IT'S NOT ABOUT THE CREAM CHEESE! IT'S ABOUT THE CREATIVITY!

I'm reading a book by Questlove. The drummer for The Roots. You likely know them. They are the house band for The Tonight Show starring Jimmy Fallon. The book is titled "Creative Quest" I started it almost a year ago I guess. I was gulping it down the way a kid gulps and gasps the water out of the yard hose after running around on a hot Arizona day.

His book was stripping away all the intimidating and false beliefs I had about creativity and inspiring me to look beyond my fears and just start grabbing every piece of random creative candy I could get my grubby little hands on. It was like he was Bill the candy man in the 1971 (Incidentally, the year I was born.) family film "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory". The jolly man with the blue and red striped shirt and bow tie sings; "Who can take a sunrise, sprinkle it with dew, cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two? The candy man! The candy man can."  as he climbs up a ladder attached to the wall and glides along it's width grabbing hand fulls of candy from the shelves and tosses them like rain drops to the the children below who jump and squeal with delight as they try to catch their fill.

That's how I felt reading his book. Questlove was the candy man tossing me brightly colored sweet treats of beautiful creativity. I was desperate to re-engage that part of my mind and soul that had been starving for attention in hopes of sparking some form of creativity. So I was gobbling up every nugget of gooey filled creative candy he was raining down on me. If you wanna go back in time a little bit just watch this delightful clip and you'll see what I'm talking about.

"The candy man can cuz he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good." 

 Then the floor fell out from under me over the summer and I went falling into a rabbit hole of crisis the way Alice fell into Wonderland while waving good-bye to her cat Dina, "Good-bye Dina. Good-byyyyeee..."

"Good-bye creativity. Good-Byyyyeee..." I would tell you all the things that created the crisis mode but it's not really all that important or relevant to this story. Sufficient enough to say that it's been about 8 months since I'd been able to pick up my creative candy book again. I've only been able to read a dozen pages or so in the past few weeks but I carry it around with me wherever I go just in case I can shut down the busy work both physically and mentally, long enough to read a page or two.

Anyway, that's a lot of blah blah blah that is really more for my benefit than your entertainment. Actually, this whole thing is for my benefit. You being entertained would be a bonus.  So that's why I'm not too worried about whether you're enjoying it or are already bored reading it. Actually that's not entirely true. I do care what you think but not in the way you might imagine. Your opinion is the reason I share it. Not for your approval but because I'm terrified of your judgment. I believe in order to overcome one of my particular fears as it relates to writing and be able to feel the joy of having done something creative, the thing I'm desperate to do, I must display it publicly for all to see. I have to open myself up to criticism. Display all my typos, poor grammar, misspellings, and bad storytelling in all it's shameful glory for the world to see. Or even the possibility of no one reading it and it being ignored by millions because it's not even interesting enough for someone to take the time to read it. So this is why I write and share it. Either someone reads and says, "That's cool." or "That's the weirdest and possibly most, nonsensical, boring thing I've ever read." or ... Nothing, because no one cared to read it at all. I'm delighted at any and all such prospects.

 I am aching for ways to feel more like a whole person and be something less like a human doing and more like a human being. I am horrible at stopping in the middle of my day and taking time to think and see creatively. I have endless to-do lists that exhaust me and twist me up in knots inside to the point of anxiety and panic. Which leads me to mental exhaustion and the state of being paralyzed.  The thought of trying to access the part of my brain that is now buried under a mountain of "have to's" is so discouraging to me. It's just easier to flop down on the bed or chair or floor or whatever is nearest to me and a smart device or television. I'm looking for the thing that will disconnect me from the responsibilities of my life and take me away to a make-believe world of adventure, mystery, drama (that isn't my own) or laughter. But if I'm being honest with myself, more often than not, I'm not really recharging my emotional or mental batteries. I'm just avoiding life and the act of truly living. Which in the end really doesn't make me more productive in the work and responsibilities I will have to return to. So what do I do?

I tell you what "It's Not About The Cream Cheese" is really about. It's about this one day when my son was about 3 years of age. He's now almost 23. It was a summer day in Encinitas, CA. We'd been out most of the morning engaged in a volunteer work and Bubba (that's not his actual name, it's my nickname for him) was hungry and I was tired. So we hit up the local bagel shop. He loved bagels and cream cheese. Correction, he like cream cheese on a bagel. He didn't actually want the bagel. Every time I ordered it for him he would lick off the cream cheese and only eat a bite or two at most, of the actual bagel. I got so irritated with him because I didn't really see 4 tablespoons of schmeer as any kind of healthy snack for a 3 year old. I remember saying to him, "Bubba, it's not about the cream cheese. You have to eat the whole thing." Then it hit me. '"It's not about the cream cheese..." You know that would be a great title for a book some day. I want to use that." It felt like it was a perfect metaphor for particular aspects of life.

Let me try to explain. The cream cheese is just the topping. It's not really meant to be taken as a whole meal. In life there are many things that MIGHT be considered "cream cheese" such as, anything that falls into the category of recreation. A steady diet of cream cheese alone, literally or figuratively, will only lead to disaster.  I digress.

What I really want to say is this. I have never forgotten that title nor my desire to write a humorous book about the mess life makes and why we can and should laugh at it all. I don't know if I'll ever get to that book. I sincerely hope I do. Maybe some day someone will say, "Hey Sunny, I'd like to pay you enough money to hire someone to take care of your 'to-do' list so you can sit down and write that New York Best Seller that you've been dreaming about writing for the last 20 years." (Just putting that out there.) But I know that I have to start somewhere by actually creating something. Like this "blog". (I have a great distaste for the word "blog". I don't know that I can clearly articulate why. Not that it matters aaaaand I've digressed yet again.)

In conclusion, I just needed to write. I needed to go back to when I was just a little girl and I'd get in trouble, be sent to my room and not allowed to watch T.V. We didn't have smart phones back then so that was a non issue. But I remember being alone in my room not really interested in anything other than T.V. and starting to feel a sense of madness settle in. Thinking "Oh my God, what am I going to do?! I'm sooooo bored!" Eventually I forced myself to dig around in my toy box looking for something to play with, something to fill the void and quiet the terrifying screams of boredom. Before long that part of my brain that had become lethargic and near atrophy would wake up from it's hibernation and my imagination would come to play with me. Soon hours would pass and I'd find myself having so much more fun in my room with boring toys than I did watching T.V. Looking back now not only did I have more fun but I was filling a deep need that I was completely unaware I had and would continue to need to fill for the rest of my life but wouldn't.

I lied that's not my conclusion.

Today I don't ever get bored. I'm too busy to get bored but Questlove said something in his book that reminded me of those quiet times in my room. He said something interesting in relation to the distractions of the Internet but I think it's principle idea can actually be applied to almost anything, He said, "You are into everything but you are into nothing." He goes on to explain how when he finds himself "nervously bouncing " around the Internet, he says, "I shut the computer, or at least shut my eyes for a second so that I can't feel the computer. I let the distraction become boredom. And when the distraction shifts into boredom, that's the seed of something creative."

I don't know if I fully grasp in clarity what he was saying but then I read this, "...it's actually a way of clearing space for a new idea to spring back up." That's it! Those were the words that resonated with me, taking me back to my childhood 'time-out'. When the things that were distractions from creativity were taken away from me and distraction was replaced with boredom that's when I made room in my mind for something new that I could create. Granted, I don't know if that falls into Questlove's realm of meaning but it's what I heard and it's what moved me uncontrollably to start writing. Right here right now today. Without hesitation or fear or worry about what I've got to get done, what I should be doing, what will be waiting for me when I finally finish this. I'm not even really worried about sounding completely crazy due to the embarrassing lack of connection to the seeming randomness of my thoughts. None of it matters right now. In this moment the only thing on my "to-do" list is "write!"

Think of this blog like one of those songs filled with cryptic lyrics that don't seem to connect to one another or make any sense. But it's left up to each listener to decide what it means to them. Maybe he or she is struck by one verse or phrase that means something to them. It might not mean the same thing to the writer but it doesn't matter. They both felt something. Most importantly, I feel a little more whole, a little more me, a little more Sunny. And I like that Sunny.

Without Rhyme, Not Without Reason

The battle between structure and freedom
letting go and holding on
fighting harder and giving in

Who are you?
What do you want?
Where do you want to be?

Trying too hard to hold on to things not within possession
Needing the wanted desire
Hungry for the touch
Thirsty for the sound

Looking at me seeing someone else
Looking at me seeing nothing at all
Looking at me seeing imagination

Who are you?
What do you want?
Where do you want to be?

Everything's locked away deep inside
Afraid to let it show
Afraid to let them know

Looking at me seeing someone else
Looking at me seeing nothing at all
Looking at me seeing imagination

Listening hard to hear the silence
Seeking to find the answers to the questions
Asked inside my mind
Understanding lay beneath the darkness of insecurity

Who are you?
What do you want?
Where do you want to be?

Shackles on feet
Small steps keep forward movement
Falling backwards
Leaving dreams with the sunrise upon the bedroom pillow

Looking at me seeing someone else
Looking at me seeing nothing at all
Looking at me seeing imagination

Wonder Woman vs. Mom

Wonder Woman by Jeffach

     Sometimes I wish I was Wonder Woman. Just look at her face. She's focused, confident, strong and yet feminine. I love the way this artist has portrayed her in this photo. She's not angry. She doesn't appear tormented, frustrated or vengeful. She's just there to help others in need.

     The other thing I love about her is that what she does is considered honorable. Her 'job' if you will, affords her dignity and respect. Those she helps are grateful and appreciate what she's done.

     It's not quite the same with motherhood. It's not a glamorous life. Mom's often wake up, walk to the bathroom mirror and see a face full of fear, frustration, insecurity and anxiety. She might then try to wash the baby vomit off her pajamas, cut the gum out of her hair and wipe the crust from her eyes while desperately pleading with God to help her pull it together so she can face all the challenges of the impending day.

     Once in a blue moon I would have a day where I felt like Wonder Woman. I accomplished everything I needed to accomplish that day and then some; laundry, work, grocery shopping, cooking and cleaning. The kids were actually almost nice to each other and I successfully veered any signs of impending disaster off into a safe zone. Three out of five kids ate a healthy gluten, soy, dairy, GMO free breakfast that was prepared with love. No one spilled it all over the floor and the gummy bears were chosen for dessert NOT dinner. Homework was done before T.V., texting, tweeting, snapping or pinning. Everyone was in bed with lights out at the designated curfew hour and for the cherry on top your son who recently acquired his own vehicle and doesn't spend much time at home any more, sends you a text that reads, "I love you mama!" How sweet it is. I would take a deep sigh of relief feeling great satisfaction in my perceived success. I was however thoroughly exhausted and couldn't wait to flop my face into my pillow, but it felt amazing. Then morning comes and you quickly realize that today is not going to be anywhere close to a Wonder Woman day.

  Overnight everything is turned on end.  Two of the children are fighting with each other, while the others are sulking and moody. One refuses to eat all day, one complains that there's no food in the house, although yesterdays' $200 grocery bill would argue otherwise. Three say they hate school because it's pointless, the teachers are stupid and they aren't learning anything they'll ever need as adults. Then you realize what a mess you are. All your short term memories have been erased from your brain. You forgot that you volunteered to be a parent chaperon for one of the kids' field trips, that you promised your daughter that you'd buy her the ingredients for her cookies she's making for her school economics project tomorrow,  that your husband needs the dry cleaning picked up because he's out of work shirts. But the cleaners closes in 15 min. and you've burned the chicken diner because you accidentally set the oven temperature too high and the salad is brown and moldy because you bought a bag that was expired. Ahhh, well it was nice to feel like a superhero for at least one day. At lease there were no trips to the ER. The car didn't break down and I didn't bounce a check this week. So it was kind of a good day right...?

     What I think is sad is, how often does society offer great accolades to mothers? When does she get to be honored and respected by a theater full of her peers? There are no metals of valor, awards and televised ceremonies where all the hard working dedicated moms of our society get to be draped in Dior, Versace, or Winston as they walk a velvet red carpet waving to crowds of adoring fans taking their picture while screaming their names just hoping they'll wave to them. Not only does the average stay at home mother not get props for her role in the family but social media touts many celebrity moms as "having it all"; successful career, entrepreneur, activist, humanitarian, and modern day Martha Stewart. For crying out loud! We're just trying to get through the day getting kids to and from school, on time to soccer practice and the ballet recital. Prodding them to take showers, brush their teeth, wear clean clothes, eat moderately healthy foods while cleaning a toilet, cooking dinner, assisting with homework, balancing check books and not losing your cool because the kids keep sneezing all over the family computer keyboard, leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor and  because you keep stepping in some kind of unidentified sticky substance that no one wants to clean up off the kitchen floor. 

   We haven't even addressed the really hard stuff a parent must deal with. School yard bullies, peer pressure to have sex or take drugs, pornography, sexting and how to protect your six year old from sexual abuse. These moments in life have a way of bringing you to your knees. You no longer feel like Wonder Woman, but rather identify more with Mr. Magoo! You feel completely ill equipped to deal with these issues and are terrified that you'll screw it all up.

Mr. Magoo by Paul Carlson

       What I've come to realize is that much of society today and perhaps remnants of the 1950"s  "Ozzie and Harriet"  persona has influenced mothers (or maybe just me) to believe that their worth is dependent on how much they accomplish. That their value is in how clean the house is, how healthy and well prepared dinner is, how much do they contribute or save financially and so on. It's a horrible way to measure ones self. You set yourself up for failure and self-disappointment. You will inevitably fail to give your family the best of who you truly are. You'll push yourself to live up to impossible expectations that have far less value than you realize and you will also quite likely, drop all the balls you juggle and plates you spin and find yourself crashing and burning in a spectacular display of humiliation.

      In fact the harder you push yourself to be Wonder Woman the more you become Mr. Magoo, making a mess of things and accomplishing absolutely nothing. If relationships are messy then families are the biggest slobs. The relationships in a family are complex, complicated and confusing. The sooner we can accept this fact and come to peace with it perhaps that's when our minds and bodies will begin to heal from the massive amounts of stress we put ourselves under. We can't be the perfect mom who has all the right answers and speaks with only gentle lilting tones all the time. We won't have the house looking neat, tidy and clean every day. We won't always have a sugar, gluten, soy, wheat free snack in the house to nourish and satisfy our children every day. Dinner will not always be filled with color and mouth exploding flavor and loaded with organic, sprouted, locally grown fruits and veggies that the children will love. Accepting this is not going to be easy.

    Those are some of the measuring lines I've used in the past to evaluate myself as a wife and mother. Now I ask myself, "What makes me truly valuable?". My vision of that is blurry, but slowly beginning to come into focus. In theory I know what it is but in practical terms that I can direct my focus on every day, I sometimes still struggle to grasp. Why does it seems that husbands don't have these same issues? Why don't they sweat the small stuff? But it's not about the small stuff. The small stuff is only representative of much bigger issues that terrify me? The stakes are high if you screw it up! These are lives were talking about, human people who will eventually have to take care of themselves and who want to find a mate and will likely procreate! I changed my mind! I don't wanna be a mom! I take it back!

    Hmmm... Perhaps another obstacle in our way is control and modesty. Are we trying to control too much, assuming too much ownership of things and people that we do not have authority over? What really is my responsibility to my family?

     I will say this. Having children has made me a better person. I just desperately want to do right for my kids. I love every one of those monkeys. I guess that's really the reason that motherhood scares me so much. I want them to be healthy, well adjusted, successful and happy adults. I want what every mother wants. We want our children to not have to suffer the same pains we did. To be better equipped to manage life's challenges than we were. But is that really even possible? That reality is not entirely up to us. I think our job is just to give them tools and teach them how to use them. It's up to them to decide if they will take our advice and use it or not. After that we must learn to let go. Let them find their way and leave a safe place for them to come home to and feel loved. Love... that's where a mother's real value lies. How well does she love? Not,"How well does she cook or clean?".

At the end of the day I realize that there is no Wonder Woman. There are no super celebrity moms who do it all. No one can. So I am going to try to keep working on changing my expectations of myself as a wife and mother. I will keep striving for balance and searching for wisdom from above and stop trying to be Wonder Woman and just be me.

Just me

    
    
    

Words Unspoken

The weeping is loud on this day.
Innocence is trampled on by selfish arrogance.
The tears of the mighty man fall silent for no one to hear.
His hands grow numb and his fingers white.
Fists of blame beat upon his chest in an attempt to seize his heart.
Fear wears the mask of anger while defeat dances through the halls of his mind.
Light is dim and darkness thickens the air making every breath too painful to take.
Struggling to see hope through the slits of the hands of evil that cover his eyes.
Faith whispers softly words of truth that fall upon his ears and seek to quiet the rage that is fueled by all his fears.

Eyes by Josi Fabri Desenhos (esteljf) 

Happiness for the unhappy

    

   I’ve been thinking a lot about being happy lately.  "Life Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness", is a well-known phrase in the United States Declaration of Independence. The phrase gives three examples of the "unalienable rights" which the Declaration says has been given to all human beings by their Creator, and for which governments are created to protect.” God’s own son, Jesus,  spoke of being happy at Matthew 5: 3-12. He listed nine things that would make people happy and then he said “Rejoice and be overjoyed,”. 

 Life in this current system of things, controlled by the devil often makes being happy difficult. I think that’s why you often find so many trying to encourage others to be happy and find happiness. You could peruse social media sites and find people posting dozens of ‘inspirational’ ‘happiness’ quotes every day. Of course what we pursue with the goal of happiness depends on our value system. As many will attest to, what we think will make us happy is not always what truly does make for happiness.

    What keeps spinning around in my mind is the idea of happiness being, as the Declaration of Independence speaks of as, an “unalienable right”.  I can’t help but wonder if it’s more than a right? And if happiness is not really dependent on circumstances or anything external, but rather the conscience choice of the individual to “be happy” then how can any government truly protect that right that is in the sole control of the individual themselves?

     I know that there are things that can rob us of a measure of joy or happiness. Things like death and sickness. However, I know that Jesus words there in Matthew indicate that even those things should not be able to take away true inner peace and happiness.

    What if being happy is not a privilege to be earned or even a ‘right’? What if, as I’m beginning to believe, it’s an integral part of our being. What if we were created with the NEED to be happy the same way we are created with the need to be loved or even to eat?

    I think every human on the planet pursues happiness whether they know it or not. I think we’re hard wired to do so. What worries me is what happens to a person who thinks they don’t deserve to be happy.  I often find individuals that for any number of reasons: guilt, genetics, upbringing or life experiences, often feel this way. I used to be one of those people.

     Speaking from experience, conversations and observation, I see that it is human nature to find things or experiences that make us feel good or happy. We eat foods that taste good to us. We wear clothes that either feel good on or make us feel like we look good. And we reject things that we find distasteful unless we believe that it is for our ultimate good even if there is something unpleasant about the experience.

   So what happens when a person thinks they don’t deserve to be happy? What happens when that negative voice inside our head starts condemning us and telling us, “Who do you think you are? What makes you worthy of that promotion? What makes you so special that that person should love you? Why do you deserve to be treated with tenderness and kindness? Why should you have that privilege? Why would that person respect you?” All those negative thoughts keep beating down our self esteem and feelings of self worth and then suddenly our hard wiring kicks in and we subconsciously start looking for something else to make us feel better, feel happy. We reach for that quart of ice cream, the pound of chocolate and the bag of chips. Or worse yet, we grab a bottle of alcohol, buy that expensive jewelry, flirt with that attractive but married co worker. Then what? We feel better for a little while but eventually the temporary high wears off and if we don’t find a way to value ourselves enough to believe we deserve to be happy we just keep looking for these lesser things in life to satisfy the unalienable NEED to be happy. I wonder if that isn’t the driving force for some who become addicted to drugs and alcohol. People just don’t want to hurt anymore but don’t feel worthy of true happiness from sources that carry greater value in their eyes so they turn to things that carry less value or merit.

    What would happen though if we recognized that being happy is as important as eating every day? What if, while we drank our morning cup of joe and ate that banana we thought about not just what we’ll wear to feel good but what we’ll do that will not only make us feel happy but that will actually build within us a greater sense of self worth? What if we understood that being UNhappy is not only bad for us but actually can lead to behavior that will hurt others and put a strain on our relationship with our family and friends? What if being happy, I mean truly being happy is an act of selflessness NOT selfishness?

    
     I wonder...

I love you

     Love. I find great displeasure in the fact that the English language only has one word to describe so many possibilities for the deep emotional connection one has to another human being. Everyone and their sister writes about it.

 I think too of the complexity of love as it relates to the way it is experienced by the two people it's attached to. For example the love felt between a parent and child compared to husband and wife is very different. In the case of parent and child the love from mother to her child is vastly greater and deeper from the love of a child to the mother, particularly when the child is an infant. However, even within a marriage love can be lopsided or it can come from an unhealthy motive causing either one or both to feel unloved and unwanted. Of course these are only two examples of love in relationships. Most relationships are unique to themselves because each individual is unique. Each one creates it's own fingerprint. But there are a few basic characteristics that allow us to identify it.

      The bible book of 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8 describes what true love looks like. 1 John 4:8 tells us that it is the very essence of God. Mankind was created in God's image thus we possess the ability to love. Every human has the need to receive it.

      Adam was given a great love with Eve.I often wonder what their relationship must have been like prior to their rebellion. I imagine it must have been the kind of  love that storytellers dream of. A relationship marked by true companionship, genuine understanding, cooperation, good communication, joy, friendship and a true partnership; pure beauty the way God intended it to be. What of passion? Not to be romanticized but one might also assume that their relationship was, on some level deeply passionate as well.

     However, what made Adam sacrifice everything, including that beautiful relationship with his wife? Did his love become so distorted that he lost sight of what true love meant? Did he fear losing her love or respect if he didn't follow her in her course? What did he possibly hope to gain from leaving the protection and direction of God's loving care? What of his love for his creator? Did he stop loving Him? Did he ever love God?

     There is much that could be speculated on in relation to Adam's thoughts but that would take me off into another subject. What I am thinking of is how intense and deep love can be between a husband and wife. How amazing it can be or how that love could become distorted and ceases to be love and one behaves in a way that is indecent and unhealthy for both parties.

     I've experienced a variety of loves in all their complexity. Love between me and my mother, my father, my son, my daughter and a husband. Throughout all the many relationships, each one has been very unique. Over the years some have grown and deepened, one has suffered losses and one hangs by a thread tied to principles. However I had never experienced love the way they depict it in the typical romantic dramas like Pride and Prejudice, Romeo and Juliet or The Notebook. It never bothered me because in my entire adult life I always thought that these stories sensationalized and exaggerated romance and love. I still believe they do. In fact I read a somewhat amusing yet pretty valid article entitled: Movie romances: would they really last?, that I think confirms my beliefs.

    Then one day I met a man who made all my teenage dreams come true. It's the first time that I realized just how intense and unselfish love could be. In all my past romantic relationships there never seemed to be a deeply passionate connection either. However, I have discovered that it's possible to find a deep emotional connection that sparks intense passion.

     I admit that our love is still in it's newlywed phase as we've only been together and married for a little over two years. But we're also not spring chickens living on easy street. I turn 42 tomorrow and my husband is 45. We've both got bodies that are showing serious wear and tear! We've got 5 kids between the ages of 10 - 18. So it's not like we are living the life of many typical newlyweds, fun and fancy free. Life is really hard sometimes! There are bills yelling for payment, cars that scream for repairs, schools demanding donations and kids incessantly knocking at the bedroom door.

       Somehow, in spite of the grime of daily living I find myself absolutely positively head over heels in love. This man makes me weak in the knees when he kisses me, gives me chills down my spine when he whispers in my ears, "I love you Sunny", brings tears to my eyes when he asks if we can pray together. I am crazy in love with this man.

     I don't really know if our love is lopsided, but I know it doesn't feel that way. I don't know if I'm just being a typical ENFJ and feeling all the excitement and electricity of a healthy romantic relationship, but I do know that this is the kind of relationship I've always wished for. I don't know if he sees all the fireworks of passion that I do, but I do know he likes knowing that I see them.  I don't know if this euphoric feeling will last forever, but I do know that I will spend forever with him. I don't know if, as life gets harder and we get older this love will still burn like fire or eventually die down to a warm glow, but I do know that I will spend every day trying to keep it a blaze.
     
     I leave you here with all my fragments of thoughts. Take what interests you and formulate your own conclusions. Be inspired to create something new to you. Roll your eyes and scoff at the incredulity of my reality. Create a love you can not live without.

Love never fails

     What do you do when someone you love decides to take a road that's headed into the complete opposite direction than the one you're on? In addition to the direction you know that that road leads to nothing but pain and heartache. How do you stop them?  Do you even try? 

     20 years and a lifetime later you find that you and your loved one are standing on the same road, together once again.What happens now? Where do you start? You can't exactly pick up from where you left off. You and they are not the same person you were 20 years ago. Life has happened to you both.

 You start at the place in which you stand. You begin a new friendship on the foundation that you first built on. The foundation of love. ~ This is a snapshot story of a most  precious friendship that has endured over many years. Everyone in this story has their own perspective, their own memories and their own experiences. These are  mine.

1980 something, Phx. AZ Clowning around with my little brother.

     It was late 1970 something. I don't remember when we first met. In fact for me, Suki had always been there. She was my best friend and sometimes only friend. We were only months apart. We had much in common. Our parents were friends. I had a brother 5 years younger than I and she had a sister about the same age. We shared the same religious beliefs but never went to the same school, until 8th grade. She was beautiful, had all the latest brand clothing, smart, talented and popular.  She seemed to have it all. As much as I loved her I often found myself jealous of her. I wanted to be her, I wanted her life. What I didn't know, was that underneath all that "perfect" she, like me, battled dark things. The kind of dark things you don't share with others, not always because you're afraid to but sometimes because you can hardly understand them yourself and wouldn't know how to try to explain them to someone else much less have them understand you.

Beautiful, talented, fun-loving, smart...

   On May 28, 1987 My social status increased a notch or two (at least in my own mind) when I moved from hot as Hades, Phoenix Arizona to sunny Southern California. As much as I loved the idea of being in the cooler climate and living in a state that was "totally rad", I was terribly depressed! Here I am 15 years old at the peak of insecurity and vulnerability all controlled by raging bi-polar hormones and without a safety net! This age is seldom the ideal time for a life change. I left behind all my extended family and friends and knew no one in my new city of Spring Valley, CA. (A small suburb east of San Diego.) I missed my Suki! She would have known how to make friends and found the cool places to go and how to have a blast and do all the fun crazy things I was afraid to try. She would have made California cool! So to make the transition a little easier for me my mom suggested that we see if Suki could come out for an extended visit.

     So in the summer of  that year her parents put her on a plane and she came to stay. Life seemed bearable with her here. She'd cut  her beautiful curly locks off and shocked me with a super cool short haircut. She made everything look cool. We hung out with my cousin who came down to visit from Fresno and even got my parents to drive us 3 hours to Six Flags Magic Mountain with a couple really cute guy friends, one of which I was crushing on hard core! Rod Oberlin. ... I'm getting off track. The point is, Suki could make everything better. She made everything fun. The next couple years improved for me in California. I settled into my new life with new friends but never let go of the one friend who meant the most to me.

      Before P.C.'s and cell phones with I.M's and text messaging we were old school pen pals. Sending letters with cassette tapes of recordings of me as I carried my boom box around every place I went pretending it was Suki with me, and photos of me w/" boom box Suki". (I bet I have a cassette tape somewhere along with the photos.) She 'virtually' lived with me here in California.

1989 Seventeen and enjoying the best summer of our lives.

 Then again in the summer of '89 she came out for like a month and we had an absolute blast. We attended a beautiful outdoor wedding I was in, hung out with fun friends at the pool and beach, taking old school selfies with cameras on timers and slept on rooftops. It was a most excellent adventure. Except for that one and only fight I can remember we ever had where she called me naive and I got all offended and pouted off downstairs and slept on the living room couch like a wounded puppy. She WAS right, though. I was naive. I really didn't know a thing about the harsh realities of life or of the sadness and turmoil she fought so hard to keep buried inside.

     During the next two years, she married a local boy and I married a guy from Australia. We were the maid of honor in each others weddings and remained friends as couples. They would come to visit us and we went to visit them. Whether we were touring the San Diego zoo, sitting in the back of our red Toyota pick up drinking wine coolers and watching the city lights from the top of Squaw Peak Mountain or skiing the Rockies in Telluride Colorado we were always laughing. I remember our visit to Colorado. I was an inexperienced skier at best. I can still hear her trying to help me ski around the top edge of the mountain as we made our way to the lift that took us straight down to their apartment at the foot of the mountain. "Plow for your life Sunny! Plow for your life!" She yelled. My heart was racing and my palms sweating but I knew if I did exactly what she said I'd make it. I did.

1990 Little girls pretending to be grown up.

          

     Then one day in 1994 I got a phone call from Suki's husband that broke my heart. She'd  made a shocking and life changing decision that tore our friendship apart. The details aren't important but suffice it to say, I could hardly believe it. She wrote me a letter a few months later asking for help of sorts. I didn't know what to make of it as the information she was sharing with me was quite confusing and felt very disconnected from the reality I was aware of. I could hear her voice in the letter but not her soul.  As a naive 23 year old I called her soon to be ex-husband. His level of confusion and frustration over her behavior left me confused, discouraged and with the belief that she was simply grasping at straws and looking for justification for her actions. I did not reply to her letter. I can't say if that was the right decision or not. I do know that at the time I believed it to be the right thing to do, I can also tell you that sometimes I'd wished that I'd responded to her, to try to understand her, to help her. However, many years later I would learn that what she was going through was far beyond anything I would have known how to handle. She was on a path that I would not likely have had any influence over.

      In 1996 I was pregnant with my first child and as I sat on the living room floor packing to move, I came across a poem Suki had written me back in 1985 along with photos of us. I cried. No, I sobbed! By this time I had heard Suki had gotten remarried and had even had a little girl. I was so angry and sad that our kids were not going to grow up together. I wasn't there for her daughters birth and she wasn't going to be there for my son's birth. We couldn't share parenting stories and be aunty Suki and aunty Sunny. I missed her so much. I packed away the poem and the photos and as I wiped away the tears I thought, 'She'll be back. It's just a matter of time.'

     Over the next 14 years I would hear rumors of Suki doing both better and worse. Mostly worse. I heard of divorce, births, ill health and even homelessness. All of which left me heartbroken. Every time we took a trip to Arizona to see family or friends, I'd look out at the people driving past and wonder if I'd see her driving next to me. Would I even recognize her? What did her hair look like now? Would she recognize me? Would she want to even see me? Did she resent me for not responding to her letter?

       During that time I myself experienced a few highs and many lows. I had another child, a long separation then divorce, single motherhood, trips to the welfare office, a nervous break and multiple failed courtships.  One day to my delight I received a bitter sweet card from Suki's mother. I decided to give her a call. I learned that she and Suki's dad were raising Suki's youngest daughter. The baby was healthy and happy. Suki was still struggling to find her way and accept the help she so desperately needed. I still held on to hope.

     Then, on May 23, 2014 at 8:09 PM I got the news I'd been waiting 20 years for. Suki had returned and was looking to reconnect with healthy friendships. She was well and living in a small apartment in Mesa AZ with a good job and getting the help she needed. Two weeks later I drove out to Mesa with my parents to see her. Words fail to convey the overwhelming joy, excitement and nervousness I felt in anticipation of our reunion. My friend was back in my life and once again filled the emptiness in my heart.

     We have lots of catching up to do. Life has not always been kind and we both carry scars. We're not the same 17 year old girls that we once were, flashing the hang loose sign calling out "babe alert" as cute boys pass by. But deep down we're still the best friends that hold each others hearts safely inside the other. And one day those scars will be gone forever and we will laugh long and loud and every tear we shed will be tears of joy.  Because,' love is patient and kind... does not look for it's own interest... It does not keep account of the injury...It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things, love never fails...'

May 2014 Still beautiful, talented smart and friends forever. 

*On May 24th, the day after I got the news of Suki's return, I was once again packing to move and found Suki's poem that I had tucked away 20 years ago. Needless to say the tears of joy poured from my eyes as I read it...

I remember the day I met you, I never thought you'd be

The closest person to my heart for all eternity. 

We shared all of our secrets and problems great and small. 

To keep us even closer, we agreed we'd share all. 

Then your family decided to move and I only felt selfishly,

"How will I be able to get along without Sunny here with me?"

I started to hear about new friends and I figured I had lost you. 

So I came to visit and (as usual) our friendship seemed to pull through. 

But being apart out personalities had grown, so we more often disagreed. 

But in the end, I always looked back, to see you still standing by me. 

Now we're apart and I keep in touch as much as I possibly can. 

Realizing my true home is with you in the sun and sand. 

To tell you the truth I'm not quite sure what keeps our relationship alive. 

But I hope it keeps on working until the day that I have died. 

We've been best friends for almost fifteen years. 

We've shared our laughter and drowned in tears. 

Our "oneness" even though distant proves to be honest and true. 

My life is something I want you to share. I'll always be here for you.

Balancing act

little tightrope walker by Victor Joseph Gotto

Finding balance... I am forever trying to acquire that always elusive brass ring of balance. I feel like I'm trying to find that sweet spot at the center of gravity to keep myself upright. For brief moments I feel the comfort and sense of accomplishment of success. I've cared for all my responsibilities of home, family, spirituality and even made time for my own wellness and fed my creativity. But then, whoosh...
I'm right back to wobbling all over the place. Weak kneed and shaking about, everything seems to come undone a mess and incomplete. Then I dig in deep again, get up, clean up and start over, AGAIN. 

Balance seems to be a common struggle in everyone's lives. Balancing work and family. Balance in time spent in entertainment and recreation. Balance in caring for ones health. You name it it must all be balanced out. However, life and that which occurs without our control or influence still happens. It's like a harsh east wind that sometimes gusts at you unexpectedly, throwing dust in your eyes and knocking you off your game.



 Recently I've been contemplating taking on more extensive responsibilities in my bible teaching work. I've been speaking to others who are currently doing it under various circumstances to get their input on how they are able to be successful in this field. It seems to be pretty unanimous in their response. They all struggle with balance. While some have to maintain a fairly strict schedule, all of them must allow for flexibility. No one escapes the curve balls life pitches at you. From time to time they all have to make quick lunges and leaps out of the way of the speeding white bullet to avoid a gnarly black eye or knot on the noggin. Everyone says they are always vacillating back and forth from 'being on top of it' to 'feeling all out of whack'. 


I think the conclusion that I've arrived at is this: Balance is the constant but controlled swing between extremes. Life is going to push you back and forth with the unexpected, like illness, decrease or loss of income, moves, accidents and so on. The key is not getting stuck in any of the extremes for too long. When life presses you into servitude in one particular area, simply take care of it. Address it as necessary and once you have, return to the regularly scheduled program. That is what it means to be balanced. It's not a simple mathematical formula that you will be able to follow every single day of your life. 8 hours of labor, 8 hours of recreation, 8 hours of rest sure sounds great but who can realistically accomplish that on a daily basis?  I know I can't! I have 5 kids! Someone will without a doubt need something from me that will cut into either my 8 hours of recreation or more likely my 8 hours of rest.

So my goal is to stop trying to make every day a perfect proportion of all things. I must accept that each day will be different. Sometimes half the day will need to be spent caring for nothing but my creative need. Some days will be spent knee deep in laundry and groceries while others in deeply meaningful spiritual activity.

 I am beginning to realize that balance is seen through a longer lens. That it is a long term achievement not a short term accomplishment. I think if I can adjust my perspective I'll be a more content and happier person. I can tend to lose my joy and pleasure in life and relationships when I'm trying to accomplish the impossible. That is a critical error on my part and in order to preserve the most valuable things in my life it's imperative that I make some adjustments. For those of you that know me I hope you see positive results.

When I grow up.

I started writing this blog back in 2008 more as a personal online journal. I've been writing in a journal on and off since I was 13 when my aunt Penny gave me a diary for my 6th grade graduation.  I still have it (it's the one with The Cure postcard taped to it at the bottom.) as well as more than a dozen journals that followed.

 I'm not a regular journal keeper. I don't write daily, but I definitely have needed a place to put all the minutia that swims around in my head keeping me up at night. I find that this on line journal does something different than my personal journal at home. It has evolved over the years. What I'm hoping to get out of blogging is personal growth more than anything. I also want to share my life events (re-frame life events so as to better learn from them.) I write first for me and second you the reader.

If only I had more time to put fingers to keys. The things I could share. As many of my followers know, I've recently married.  May 5th will be our 2yr. anniversary. I now have 5 children. Ages range from 9 - 18. I thought as a single mother I was busy... Yeah, not nearly as busy as I am now. That's what happens when you add 4 more people to your personal space.

It's never boring, always something going on. It feels like time has suddenly picked up speed. I am finding it difficult to stop and smell the roses sometimes. Or in my case, watch the sunset. We have such beautiful winter sunsets here in Southern California. Sorry, I'm getting way off track.

You see when I started writing this post I had it titled: What I wanna be when I grow up. That was months ago. I wrote all of about two paragraphs and added the photo and now I have absolutely no idea what I was going to write about.

I'm totally making all this up as I go. "Why?" you ask. Because I made time for writing and dad gum it I'm going to write. I've got laundry in the dryer, washer and on the floor waiting for it's turn but I don't care. I got dirty dished that need cleaning, rugs that need vacuuming and dinner that needs cooking but I'm gonna let it all set for a bit because my head is in the beautiful place that I seldom get to visit. It's not making all that much sense and it's quite random and not at all interesting to you as the reader but again, I don't mind.

Sometimes in this busy life we live some of us spend an awful lot of time doing the things we 'have to' do. We don't always spend enough time doing the things that we really like to do. 

My husband sometimes says he'd give up the next 10 years of life to be in that place where you no longer have a mile long list of things to be done. Why do we wait till were in our late 50's or 60's to stop running around like crazzies doing this and doing that? Is it just because of family responsibilities, children? I'm sure that plays a part but I'd bet it's our under developed wisdom. I love how the older you get the less you worry so much about all the stuff. You start to get so tired of drama and pleasing others and living up to expectations, you just let it go and become comfortable with who, what, and where you are.

Today, just for a few minutes, I sit in my sweats and slippers and write just so that I can connect to the person I wanna be when I grow up. Content.

 

 

Act as if...

"Fake it till you make it." "Smiles everyone, smiles!" You ever hear anyone say that? The 'smiles' quote is from the late 70's early 80's television series "Fantasy Island". It starred Ricardo Montalbán as Mr. Roarke. Ahhh... I miss that show.

  I can still hear my dad saying that. It was usually after a less than pleasant family "discussion" or "pep talk" in the car on the way to some social or educational function where we would be interacting with friends and acquaintances. As kids can sometimes be, I was probably being a brat in the back seat moping, whining or almost certainly being some kind of antagonist to my younger brother. Mom often followed up his statement with something like, 'Just because YOU'RE in a bad mood doesn't mean that everyone else has to put up with it.' While at 12 I resented having to 'smile' for everyone or pretend to be happy, I learned two very valuable lessons.

First. Burdening others with your foul state of mind is simply bad manners. It's not loving or kind. There is a time, place and people to "be yourself" and share frustrations and pain with. Maturity will help you discern when doing so is appropriate and healthy.

Second. Sometimes, when you're outside is saying, "I'm happy" the inside can get on board as well. Now I'm not talking about serious emotional or mental conditions that go beyond melancholy or a bad day. That is something different entirely. I'm talking about the ANTs (automatic negative thoughts) that will loiter around in your head during stressful, anxious or new settings.

During my lifetime, I hung out with these guys, A LOT! And boy were they bad association.They spoiled quite a few useful habits in my day. In more recent years I've gradually cut back on the time I spend with them. They've never really brought out the best in me.  So instead I've started to 'act as if..."

A fellow writer posted this clip a week or so ago and the thoughts there in resonated with me and reminded me of my experiences with 'faking it' and 'smiling'. Check it out and come back to me. Go on, I'll wait...
 http://www.hitfix.com/videos/conan-obrien-cant-stop-act-as-if

Something to think about huh?

What I believe is that on occasion we can be our own biggest obstacle to getting to where we wanna go or being who we wanna be.  We tell ourselves things like, "I can't", "I don't", " I could never" and so on. All of which prevent us from doing the very thing we really want to do.

 One of the many things I have wanted to do was to be a writer. However, my association with the ANTs prevented me from even seeing the fact that I already WAS a writer. I've got a stack of journals and composition books to prove it too. (I'll show you them later.) Now whether or not I'm a "good" writer in the eyes of literary critics is really irrelevant. I write for me and the few dear friends and family who enjoy reading what I write. And on occasion I am delighted by the passerby who reads what I've written and says 'Hey, I enjoyed reading that.'  "How awesome is that!" I exclaim. I don't ask for more.

 I'm really enjoying this road I'm on. The hard part is now trying to balance all the other responsibilities in my life with my new-found label 'writer'. Man I love saying that, "I"m a writer."

So if you are like me and you're not doing something you want to be doing because you're afraid you can't or couldn't, stop NOT doing it and start DOING it. Act as if you ARE and CAN. Fake it until you are making it. Smile until you feel good inside. Tell everyone on the outside who you already are and give your inside a little time to jump on the band wagon. You're gonna be glad you did!

The day I met my Mother

     As relationships go I would venture to say that the relationship between a mother and daughter can be most complicated. It's a relationship that has the most potential to evolve greatly over time and the process can be quite painful for both. I know this is true not only in my case but that of many mothers and daughters. This is a very brief and open ended synopsis of my relationship with my mother. I am still processing the past, present and contemplating the future. I fully expect that my understanding of our relationship will continue to deepen as I get older and experience motherhood in all it's aspects as my own children grow.

My beautiful mother. 1974

     My mother, Starlet Darlene Chappell Smellie, is a very beautiful woman.  Growing up I was never embarrassed by her. As a preteen in the eighties I thought her "totally awesome". She used to drive me and my best friend to junior high in her talking convertible, Chrysler Le Barron. She liked the same music as I did and loved to dance. She told me stories of her playful  childhood that I envied. She was creative, imaginative and adventurous.

     As a mother she was a powerful influence on my younger brother and I. From my vantage point she had the answers to everything, she could do anything; build Koi ponds, bird aviaries, full size play houses, dining room tables, remodel the house and install pot belly stoves. She was a photographer, gardener, seamstress, family book keeper, travel agent, jewelry sales associate, make-up sales consultant and full time bible teacher. She was also, unofficially of course, the supreme private investigator, personally that is, not professionally. This made being a typical teenager, trying to "get away with stuff" not even worth trying.

     I was and still am, a girl who wears her emotions on her sleeve so there was nothing that went unnoticed by mom and therefore seldom escaped interrogation when a problem was detected. Few feelings, emotions, desires or wishes were kept private. It was after all her responsibility as mom to know what was going on in her daughters life, mind and heart. It was as if she was bound and determined to protect me from any and all pain that life may inflict on a young, unsuspecting, naive, young lady. I did not see it that way of course. In my youthful ignorance it only felt like over protection. Now whether I inherited the tendency to  think myself inadequate and incapable or it developed over time I can't say for sure. Either way I began to be a people pleaser, doing things that were more for the satisfaction of making someone else love, like or just approve of me. This codependent behavior prevented me from developing the ability to figure out who I was, what I was good at, what my strengths and weaknesses truly were. I didn't challenge anything or anyone, including myself. I was afraid to. After all, what did I know?

     As I entered the teenage years the more my own personality began to emerge. My temperament, much more like my father, was highly sensitive and emotionally intense. Those characteristics coupled with fluctuating hormones were not always a pretty thing. I fought feelings of worthlessness and depression which lead me to laughing and happy like a court jester one minute, the next crying and in the depths of despair like a death row convict, "Dead man walking!". Even with all the teenage drama and emotional roller coaster rides I took my mother on, we almost never argued. At least I don't recall ever fighting. She was definitely frustrated with me at times and I sat through a bountiful portion of parental speeches and lectures. But raising my voice in anger was something I feared to do. So I bit my tongue as she would remind me that I was the child and she was the parent who knows best. And she was right. I believed it then and believe it now. That is, the wisdom of a loving parent  always trumps the inexperience of a teenager.  One evening after getting home late, some time shortly after my curfew at the age of 17, I spoke my mind in frustration but the one time. In that heated discussion I called her Marry Poppins. To me she was "practically perfect in every way" and I had no idea how I could I ever live up to that. This is what was at the heart of my problem.

      I wasn't interested in challenging parental authority. I didn't disagree with my parents rules, guidance or direction. I knew they, my mother, loved me and had my best interest at heart. But I had come to believe that I was a disappointment to my mother. I possessed no talents, no skills, nothing tangible or any visible sign of worth, nothing I could measure. I had struggled enormously in school, socially as well as academically, so much so I dropped out my junior year. I took up the bible teaching work my mother was engaged in and a part-time job, first at an ice cream parlor then Jack in the Box, yet I still felt as if I was a constant source of frustration to her because of being so intensely emotional. "You're just like your father. You're not like me." She would say. "I was never like that as a teenager." Expressions I translated as, 'Sunny, I just don't get you and I don't know what to do with you or how to help you.'

     For the next two years I did my very best to make my parents proud of me. I worked as hard as I could to be a "good girl". I tried to keep as much of my emotional "drama" and personal turmoil under control or hide it in my room. Gradually the hormones settled a bit and the emotional outbursts became fewer and fewer . During those years I considered my mother to be my best friend. We taught people about the bible together, caught thieves, took cake decorating classes and went dumpster diving for McDonald's  Disneyland passes. (Details of this strange list of events to be discussed at a later date.)  All in all we laughed a lot and had lots of fun. I listened to everything she had to say and pretty much believed it to be the only truth. At 19 I married a man who was  from Australia. He was Lebanese by birth but raised around and preferred western culture. It was then that I began to see my mother in a new light.

Mom and I in the late 80"s

     From time to time she and my husband used to butt heads, not angry conflict, more like mild irritation, annoyance or exasperation. She had her perspective he had his and the two would debate over what seemed to be some of the most trivial things. I think my husband loved to bate her into these discussions just for fun. I recall after one such debate over dinosaurs and living on other planets, I began to realize that my mothers point of view was not always and in every case the only truth. That was huge for me! I did not have to agree with everything my mother said. I could have my own opinion on something, I could even make some choices that would be different from hers and that would be OK. In fact it was better for ME. I sorta grew up just a bit more that day, however, my real personal growth wouldn't happen until I was in my mid 30's.

     Looking back now I wonder if the realization of individualization also effected my relationship with my husband. Eventually, I quit taking responsibility for his happiness and living every day to please him and make him love me. That was never going to make either of us happy. Sadly after more than 11 years of marriage I separated from my husband and eventually we divorced. The details of our divorce are sordid, ugly and very painful, as a parting of "one flesh" always is.  I was a complete and total disaster! I went through hell and back and back to hell again! I had lost all faith in myself and I began to question so much of what I grew up believing. I was trying to raise a 6 year old son with ADHD and a 3 year old daughter on my own. No job, no car, and soon no home. I was desperate, terrified a wreck and a total mess. I needed my family's support. I needed my mother and she was there for me. In every way possible she supported me. Mom took me to buy and paid for an old Ford Taurus that daddy nick named "Tar Baby" because I would always forget to change the oil. I lived with them for several months until I found a job and the affordable housing units I had applied for were ready for me to move into. She even sat on the edge of the bed hugging me as  the tears poured from my eyes and onto the tiny pieces of wedding photos. Even though her heart was in great pain over my suffering she was rock solid.

     Over the next 9 years I fought to try to do what I thought was right, to do what I believed God wanted of me, and while some of those choices were not always what she thought were in my best interest, she always had my back, even when the choices I made came back to bite me in the butt. Never once did she utter the words, "I told you so." She believed in me and that I was being true to my conscience and she respected that.  I continued to struggle to find my way back on my feet again and to truly grasp what God expected of me. I had lost myself, or more accurately, really didn't know who I was which lead me to a path of, dare I say it, "finding myself". I have always hated that expression because it so often seemed to accompany someone selfishly neglecting their responsibilities to their family. I did though, need to figure out what I needed to be healthy emotionally. How to love myself and accept myself for all the good and bad that I was.

     Eventually, through a number of calamitous missteps and failed romantic relationships I learned a few priceless lessons: First, God loves me, Sunny Dawn Smellie Saada. I learned that I feel life intensely and passionately. That I love recklessly, without fear and that makes me vulnerable to heartbreak and disappointment. I want everyone to like me and when I know they don't, it hurts. I do not give up, even when I should. And I learned that with all my weakness and inabilities I'm stronger and more capable than I ever would have believed because my faith in God and the loving support and example of loyal love displayed by my family, mother in particular.

     Then this is what I came to learn and believe about my mother. She loves God's righteous standards. She loves her  husband, her family and me, intensely and in her own passionate way. She would die for  any one of us. She will do anything to spare me from pain and hurt.  I believe that she loves more cautiously. She would like for everyone to like her but is not dependent upon others approval. She knows when enough is enough and will not let others walk all over her. She's responsible in her duties as a mother and wife. She will not neglect to teach and instruct what she has come to know of life and her experiences. She desires to guide her children in paths that lead away from heartache. She is a strong and capable woman because God has given her his power. She is a warrior.

      I wish that I could have seen all this when I was young. In my mid to late 30's I was resentful towards her for not understanding me and giving me what I thought I needed and she knew it. My self-centered behavior towards her must have grieved her greatly, but she never lashed out at me for it. To simply say, "I'm sorry." just doesn't seem to be enough.

      September 11, 2013, my son turned 17  and my daughter is now 13. I am also remarried and have 3 step-children, 17, 13 and 9. My  911 son, as his dad and I would sometimes refer to him as, is a good young man, but he has challenged my parenting skills. The newly added members of my family have very different personalities from mine. Oddly enough, my relationships with them have probably been largely instrumental in teaching me the most about my mother. The struggles we have between us have more to do with our personality differences than anything else. I see a lot of myself in them while at the same time being so totally confused by them. I want to save them from the pain I see them in at times. I want to help them find out who they are and to love and accept themselves.  But my attempts at healing myself through them only frustrate us both. The words and expressed thoughts of my mother often ring through my head. The mix of emotions from my past and the present at times torment me. I'm not too proud to admit when I'm lost or wrong and so I have sought help from a variety of professionals who have been wonderful in assisting me with my new role as step-parent and adjusting my perspective. I also have an incredibly supportive husband who has patiently supported us all through this blending process. I share this piece too because the relationships I have with all of them opened my eyes to just how wonderful my mother is.

A painting of my mother by aunt Pam Smaley

      Today I realize that my mother and I spent a lot of years not really understanding each other. I spent a lot of years feeling like my mother didn't understand me when perhaps in reality it was I who didn't truly understand her or myself. I'm ashamed to admit that at 41 almost 42 years of age I have done my mother a terrible disservice by failing to fully appreciate just what I have been given all these years.

     I met my mother today. I think she is an extraordinary woman. She is beautiful, smart, creative, talented, loyal and loving. What valuable and treasured qualities I did not inherit from her she taught me. I am blessed because I am her daughter. It is my wish to be as loyal, patient and supportive of my children as she has been of me and to be a more, loving, understanding and supportive daughter to her, from today until forever. 

I love you Mom.