you navigate what leads to thriving in your lives.

Survive or Thrive in the Irony of life

I know I promised you all updates and photos of the kids from the wedding...then I just disappeared into my lice infested home for weeks!

That's not actually the whole story. Good news?--We seemed to have gotten rid of the lice in one set of two rounds of "Rid"ding--well technically the cheap store brand of "Rid" and a ridiculous amount of combing, screaming, crying, and head picking. Bad News?--I had yet another useless organ (this time my appendix) removed due to incomprehensible and indescribable pain.

Picture me (those of you who know me)--those of you who don't picture any roughly 30 year old woman--lying on the bathroom floor curled in a ball crying, raising only to throw up. Then, things get even more interesting as you pan out and see an infant in a Bumbo seat smiling and cooing and a 20 month old toddler running over to copy Mom's throwing up. "Brudder, blech, Mama. Hahahaha. Blech, Mama." Then running back over to climb on the mom's back so that toddler can more easily "Blech, hahahahaha" into the toilet.

Yep, that whole life is fragile, let go of control thing--it may actually be literally killing me.

Let me share a secret with you all--I was JUST starting to feel like myself again after the last surgery. Just beginning to dance in the kitchen with the kids, lift the bigger girls, play a little more roughly. Now, it's back to attempting to not lift more than 15 pounds--YEAH RIGHT!--and feeling sore and keeping from snuggling too closely because little elbows, feet, hands, and knees dig into the laproscopic incisions.

And I can't help but feel bitter. Angry with my body. Beyond frustrated with my lack of control in ALL things (side note: I was already WAY behind in clinical hours for my practicum, then I had to reschedule 13 hours of clients--13!!!). Further, I am terrified. Every time I feel a pain or slightly nauseaus, I worry that there's actually something more, that my other ovary or some other ridiculous organ is disinigrating or preparing to explode, or something. So, maybe this is sounding a bit like PTSD...it may be. Surgery is scary. Emergency surgery is even more scary. Emergency surgery scary is ridiculously more scary when there are kids waiting for you at home.

Here I am, singing the same song to a just slightly different tune. I wonder if life is just trying to beat into my thick skull that there really is nothing I can control. But, at the same time as I am learning that very very hard lesson in ridiculously hard ways, I can't help but try to maintain some control over the few things I can control. I'm faltering though...losing my will to hold onto that control.

What do you do when life beats you so hard that you begin to lose the will to fight back (READ: I am NOT talking lose the will to live, I am talking about losing the will to push above and beyond, to excell, to be great.) When, if ever, is it smart to just throw your hands up and live the status quo? When does life "win" in the tug of war between just surviving and thriving?

How do you thrive? Is it always a conscious effort? When do you know you need to let go a bit and just survive?

Life has a funny sense of humor...

Yep.  Life and it's humorous irony.  I know I have written on this before.  That no matter what I plan, no matter what is happening life ALWAYS throws me a curveball.

Probably always throws you one too, huh?

I was planning on a great post all about my sister's beautiful wedding, how wonderful, albeit ironic, it was to have a "new" brother.  I was gonna go on and on about how full I felt as I watched my girls play with their grown boy cousins--and maybe a little worried by the little crushy smile I saw on the oldest's face and what it would mean in the teen years.

Then life slammed me with a couple amazing research opportunities.  I was going to write a post about that.  About my wonderful research opportunities.  About the fact I am working on a meta-analysis, which is a pretty high level stats type project.  About the fact I can see long-term implications for this research.  I was going to tell you all about my awesome bibliotherapy program I get to create from scratch and implement in a local kindergarten class to build empathy.  I was going to share all the nitty gritty details with you about the projects, my hopes for what they could mean, and my worries about fitting it all in.

Then, the oldest came home from school with an itchy head.  And school, work, research, my "new" brother, and you, my dear readers, no longer mattered.  Because life has a funny sense of humor and thought, you know what that family needs right now?  They need a full blown case of lice.  Yep, long blonde hair, four kids, seven garbage bags full of stuffed animals--lice would be a really funny coincidence.  It will be great to watch that mom try to wash all those kids hair and comb it all out with little skinny lice combs multiple times a day.  Even better is watching that dad, who has never experienced lice, completely freak out and suggest shaving all the long beautiful blonde locks off of the kids (and maybe the mom).

So, that is what I have been doing for the past week and a half.  Lots of laundry, lots of combing of hair, sitting on the kitchen floor with flashlights picking through the girls hair.  So much fell through the cracks this week--school was a blur, I could barely count my hours.  And, there is such a feeling of embarrassment.  I mean, I know they caught it from somewhere, but the embarrassment is nearly unbearable.  I actually made my husband call the school, because I just couldn't do it.

I remember reading an open letter on the internet from a mom whose daughter contracted lice at school.  I could just feel her judgey, hateful words ripping through me.  I was judging myself. 

It took me a few days to realize, that woman has no room to speak.  Hell, I had no room to judge myself.  I did everything I could during the whole ordeal.  I sat there and picked through their hair like a freakin' monkey.  I rewashed sheets daily until there were no more bugs to be seen in anyone's head.  I bags a shitload of stuffed animals.  And, most importantly, I normalized the experience and kept my kids from feeling like the "buggies" in their hair were a poor reflection on them as people or on us as a family.  So that woman can go to hell.  Lice is not our fault.  My kids didn't do anything wrong to catch it--likely they just played closely with friends--showing good interpersonal skills.  We didn't do anything wrong--we called the school, we took that embarrassing step.  I didn't do anything wrong--I did everything right.

And this is a lesson I need to keep repeating in my mind as I wade through other difficult areas--such as new research endeavors, continuing to deal with my brother's death, school--I didn't do anything wrong.  I may not have control over much--as life so often likes to prove by throwing ridiculous things my way--but so far, I really haven't done too many "wrong" things with that which I have been thrown.  So I need to ease up on my judgements of myself.  I am the only one who knows where my faults lie and if I continue to fault myself for life's curveballs, then life's ironic twists are going to break me instead of providing me with a weird sense of comic relief.

What do you do to remind yourself to be easy on yourself?  How do you forgive yourself?  What is the most ridiculously silly thing life has sent you to teach you a lesson or provide ironic comic relief?

Flying with 4 kids=Faith in Humanity Restored

I sit here, at my work desk, utterly exhausted, with a sore neck, drooping eyelids, and a slight headache, yet, I feel like Supermom.

Yep, all four kiddos, no hubby :(

I....that's right, just I.  I flew with all four, yep, ALL 4, children in FOUR separate flights within the past week and a half.  And, I survived! (And did not resort to beating my children nor hiding under my seat!)  Not just survived, but was reminded of the kindness of strangers and in a setting where people have been primed to mistrust and maintain our distance of all places.  We went for my little sister's wedding, and a week of vacation with family leading up to it (more on those adventures to come when I have time to upload photos).  My Grammy was originally supposed to come; however, a health scare kept her grounded so I opted to go it alone as opposed to making someone fly with us.  The flights consisted of two flights down and two flights back--both with layovers in *groan* Atlanta!

I wasn't so worried about the girls behaviors.  We really do have pretty well-behaved kids.  I was more worried about keeping them entertained and moving quickly enough throughout the process.  I don't know if you plane riders have noticed, but the whole flight process is nothing but a lot of rushing to do a lot of waiting.  You have to rush through the check-in to wait in line at security, then rush through security and to your gate to wait around for boarding.  If you have kids you rush through boarding (we were first on everytime) to then wait for the plane to load and finally take off, then you rush through packing up to wait to deplane and rush to your next gate to wait to board and repeat.  This is NOT a kid friendly process.

This is what our trip looked like--I will highlight the kindness of strangers in purple:

Mom (that's me) rushes to counter at first airport for departure, flustered because of having to change tickets and fact they are in TWO different names and on TWO different cards so the check in kiosk is not an option.  Nice desk agent says, "Calm down Mom.  Take a breath, you have plenty of time and I will help you out." She then proceeds to nicely place all of the boarding passes in a very useable manner and to have a colleague carry the car seats to checkout.

Mom and crying/whining kids say goodbye to Daddy.  Nice random lady brings over a bag of cookies.  Crying is immediately replaced by happy cookie munching.

Mom, wearing baby (3 months), pushing youngest girl (18 months) in stroller, with a toddler (almost 3) on one side and a small child (4) on the other walks up to security line just to see IT HAS STEPS down.  CRAP.  Mom drags all children, still happily munching cookies/sleeping in carrier to nice TSA guy in charge of priority checkout lane, asks what to do and whether navigation down the stairs is necessary with stroller and children.  TSA guy says, "use the wheelchair ramp, no problem."

Mom, children, and stroller, as well as multiple bags go down ramp.  People giving encouraging smiles, not the dreaded scowls expected!

Family arrives at the bottom of the ramp only to realize the ramp ends where the security line begins, effectively cutting in front of at least 75 people.  Mom looks unsure as to the next step (I mean, do I really want to be THAT person?).  Nice TSA guy motions the group forward.  Mom looks at the three people next in line, each one smiles and the one closest says, "Go Ahead.  You need as much time as you can get to go through there" and makes extra space so young child does not have to let go of stroller to get through.

Mom gives boarding passes and ID--while toddler who wants to hold that specific hand begins to cry and grab at Mom's leg.  TSA agents help grab bags from children, fold stroller, place things on xray machine, and good naturedly remind Mom to remove her shoes.  They then calmly help children walk through metal detector and assist in corralling children while Mom has hands swiped (since she wore baby through).

Throughout this ordeal...probably lasting up to 15 minutes, the man behind the family not only waited for his turn without complaining but also helped mom remove a backpack that was caught in her hair.

As the family was waiting for the milk bottle to be checked and replacing backpacks on shoulders, the last cookie was devoured (leaving the toddler without) and crying (LOUD crying with no direction following or walking to be seen) ensued.  The very nice TSA agents quickly came to Mom's rescue with extra TSA badge stickers.  They also assisted in opening the stroller and repacking bags--possibly making the process take half the time it could have.  Finally, the TSA gentlemen with the extra stickers also rechecked the family's flight and gave them directions on where to go for their gate.

The family made their way to the gate and Mom picked out a spot with some open space in front of several open seats so children could play and move around before the flight.  Children colored, ate snacks out of backpacks, and played with stuffed animals while mom fed and rocked the baby.  There was surprisingly very little fighting and some sharing occurring.  Occasionally the three girls would say hi and wave to another individual sitting in the waiting area.  Every single one of them smiled and waved back.  Several carried on a conversation with the young child and the toddler. 

As the time grew closer for the flight, the youngest girl and the young child got a little rowdy.  The young child practically body slammed the littlest girl into the ground.  Mom placed the young child in timeout, casing her to begin to cry.  Not one person gave the mom a dirty look, in fact one kind gentleman came up to her and said, "you are mom of the year.  Really, you are doing a great job." 

Just as Mom began to feel a little overwhelmed, the ticket lady came up and gave her different boarding passes, saying, "I gave you the whole row so you could stretch out" and prompted the family to go ahead and line up because they were going to begin boarding.

Once on the plane, the youngest girl got scared and had to be carried by mom (who was still wearing baby).  The flight attendents helped the older girls get into their seats, strapped in, and their backpacks put away while Mom attempted to strap the youngest, flailing and screaming girl, into her harness.  At this point, the baby began to scream.  Mom was able to calm him upon sitting and feeding, while also showing the screaming youngest girl the "dog-dogs" in the SkyMall magazine.  By the time the flight was full, all four children were content, sucking on suckers or bottles.  NOT one individual made a comment about flying near kids. 

The flight was relatively simple and Mom found herself smiling as the flight attendents commented on the children's good behavior.  The children had limited whining and the baby slept the entire flight.  As the plane pulled up to the gate, every single one of the 9 people sitting near the family spent a few moments discussing just how well the children and baby traveled. 

The family waited until everyone else had gotten off the plane to deplane.  The flight attendents offered to carry a bag and one walked the family to the gate and checked for the connecting flight, asking if Mom wanted a motorized vehicle to pick them up and cart them to the connection.  Amazingly, the connecting flight was simply three gates down--SCORE!

Seem hectic and busy?  That was only three hours of our total travel time and only one flight out of four.  I am not going to make you read through the entire trips details but here are a few highlights:

In Atlanta, waiting for second flight to destination, Mom asked an older gentleman to watch bags so she could do a family bathroom break, accidentally waking him up.  Not only did he graciously agree to watch the bags, but he also heard the oldest girl, not even twenty minutes later, say she needed to potty.  He caught Mom's eye and nodded, allowing for the family to do yet another 20 minute long bathroom routine--involving the youngest girl crawling out of the stall while Mom was using the restroom and being picked up and entertained by a stranger, who called to Mom, "Don't worry, I've got her!"  --This trip is probably the only time I would ever be so damn grateful to strangers for picking up my children without my explicit permission! 

The flight attendents on all the flights were so helpful and encouraging.  In fact, one gentleman who gave the girls wings on the second flight also ended up responding to the youngest girl calling him "Daddy".  At first he kind of let it go, but by the end, when he was holding the oldest girls hand and carrying a bag for Mom he had given up and just said, "what is it honey?" each time she said "Daddy" and waved to him.  Another attendant walked the family all the way to it's connecting flight on the trip home, carrying a bag and helping the older girls get safely onto and settled into a bench on the train while a nice gentleman placed his foot in front of the stroller wheel to ensure it wouldn't move when the train started and stopped.  

And finally, just the sheer number of people willing to grab a bag or a child's hand, to offer assistance and an encouraging smile.  I was blown away by the level of encouragement and support I received.  I fully expected to hear a lot of groaning and see a lot of eye rolling.  I was not at all prepared to have multiple strangers on each leg of the trip stop me and tell me I was brave, that they respected me, that my children were well behaved and adorable.  I did not expect people offering to watch my bags, or even better, my children--particularly when my kids were melting down--all four of them--after being woken up from the last leg of our journey.  (But the flight attendents and a stranger on that last flight did just that, and with smiles and words of understanding on their lips!)  I didn't expect to see so many smiles and waves to the kids and so many individuals willing to engage them in small talk or indulge them with a wave back (20 times in some cases!).  I appreciated every smile, every subtle move to make things easier for us.  I appreciated the willingness to help and the understanding looks I received from so many people.

My faith in humanity was restored on this trip.  I am so much more optimistic about human nature.  I was blown away, and hope that maybe these little vignettes may help you see our world a little differently, a little more brightly, as well. 

Have you ever had a surprising experience that allowed you to check yourself on your thoughts of humanity?  Have you ever been pleasantly surprised by people's reactions to something or someone?  How long did that new faith last?  What did you do with it?  How did it change you?

For me, I just feel more confident in myself as a mother--particularly as a mother of so many young ones.  I feel seen and respected in a way that I never did before.  I always thought strangers were looking at me and thinking--"What was she thinking, having four kids that close together?  Why in the world would she attempt to bring them all to a store/park/college campus/airport/etc by herself? etc. etc. etc."  I feel less judged, less alone in society now.  I feel more supported and more encouraged.  And I can't even begin to describe how good that feels--to feel like I'm not an outcast from society--wondered at from afar, but instead a harried looking mom who people want to reach out to, help and encourage, and who some people may just respect.

 

Isn't it Ironic...don't you think?

Well, I have been somewhat MIA for the past nearly two months...because just as I was trying to decide whether to attack all the nasties in my back burner, life threw me another curveball.  I know, I know...I really shouldn't be surprised when considering my history with life's curveballs. 

I'm sure most of you have faced similar events where just as soon as you have figured out something that's been nagging your for awhile, make plans to tackle a big challenge, make a choice to let go of someone or something...life hits you, HARD, with something unpredictable, something that makes you change those choices, plans, or figuring.

That happened to me.  Tuesday, June 3rd.  Well, technically, June 2nd, 45 days early, I went into labor.  Granted, it took a full day to realize.  I didn't really have the time to stop and count those pesky (false, I thought) contractions when chasing and entertaining my girls.  It wasn't until they were all in bed that I had the chance to slow down enough to lay on my side, drink some juice and count contractions.  After an hour of regularly spaced, every 8-10 minutes, slightly discomforting contractions, I decided to take a bath just to make sure.  Then we went in to the hospital--around midnight.  Long story short, our son was on the way, nearly 6 weeks early. 

I wanted to simultaneously curse life, curl up and cry, and meet that sweet baby.  "This would happen to me" I thought to myself.  "Of course this would happen to me."  It's actually rather ironic, don't you think, that Tuesday was the day of my first counseling session to tackle the back burner, to face the fragility of life and my fear of it head on.  And here I was, once again, thrown into uncertainty and fear. 

And that was when I did what I seem to do best when faced with the enormity and unpredictability of life.  I let go.  Not in a "Jesus take the wheel kind of way", but in a realization that there was only so much I could control.  I did not know what would happen, how this baby would be upon birth but my worry would do nothing but stress me, him, and the whole labor process.  So, I let go.  I let go of my fears and I let go of my hopes and I just focused on the labor...the one small part that I had any ounce of control over...and kept myself calm, slept as much as I could, and shut out any thoughts that might disrupt the focus on that moment, that single process. 

I faltered in that focus the moment he was born as I waited to hear his cry.  Minutes have never lasted as long in my life as those few I've waited to hear my children cry.  There is so much love and hope, so many dreams for the future, wrapped up in that first cry, in that verification that you did, in fact, create a living, breathing human being.  Saxby Rhett Anthony was born Tuesday, June 3rd around 2:30 pm weighing almost 6 lbs and needing just a touch of oxygen from his nurses before making his first cry.

Saxby with his two oldest sisters
4 days after birth, first day out of NICU

                                                 I barely had a moment to revel in the awesomeness that is life before being reminded of it's fragility.  Saxby was good, needed some help breathing at first, but for a preemie he was doing great.  I, on the other hand, was struck with increasingly intense pain in my side.  The doctors struggled to determine the cause and I struggled with the pain, not really dampened by the epidural, for nearly five hours.  At that point my doctor gave me two options:  continue to manage the pain or an exploratory surgery.  I chose the surgery without hesitation.

That's right, me, the one who just spent the last blog discussing her fears of another C-section and her plans to avoid one at all costs, had just chose to be opened up with no guarantee it would be worth it.

The process was again unnerving, made more so by the fact my husband could not join me this time.  I was determined to stay awake, to control that small part of my fate, whatever it may be.  I wanted to know if I would ever hold my son, if I would ever see my daughters meet him.  I wanted to know if I would be leaving that hospital on my own.  I must have been scared, but all I remember now is a strong drive to know what was wrong, to know if I would be okay.  I heard the doctors and nurses discussing what they were seeing, I heard their surprise and worry upon finding a large clot on my right ovary and tube, heard the urgency in their voices as they worked to remove it without breaking it, heard their relief upon it being safely placed in a jar and their awe as it burst immediately after.  Most of all, I heard their joy upon saving my life, upon having made the right choice.

Isn't it ironic, don't you think, that had I stuck with the fear of the fragility of life, had I not let it go, I would have refused the surgery and likely would have died.  Had I not let it go, had I fought labor and tried to hold it off, Saxby and I both would have likely died.

Isn't it ironic, don't you think, that the fear of the fragility of life almost kept me from experiencing all the joys of life.  The need to control, to hold on, almost robbed me of the few things I am able to control and hold on to.  I can only control so much, I can only choose so much...in the end, in terms of my life...I am only middle management.  Something greater, whether it's a god, fate, or just life makes the big calls and I have to manage the consequences of those calls.  I have a large hand in what occurs but trying to control more than I have the right or ability to can lead to some really dangerous and negative consequences.

Isn't it ironic that you must let go of control in order to gain control?

the stuff on the back burner eventually boils over...

There is nothing like being reminded of just how fragile life is...over and over and over again...especially when I am trying to grow a little, arguably more fragile life, inside of me.

Those of you who know me, or who follow the blog regularly, know my brother died a month ago...well, technically, a month and a week.  To be honest, I don't think I have even really begun to cope with it.  I had to make it through finals week--aka the week to begin and complete LOTS of VERY long research papers and presentations.  So, I put all my focus into that.  See, I'm really good at that--choosing what I focus on...putting things on the back burner.  It is how I "cope".  It's also one of the main reasons I believe I am able to manage children and a doctoral program at the same time--I turn one or the other off in order to complete the opposite. 

BUT, it's not so great when stuff refuses to stay on the back burner.  And that is what I have been experiencing the past couple days.  My dad was rushed to the ER Friday night with truly terrifying symptoms (inability to sit up or move his arms, not aware of who he was or where he was, etc.).  He was not getting enough oxygen into his system and was placed on a ventilator.  It really did not look good.  In fact, I had a bag packed for when I would need to head to SC to support my mom and sister and I couldn't stop thinking, "I'm going to lose HALF of my family in less than 6 weeks.  My mom is going to lose HALF of her life in what is literally a blink of the eyes."  Luckily, that didn't happen.  They were finally able to identify what they believe to be the cause of everything and he is now off of the ventilator and the confusion has lifted.

But...my God, isn't life fragile.  Unpredictable.  Hits you like a train, keeps going, then suddenly skids to a stop, only to then flow nice and calmly for days, weeks, months, years.  I have to admit to personally being shaken to the core by the past few weeks.  I am TERRIFIED.  It's easy to tell yourself everything is going to be okay when to you get close to the whole birthing experience when everything truly feels okay.  BUT, right now, my world doesn't feel okay.  It doesn't feel safe.  I cringe when my phone beeps or rings.  Every new ache or pain is cause for alarm.  Every little tightening sends me into immediate fear that labor is starting 8 weeks too early.  Every little muscle cramp or discomfort sends me into fear that another blood clot has formed.  I was so sure I wanted a VBAC--that's right...NO MORE C-sections for this Mama--not after the horror that was Anneliese's birth day...but this consistent reminding of my mortality, of this baby's immense fragility, makes me want to run to the comfort of control.  Of knowing the exact risks of not taking the one in thousands of chances that something will rupture.

However, is that really how I want to make choices?  Out of fear.  Out of the need to feel control over something?  Is that really what this is about?  It's not really control, it's the illusion of control.  It's not really safety or being "okay", it's the ability to talk yourself into believing it.  It's keeping all that is scary and unpleasant in the world, in my life, on that back burner.  True, I do it so I can face the everyday with the most optimism and strength I can muster...but that doesn't mean it's not there, it doesn't mean it's not going to boil over. 

I guess the real question is:  Do I slam the lid back on and just keep adding to the back burner OR do I move it forward and try to do something with it?  Do I have the strength of do something with it?  The desire?  I'll let you know when I decide...but, it is a possibility.

What do you keep on the back burner?  Is there something back there that has been boiling over?  Something you should really do something about?  How do you brace yourself for it?  How do you manage your back burner?

... ...

...No words.    That's how I keep feeling, what I keep saying.  I have no words for what my life is at this moment--not a single feeling word in my entire counselor and teacher vocabulary can truly identify what I feel at this moment.  What I've felt since that phone call.

A phone call meant to inform me that my little brother, my only brother, was dead.  That word always looks wrong when I type it.  Sounds so final and ugly when I use it in a sentence to explain why I was gone for a week from class and work.  Your dog dies, a deer is on the side of the road, dead...but people...they "pass on" or "move on" or "go to a better place" or "get called home."  But, what if that person, like my brother, didn't really believe in a  higher power or in the idea of moving on?  What if dead really is just dead?  As ugly and final as it sounds, it's almost liberating to use the "truth" when talking to people, when labeling for myself what happened.  He is dead.  He is not coming back.  Maybe he did move on, find peace, and now looks down on me...but, I don't know that for a fact...and neither does anyone who tells me that is what is happening.  In fact, most of those people would say, on a different day, that an individual who believed, spiritually, what my brother believed or behaved in some of the ways in which he behaved would not deserve to "find peace" in their religious world.  This makes me angry.  But cynical and angry is not all that I feel.

I feel nostalgic.  I feel disconnected.  The Glenn I knew is so different from the Glenn so many people are discussing on Facebook.  So much more complicated.  So much more in pain.  So many more parts than many of these people ever know existed.  I guess that's how it is with siblings--you see them in all their glory and in all their shit.  You see them at their best, their worst, and can see past the mask they put on for so many others.  I miss the Glenn before life got complicated--the one who pretended he couldn't care less what others thought but felt rejection so deeply.  The one who wouldn't say I love you, but instead would call me "Fat Man", the one who even though he didn't say it, I could feel the love and pride bleeding through him for our little sister and I.  I wish I knew the Glenn everyone else who has met him in the past couple years knew--the protector, the bear hugger, the funny guy.  But, I saw the Glenn behind that mask, the one who hurt so deeply from what he experienced during war that he was plagued by nightmares and a need to run away.  I saw a Glenn who was lost, not sure what he needed or where to get it.  And that makes me feel like a horrible person, a terrible sister.

I feel selfish.  Maybe I could have reached out more to that hidden Glenn.  Maybe I wouldn't feel so incomplete if he didn't die before we completely reconciled.  Maybe I needed to just accept him for what he chose to show the world, instead of pushing for him to be "him."  Perhaps I would've gotten more "Fat Man's" if I just let him run.  But, then I wouldn't be his big sister, would I? 

I feel jipped.  I feel scared.  One of my children will never have the opportunity to meet him and the other three will likely not remember him as anything more than a photo on the mantle and stories of a couple family trips.  One thing that showed through his mask of late was his pride in being an uncle and his love for my girls, the twinkle in his eye when they would interact with him, and the sadness when that beard of his would make them a little nervous to go near him.  He once spent nearly an hour on the sidewalk outside of a restaurant in Charleston, SC holding and rocking my youngest.  I haven't seen him so content or proud in years...maybe never.  I thought we had years, decades.  I fully planned to do family trips and to have my kids watch his and our sister's future kids--because he would have them...just not for years.  I just knew it.  I feel so wrong.  All these feelings are compounded every time I watch my girls play, watch them hug each other.  Every time they fight or say mean things to one another.  I can't imagine the possibility of them losing one another, but I can't stop my mind from going there.  I can barely keep myself from reminding them to treat each other well and to never let a fight last over night between each other every single day.

Then, if possible, I feel nothing.  I have no motivation, no drive.  I stare at the computer for hours attempting to thank people for their concern and condolences or get a paper written for school.  I try to feel something besides mild annoyance that I can't grieve at the moment when going through the motions of parenthood or when Aaron tries to interact with me or support me.

I know this is a ridiculous stream of consciousness, but I've been struggling for nearly two weeks trying to find words.  Trying to say what is happening inside of me.  And this doesn't do it justice.  Doesn't do him justice.  Doesn't do US justice. 

I lost my brother.  My best childhood friend.  My protector and the thorn in my side.  He died way too early for no clear reason.  It's not fair.  It is the most awful thing I have ever had to experience, yet, I feel like I'm not experiencing it.  And I can't describe how it feels or what I'm thinking because I am feeling and thinking everything and nothing all at once.  There aren't words for this, because words come from prior experiences.  This experience is like nothing else.  I lost a part of me--a part I can't even remember living without.  I lost an integral building block of who and what I am.  I lost a part of my identity and can never rebuild it.  I, my children, lost days, weeks, months, years of interactions that would have contributed to who I am, they are.  That is a pain that is indescribable.

**I know many other people are experiencing similar pain and loss.  I do not want to take away for your pain, I was just trying to unpack mine.  I can't even begin to describe the additional layer of pain I feel for my parents, my sister, my Grammy....those who called Glenn friend, or brother in arms, those who had him in their lives on a daily basis.  My heart aches for all of you, for all of us.**

Out of chaos and exhaustion arises a sense of drive and fulfillment.

Well...I survived the time leading up to and into spring break as well as spring break and the professional conference.  What I haven't been able to do is recover.  I am EXHAUSTED!  It seems to be just one crazy time into another into another with no break time.  I should probably do my best to get used to this feeling as adding another baby and a 20 hour a week practicum (basically unpaid internship) to the mix isn't going to do much to increase my nap time or lessen my load.

In good/other news--I found the conference I attended to be well worth the time and cost.  It served as professional rejuvenation, in a sense.  I was starting to feel bogged down and as if I may be wasting my time...starting to question whether I could really make the change that I wanted post graduation or if it was all just wishful thinking.  This conference suggested multiple times that the type of change I want to have a hand in is not only exactly the type of change that needs to be occurring in the next couple years, but also that it is likely to be one of the main directions of my chosen profession.  I left the conference feeling validated and invigorated--ready to take on more research and wade through the mass of assignments I have due in the next month or so.  The push for actively advocating instead of pontificating on advocacy theory is precisely my long term goal.  This is what I am driven to do, to advocate for change in how difficult youth are viewed and treated in larger organizational/institutional settings--to push for more understanding, more focus on the importance of relationship in empathy and resiliency building.  Additionally, I felt heard.  I felt that my opinion, as inexperienced as it may be at a professional gathering, mattered and had worth and MEANT something.  It validated my belief that this is the career path for me, that my research interests (such as in my poster presentation on the importance of addressing attachment theory in practicum and internship training) align with some of those who are already in the field, that I am able to answer complex questions regarding my areas of interest and ADD to the conversation, not just take from it.  I am starting to feel a sense of belonging that I never quite felt in any of my prior professional/schooling experiences and it makes me that much more motivated and driven. 

As for the family side of things...I can't even put into words how amazing it was to watch my girls running around on a nearly empty beach in the late afternoon sunshine.  Each of them ran with pure elation and abandonment, gleefully screaming, as they chased birds, the water, and one another.  Pure joy is not something we see very often, but when we do, it is so contagious.  I literally could have sat there for hours soaking in their laughter, bright smiles, and little awkward running gaits.  I can't remember the last time I felt that kind of joy, of hope, of freedom from anything worrisome or dark.  I am so very grateful to have the opportunity to live vicariously through them, to be reminded of the wonder of nature, sand, sun, and the sea, to be filled with the feel of reckless abandon that comes with sprinting down the beach, laughing out loud, and kicking up sand and water, to be privy to the loving and breathless embraces and "this is the best time ever's" I would receive in between bird and wave chasing, and to witness the love and tenderness they showed one another as they wove between each other and carefully picked one another up if they happened to stumble.

Not often does an individual get a chance to be reminded of the importance of two of their major life roles in the same week--not like this.  I feel blessed to attempt to maintain this balance and to find joy and purpose in both ends.

Where have you found a sense of purpose?  of joy?  Do you believe the two often occur together or are they completely separate from one another for you?  Please feel free to share you thoughts or experiences--I want to learn from all of you!

Go, Go, Go and BREATHE--my midterm week and the promise of a break on the horizon

It is that time of year.  Those of you who have experienced any type of college education know what I am talking about...the week before spring break.  Also known as the week that all midterm projects, tests, papers, etc. are thrown into.  Those of you who have experienced parenthood know what I am talking about as well...the dreaded flu season.  Also known as the week that all of you children will wake in the middle of the night with projectile vomiting, exploding diapers, and/or any number of whiny aches and pains and a strong desire to do nothing more than cling to you side for at least 24, usually 72, hours straight.  AND in what is my traditional "luck of the draw"--if you want to call it luck--these two weeks seem to always...yes, i said ALWAYS fall either back to back or on top of one another.  It may be God's way of trying to prove to me that procrastination may not actually be the best way to cruise through my doctoral program...

Anyways, what this basically means for my family and I is that I, the student, is getting very little sleep and many, many hours in front of computer screens and a "Power Analysis Assignment" in the hope of at least completing the three main assignments due this midterm week, particularly since I, the mama, spent the majority of last week cuddling, consoling, holding hair, and changing bedsheets instead of getting a "head start".  Additionally, I am short on patience and time, and trying so very, very hard to not lose myself (or any of that precious time) daydreaming about several days in Charleston--one of my favorite places to be.  Of course, that also means I should somehow be packing a weeks worth of clothes and gear for myself and three small children--not to mention figuring out the logistics surrounding getting myself and the youngest, and just our clothes and gear, to Atlanta for a conference for the second half of the week.

So, for anyone interested here's my week schedule:

SUNDAY
spent nearly 7 hours working on research paper for policy class focused on the role of psychologists in national security.  The other hours were spent attempting church with girls and my husband (most of which I chased the youngest around the atrium and dealt with the resulting temper tantrums after barring her way into the men's restroom on several occasions) and dinner at my husbands parents.

MONDAY
took girls to daycare, spent the entire 8 hour work day completing the policy paper followed by 4 hour policy class.  Home by 10:30 pm.

TUESDAY
oldest through tantrums most of morning regarding the barrette I put in her hair--apparently on the wrong side, took girls to school, actually did some work for GA, attempted to outline concepts from social psychology class in which the final is to "integrate material from different sources and perhaps with different histories, theoretical sources, etc.  The idea is to see the overlap, mutual implications.  You are to do 3 of these with a maximum of 2 pages each.  Each will analyze 3 concepts.  Find three different concepts from different sources that are related."  Get frustrated with the open endedness of this exam and write the current blog post.  Go to class from 1-5, then assist in teaching Master's level course till 8.  Go home and attempt to finish outlining social psych concepts.

WEDNESDAY
take girls to school (tantrums likely to occur), write social psych midterm--will likely take me till at least three.  Begin to work on the 10 question power analysis assignment--this is second year of stats work and I'm over my head.  Go home spend time putting girls to bed...maybe talk to husband for a few moments...continue to work on stats.

THURSDAY
make breakfast for girls, take them to gym so I can have two additional hours to complete stats work, consider then taking them home and doing early naps to have additional time.  Go to class, turn in social psych final, pretend I read anything this week for next class, pick up poster for presentation at conference in Atlanta, slide finished stats under professors door and go to evening class.

FRIDAY
run around like a mad women, attempt to keep patience with girls, and pack for trip.  Travel all night.

SATURDAY
soak up the beautiful sun and warmth and hospitality that is Charleston.  Enjoy good food and a beautiful walk with my girls.  and BREATHE.

**Attempt to eat relatively regularly and healthily throughout the week--there is a baby growing inside of me, after all**

Luckily this isn't how most weeks look...at least not this hectic.  But, this is a reality and the likelihood this will occur as nicely as described is rather small...particularly with that flu bug continuing to hang around.  So, wish me luck, send a few extra moments my way, and I hope anyone facing either of these terrible weeks (or both) is able to find a way to successfully wade through and find the time and chance to breathe at the end.

How do you etch out a few moments in stressful weeks to stop and breathe?  How do you know you have pushed yourself too far--what is your breaking point where you think enough is enough, I need a breather?

How Do I Raise a Boy?

       As most of you likely already know....baby Poklar number 4 is a boy.  Yep, it's true...believe me, I made the ultrasound technician show me his little baby penis multiple times before I would actually believe it.  Also, as most of you probably know...this was exactly what I thought I wanted...a boy--the chance to raise at least one boy.  But, if I am being honest...I didn't experience euphoria upon seeing that little penis and hearing the baby called "him" throughout the ultrasound, but instead, I felt a rising tide of panic and uncertainty.
         Remember, I have had almost four years now to agonize over how to raise a girl in today's world....in addition to my own personal experience of being a female.  I have NO clue what it means to be a boy in today's world...or really, to be a boy, period.  To be honest, I don't really know what to do with a boy--and I don't mean the whole love them and feed them and meet their needs things--I mean I don't know what I picture a grown man in our 20 years in the future society looking like.  I don't know what to prepare him for, what traits to cultivate in his early years and which to try to temper.
          With my girls I know I want to raise them to be strong and independent, to capitalize on their intelligence and talents.  I know that I want that strength and independence to be tempered with a sense of justice and true caring for others.  I want them to have strong minds and soft hearts, to stand for what's right and speak out against the wrong.  I want them to have a strong sense of purpose and direction but the ability to questions themselves and their actions without falling to pieces.  I want them to openly love and laugh and live life fully--capable of protecting themselves, one another, and others from the world but not becoming hardened by it.  I KNOW--BIG hopes and dreams...but they are there...there is a clear way I want my girls to view the world and their place in it.
         However, I'm not sure this same type of placement makes sense for raising a boy--in an ideal society, yes...in today's...I don't know.  I fear encouraging too much softness or tempering too much strength.  I worry that in today's world there is so much push for young boys to be raised without being told to "man up" or "be a man" BUT then grown men are expected to do just that.  It seems that society sends mixed messages through media--both fictional and news coverage--regarding the role of a man in relationships.  I want my son to have strong and healthy relationships outside of the family, particularly as he reaches adolescence and young adulthood--but I don't really know what that ideal looks like from a male perspective and I fear girls of his generation will have biased and conflicting expectations based on society's suggestions.  I know I ideally want him to be much like what I described my girls...but I don't know how to get him there OR if that world view will make him an outsider, someone unable to connect with those around him in a meaningful way.
         I guess I have another four years or so to try to figure it out before I am "behind" on raising him.

       What are your thoughts?  What do you think it takes to "make" it in today's world?  Is it different for boys and girls/men and women?  What may we be losing when we attempt to either encourage or temper one trait or another?  How do you raise a boy to be both successful in the working world and in the realm of family and close relationships?  a girl?  Is equal always the same?

Be Illogical in your Definition of Who You Are

 Something I find myself wondering as an individual, a mother, and a professional is when is it that life or society begins to really squeeze or pressure children to "become" something.  What can parents do to halt, or limit, it?  When did I, as an individual, loose pieces of me that I wanted to keep?  What can I do as a professional to help teens and/or adults reclaim pieces of themselves or children maintain that sense of wonder or innocence, or spark of joy, for as long as possible?  Why is it that we, us grownups, are blase about the loss of this joy and wonder in our own lives?  Are we...let me rephrase that...am I...really that jaded?  How can I expect my daughters to maintain it if I can't hold onto it myself?

I love that my eldest runs into the room in a princess dress with a blanket cape and announces she is "Spiderman Princess Superhero" for the day and doesn't expect to be questioned about how those three fit together.  I love how my middle girl stubbornly insists she is a big girl when climbing the steps, refusing to hold an adults hand, but will cry for a bottle at nap time.  I dread the day when logic starts to play a defining role in how they view the world.  Granted, I want them to be able to navigate the world successfully...and that does require logical thinking...but I don't want them to lose the ability to make quick judgments based on feelings--to be led by their hearts to choose the harder or less traveled path--because it feels right.  I want them to believe they can be "Dancer Academic Rugby Player" or the teenage girl that still wants to hold her Daddy's hand--though these don't seem logical or "normal" in today's society--I want my girls to know its possible.  It is possible to be a strong young lady while also still being polite, it's possible to speak your mind without belittling others, it's possible to tackle the struggles in life while still being awed by the blessings.  It is possible to be so incredibly stressed by the everyday while still maintaining a joy in your place and your position in your family, your world, your life.  I want my girls to remember this and I want myself to remember this.  I may not be naive and innocent, but I can still find joy in the smile of my youngest and the incessant questioning/snuggling combo perfected at five a.m. by my just awoken oldest.  I can still find wonder in my middle girl's eyes as she touches my ever growing stomach and declares it is her baby, while I also feel the slightest movements of the life growing within me.  My life is filled with awe-inspiring and joy-sparking moments--I just need to be open and aware of them.  I need to stop falling into the "stressed grad student/mom routine" societal norms and play into my "Mommy Investigator Life-Savorer-and-Changer" role as complex and illogical as that may seem at times.

Yes, these roles countradict and yes, it is often impossible to be all of these at once...BUT, I'd rather be a sometimes failure in this new definition than a perfect example of the " Stressed and Tired Mom and Grad Student."  I refuse to view myself in that way.  I refuse to expect nothing more out of myself than mediocre, tired, and stressed parenting and academic pursuits.  And, I want more than anything in the world, my girls to grow up to define themselves, to choose how they view themselves, to not let others define them and the importance of their various traits to themselves and the world.  I want them to be willing to hold seemingly contradictory strengths and traits and to see the value in using both to define themselves and their roles in the world.  I want to support this, grow it, encourage it.  I hope to provide a model, an inspiration to them.  To show that perseverance, flexibility, passion are all important pieces to showing love for oneself and appreciation for one's own strengths and abilities--regardless of how others view those traits.

I challenge you to embrace the many parts of yourself that you hold dear and dare to be them all at the same time--dare to be illogical.  Dare to find the joy underlying your stress, the awe underlying your frustrations and dare to embrace those while letting the stress and frustration fall into a lesser role in your life.

Where is my motivation? Why do I need motivation?

I am about a month into semester 2 of the many, many (okay, roughly 12-14) I have to complete for my phd and I am already feeling like I am crawling towards the finish line.  Not such a great start, huh?  The truth is, I can't figure out what it is that has me so slowed down and unexcited.  I want to blame it on being pregnant...you know, exhaustion and all that jazz...and I'm sure that's part of it.  But, I think it may be something bigger....something harder to conquer.  I mean, at least with pregnancy, there is an end in sight...albeit very very far away.

No, I think it may be more along the lines of losing my belief in myself.  Somehow I've started to lose, tiny bit by tiny bit, my belief that this is all worth it.  That I will someday be the change I picture in my mind.  Somewhere along the way, I let self-doubt creep its way in and burrow back into its familiar place in my mind.  And, I am struggling to find the energy to push it back out. 

Aaron and I were talking the other day about people who are content with the status quo.  Those who never viewed themselves as doing anything more than living life--with no higher purpose, drive, or desire.  Sometimes, particularly recently, I wish I could be like that.  Live like that.  Ignorance is bliss.  If I never wanted anything more than what I had, I would be so content, so happy.  Let's be honest, I wouldn't know what I was missing...and, better yet, I wouldn't care. 

Yes, motivation and drive and passion and all that jazz leads to great things, incredible things.  IF you make it.  If not, you only see what you didn't get, you only know you reached high, but couldn't cut it.  If you had never thought to reach, then you wouldn't have missed.  I KNOW, I KNOW...pessimist, much?

I don't think it's really even that.  I think I'm scared.  I don't want to fail.  I don't want to have lived and dreamed only to say in the end I lived and failed.  I get the whole you have to fail to enjoy the victories and the importance of the drive and the passion.  I am just terrified that I'm not cut out for it....that I was never meant to dream this big, to reach this high.

Yet...here I am.  Here I am and I have three small, impressionable, curious, and innocent little girls watching my every move...and another child soon to join the ranks.  Do I want them to live ignorantly in bliss or do I want them to truly experience life--its ups and downs--and truly value that which they have...that which they have made for themselves?  As much as ignorance is bliss to those experiencing it...it is missing so much depth and color, so much love and laughter, so much heartache and growth, so much pain and pleasure.  I want to experience the full breadth of life.  I want my girls to experience not only all that life has to offer, but all that they can squeeze out of it.

And that...that is my motivation.  That is the small voice pushing back against self-doubt.  I will never know if I am cut out for it if I never try.  I will never make anything more out of myself than what I am at this moment, this second if I don't continue to push.  I won't continue to blaze a path of determination and drive for my girls to model if I don't keep moving forward.  I will fall and I will fail and I won't become the person I see in my mind...but, perhaps, just maybe, I will become something even better and encourage my girls to believe they can, too.

What path would you like your child to take?  What fears do you have regarding breaking out of the ignorance is bliss mode so common in today's society?

In Need of a New Title

Well, I guess it's time to come clean to you all...not just my Facebook friends...and elaborate more fully one of the newest pieces of news for our little (okay, big by today's standards) family.

Baby number four is on its way...actually, it has been for the past 15 weeks or so.  And I have spent nearly every minute of those 15 weeks going back and forth between, "I've got this" and "I'm going to go absolutely insane."  A moment of complete and total honesty...I Am Terrified.  Truly and Completely Terrified.  I have absolutely no clue how I am going to manage four children, four years old and younger and not only work on my school work, but also carry my 20 hour graduate assistantship (because we now are used to the meager income it provides and the fact it pays for a large portion of my school) and a new 20 hour a week practicum set to start about six weeks after the projected birth of the baby.

That is more hours than what a week contains!  I am saddened by the fact that I know this little one will get the shit end of the stick with me being home only on the weekends--no full days with his or her darling little face.  I fear what that will mean for his/her development as I spent so very much time with my first, and increasingly less with each one after.  I fear for our bond, for their growth, that they won't feel loved or important.  But, at the same time, I can't stop.  If I stop the other half of my MommyStudent journey to just focus on Mommy I will lose a part of me and that would also affect our bond and my ability to stimulate growth and provide for my children...all of them.  So here I am, making what I feel is the best decision for our ever growing family, knowing it may not be the best decision for the little one growing inside of me and I hope that it is all worth it in the long run.  I pray and fervently wish that all this hard work, all this sacrifice, all these dreams and goals and plans come to the fruition that I see in my mind and that they are worth it, worth putting before my family, worth choosing to not just work part time and have that time with my children as they grow.  Sadly, I won't know, I won't be able to see the true results for so many many years...I just have to trust my gut, take the punches and "know" I'm on the right path.

Additionally, I am fearful about the birth.  I have never been this scared going into the birthing process--not even with my first--but I also had never experienced a C-section prior to any of the others.  I pray to get through this without another one as my previous c-section experience was traumatic to say the least.

So...all those fears are swirling around while my head pounds, my shoulders ache, my energy deteriorates and I continue to propose new posters for conferences and articles for newsletters, volunteer to assist in teaching a masters level course, and push myself harder and harder academically.  I can only hope and pray that I hit my walls on weekends or over breaks because I can't seem to be able to, or willing to, slow down and take it easy.

When have you felt yourself driven despite warnings from others (and/or yourself) that you may be pushing too hard?  Where did that drive originate from?  Was it worth it--or are you, like me, going to have to wait a while to find out?

Catch Up--Part 2--School/Research/etc.

Again, So VERY sorry for the late update!  I have been anti-anything involving typing or serious thought for the past few weeks.

It feels good to say I have successfully completed my first "real" semester of my doctoral program (true, I did do summer courses...but that was more like "practice".)  It sounds ridiculous, but I actually have missed school over the past few weeks; in fact, in sounds cliché, but it feels as if something is missing when I'm not in class, reading interesting (true, maybe only to me) articles, questioning and pushing myself and the world in general, and trying to place as many of my interests as possible into a nice, neat, and beneficial research project.

Speaking of research...it is truly amazing how much my disjointed ideas regarding research have really started to come together and become more cohesive after just a single semester requiring two different research proposals.  I am so happy I chose to do these on things I am really interested in as opposed to going the "easy" route of just building on research I'm doing with faculty or prior studies for the purpose of securing an "easy A".  Granted, it was a much more difficult road, but it did allow me to delve into current research in my interest areas and wade through my own thoughts and hopes regarding my future research aspirations. 

For those of you who may be interested in knowing where my research interests lie--I am incredibly interested in identifying what makes extraordinary teachers able to truly connect with their students and aid in resiliency building.  Additionally, I am interested in what programming and/or training can be implemented in schools, institutions (juvenile detention centers, community centers, teacher training programs, hospitals, etc.) that will lead to better outcomes--academically, emotionally, socially--for the youth receiving services; this is particularly salient for youth considered "at risk". 

Anyways, I'll keep you posted on my progress in the research realm!

Finally, as a member of the executive board of Student Affiliates of Seventeen (a division for counseling psychology students housed under the American Psychological Association APA), I am tasked with building a multi-level mentorship program over the next few years.  So, in all my immense amounts of free time I have been trying to create a structure for this--and it is this task that seems to be the most difficult for me.  It seems like such a large task with such little guidance or direction....so, it is on this topic that I leave you with a multitude of questions:

What do you look for in an ideal mentor?  What would the perfect mentorship program include?  Have you ever served as a mentor?  If so, what led you to choose to do so? What was beneficial about it?  What was a pain?  If not, why not?  Thank you for any help!

Catch Up--Part 1--the Kiddos

Hello All!

Sorry, I've been kind of MIA the past few weeks.  I was enjoying the holidays with my family and "unplugged" as much as possible post final week of the semester--you know, reading for pleasure, catching up on stupid television shows, and ignoring my ever growing to-do list just to feel as if I were somehow "relaxing" and "enjoying my break".

For those of you who read to follow my girls shenanigans, the following is a quick catch-up in the going ons in their lives:

         The Oldest:  Second year up on skis--taught herself how to jump much to the annoyance of her dad who was trying to get her to go faster, bedtime is becoming an increasingly long struggle complete with a routine that last longer than most kids television shows, independence and attitude are often hard to separate in this one and I find myself struggling to keep my cool when the "I don't want a Mama", the spitting, and the toy throwing inevitably occur, the random "I love you", "Your a good Mama", and "You made a delicious dinner" pretty much make up for all the annoyances listed previously, she has become really good at logical thinking--including catching me in little white lies intended to make our day run smoother, she can write three letters of her name and spell her nickname, playing catch has become a nearly daily occurrence and she is actually pretty good at both throwing and catching, and she begins dance lessons on Saturday.

         The Middle:  Went skiing for the first time and loved it...she may be even more fearless than the oldest, in the process of learning her ABC's, loves to read--her favorite book is a preschool workbook which she makes me read almost every night, enjoys pretending to be a dog or a baby that the Oldest takes care of, can be so very very sneaky--an example from just now--she and her older sister are grudgingly taking turns using this ramp for cars and during the Oldest's turn she quietly and gently pushed the ramp just a few centimeters but enough to make the Oldest's car fall off the ramp and her own turn to begin again, doing this several times before the Oldest caught on, she is really coming out of her shy shell and is now the first to say hello to visitors and hug family that hasn't been seen in a while, the terrible twos are in full force but so is the desire to just cuddle up for long periods of time, and she wants to begin dance but is still too young so the Oldest has agreed to teach her what she learns.

          The Baby:  Officially up and walking...though crawling is still her preferred method of travel, she can maneuver the walker like a champ--backing up and spinning around with grace--it's actually quite impressive, babbling has become an almost nonstop thing with Mama's and Dada's, seeing her sisters in the morning appears to be the highlight of her morning complete with big smiles, waves, and attempting to jump into their arms, she has begun to play intently with sorting toys when not trying to eat her sister's play dough littered throughout the playroom, Zipper (our Boxer) is her best friend and they both enjoy her "riding" on his back, she continues to be a fantastic child with very very little fussing and is so very happy and friendly, and she thoroughly enjoys the nightly bedtime routine of rocking and singing and one on one time.

            The Mommy:  I miss school!  I love being home with my girls and watching them grow and learn and actually play together (a relatively new phenomenon)...but, it is so very draining.  It's hard to keep my patience when I am doing it all day every day--particularly with the attitude of the Oldest.  But, at the same time, I feel so blessed to have the opportunity to spend this time with them that we will never be able to get back.  All the annoyances and stressors, the whining and the arguing, will be such small parts of our memories of the times we spent together when we look back in five, ten, fifteen years.  The days are long but the years are short and I hope I am being that "good enough" parent that allows them to look back on their young childhood years with a smile and a laugh and in fondness despite days that may have been marred by arguments or a mom with too little patience.

          What is your fondest childhood memory?  Is it one specific thing/event/family activity or an overall sense of your childhood?  What types of memories would you like your children/future children to hold?  How do you fight the impatience and annoyance of your daily grind--whether it's kids, bosses, mundane tasks, etc?