relationships

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engaged

engaged

Rudy and I moved in together
nine months after we met.
We liked each other.
Simple as that.
We didn’t over think what it would mean.
What people would say.
We just knew it was what we wanted to do.

So we did.

We moved in together,
into a small, one bedroom apartment.
And thus, our life together began.

Rudy and I had been told by many,                                                                                                                       many who seemed to know,
that it was going to be difficult                                                                                                                                living in one space.
Different than just dating.

But,

for whatever reason,
for us,
it wasn’t difficult.

Our relationship flowed smoothly.
From dating
to living together.

One day.

After four months of sharing a living space.
While we were sitting on an ugly brown couch.
Rudy turned to me.
And asked if I’d like to marry him.
“Why, yes, of course I would,”
I answered,
in between bites of food.

He smiled.

And that was that.
We were engaged.

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is emma rose a wall flower?

Emma Rose stood against the railing, near the entrance of the pub, wishing she wasn’t such a quiet girl. All her friends always speak up for her, telling people she’s shy, that she doesn’t talk much. And the fact that her hair hangs over her downcast eyes, and that she is always wearing loose fitting clothes that cover her great figure really doesn’t help. She knows there is so much more to her than meets the eye, but Emma Rose is always playing the part of the wall flower. The girl who sits back and lets others entertain her with their antics.

Yet, tonight, she wishes something would happen, something great, to pull her out of her shyness.

Suddenly, a guy she’d never seen before grabbed her hand and led her to the dance floor. She tried dragging her feet, but he just pulled her along. His eyes were sparkling, and his smile was a mile wide, which encouraged Emma to follow him. This is it. Your chance, she told herself, as he led the way.

The tall, lanky guy wrapped his right arm around her waist, and linked his other hand with hers. Together they spun around the disco-ball-induced arena. Emma laughed as her hair spun wildly behind her. She was having so much fun, that she didn’t notice her friends, as they slipped through the door, walking into the bar.

They looked in the direction of the loud laughter, wondering who the beautiful, lively girl was. Their mouths opened and their jaws dropped, wondering where Emma Rose had been hiding this never-seen-before energetic, upbeat girl.

Wall flower or not, thought Emma Rose, tonight, I am the life of the party.

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Parenting 101

REPOST from Sept. 15, 2012: (stands the test of time…)

brad, age 13

There’s this fine line between disciplinarian and friend, when it comes to being a parent. Kids need rules, yet, they also need someone they trust. Someone to talk to. Someone like me.

I’ve never grounded my kids. Rather, I find quiet moments to talk about a situation, without making a big deal. Which in turn develops a bond between us. A solidarity.

One day, when Brad was at a friend’s house, I took the opportunity to clean his way too messy room. As the pile of clothing, and other junk, began to diminish from the top of his dresser, having settled back into the drawers, I spotted the Kindle Fire. I had forgotten about the electronic reader, as I had given it to Brad to use for school; so, for me, it was out-of-sight-out-of-mind. During the summer, he said he wanted to spent some time getting acquainted with the gadget, to just play with it, learn how to use it.

Sounded good to me.

I picked the Kindle up, which was tucked into its black leather jacket that I had bought, to protect it. I stretched the elastic band off the cover, flipped it open, turned it on, and browsed through items Brad had downloaded. Just checking in, one might say. Games, Facebook, and a few magazines.

I should have guessed, but I hadn’t. Nor was I surprised. Or even mad, that one of the magazines included lots of photos of girls; young women, actually, in teeny-tiny swimsuits. HOT women, emphasizing breasts and rear-ends.

I laughed. To myself.

Later, when Brad was lounging on his bed, I walked in, asking how his day was. It was fun, he told me. And he thanked me for cleaning his room.

“Oh, and by the way, I was looking at the Kindle,” I began.
Brad gave me a sideways glance, narrowed his eyes, and smirked a bit.
“I saw the magazine you downloaded. The girls,” I continued.
He just looked at me. Waited for me to do some more talking.
“I see you have good taste,” I joked.
He smiled, and looked down.
“And, well, anyway, I have no problem with you looking at those pictures, but a word of advice.”
He waited, patiently.
“You need to delete them. The Kindle is for class books, for reading, and I don’t think your teachers would like those photos on campus.” I finished.
“OK,” Brad answered.

The night before his first day of school, I asked him if he had everything he needed. If he was all packed up.
“Yep,” he responded. “And, yes, the magazine has been deleted.”

I am sure he will not be surprised when another respect for women conversation drops into ours lives somewhere down the road.

I am building a lifetime with him. A trusting relationship, so that he knows that no matter what, he can always count on me.

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The Energy of Arkansas

Arkansas_Barn

California is where my heart is, and its also the place where exercise is not my main priority. I work throughout the week in a classroom full of very social fifth graders, and spend my weekends being a hands-on mom while cleaning and organizing the house.

I’ve tried to commit myself to every day after-work walks to encourage the energy that swirls inside my head to relax, but the idea of moving another muscle to help settle my mind is replaced with the reality of a cup of tea, a couch, and the remote control.

Arkansas, on the other hand, was my go-to destination. The lush green land filled me with gusto. With tons of energy. And plenty of commitment.

Ah, the memories.

Several years ago, while living in The Natural State, Rudy would go to work while I relaxed completely during my off-work visits. Every day afforded me time to leave the house, regardless of the weather, to enjoy the benefits of either a leisure walk or one that was full of vigor. Arkansas has not been forgotten, a place where stillness and reconstitution were found, where I had no commitments except to enjoy myself.

So, now here I sit, wishfully wishing.

If only the two could easily meld, come together. Whenever. At any given time. Always. Because, not only  would I continue to be a productive teacher, mother, wife, and domestic goddess, but I would feel the pull from nature to do something I truly enjoy. To go outside and simply walk up and down the hills surrounding my life.

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If I had my way…

people-holding-hands-around-the-world-md…the world would be a very simple place. All people would be healthy, wealthy and wise. They’d have constant peace of mind and feel content knowing that life is grand. People would spend their days living their passions and feeling worthy. Each individual would happily contribute to this phenomenon we call life.

If I had my way, everyone would own a home. A place to not only find shelter, but to find complete comfort.

If I had my way, every household would have a chef available, preparing meals that are not only delicious, but help promote energy and keep weight in check, which in turn would instill the willingness to meet or exceed personal endeavors.

If I had my way, gym access and personal trainers would be everywhere, encouraging all people to join them, to jump start a life of activity.

If I had my way, vehicles would be purchased, without constraints. And replaced, without question, at the first sign of its discord.

If I had my way, all educational institutions would open their doors wide, allowing every wanting person to build upon an already intact intelligence, free of charge.

The world, in my fantasy mind, or as many would say, my naive mind, would be a very simple place. A place where people lived side-by-side, living independently, yet knowing they could count on anyone, and everyone, to help when a need arose. People would be jovial, simply saying hello to each other, and genuinely wishing one another a wonderful day.

If I had my way, the PEACEFUL world I would create would be overflowing with positive vibes, giving people no time, energy, or even the desire to engage negatively.

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The Semi-Plan

IMG_6006Years ago, when Rudy and I moved into our house, I knew that we had found our home. As far as I was concerned there would never be a need for us to move. Ever. I would imagine us together, raising our children into adulthood. The kids would eventually move on, maybe giving us the title of grandparents. I would envision homemade cookies baking as our kids, with our grandchildren in tow, would gleefully stride into our beloved home, to spend the day with us. Life would be grand, in the most typical way.

Over the years, though, Rudy would remark about how great it would be to live elsewhere. But, what about the value of stability? I would respond. He’d answer with his own question, What about experiencing life? Even though we would lightly debate, the subject would be dropped, both of us knowing we weren’t actually ever going anywhere.

Yet, one day, I was sitting alone when Rudy’s voice popped into my thoughts. What about experiencing life? I heard him say. And that is when I knew, we did not need to keep our wonderfully stable home forever. Life is too short to live stagnantly. Life should be experienced.

Thus, the semi-plan was born.

I want to experience life, I told him. Rudy was surprised to hear me say I was willing to become unstable. We discussed the seriousness of my comment, and we both agreed that life has so much more to offer than just living a stationary lifestyle.

Our plan begins now. And even though it’s mainly in thought and conversation, eventually, we’d like to unstable ourselves when retirement comes to fruition. Maybe, we can sell our family home, and possibly buy something smaller, just for the two of us along a coastline. Somewhere. Maybe we will road-trip throughout the United States. Or live in one location until we decide life was experienced, then move on to another unforeseen destination. The unstable possibilities are endless.

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Lemons and Liz

IMG_8262IMG_8164Liz is my pal. My friend. My daughter. And when she talks, I listen. When she gives me advice, I’m focused. Tuned in. To everything she has to say. Including healthy advice. Things she’s learned about eating properly, ideas that make my day brighter, lighter, uplifting, and overall body-better feeling.

So, when she brought up the importance of drinking lemon water I couldn’t wait to get home and slice up some of those sunshine-yellow nuggets.

I know. I know. Nothing new. Heard it before. Just a reboot. An old idea renewed. But a valuable idea nonetheless. And, honestly, coming from Liz, it’s an old idea that she believes needs new attention. And, well, I consider her a valuable healthnut guru. Why? You might ask. She’s healthy, love-wealthy, and definitely wise, I’d answer.

Therefore, I’ve been drinking it up. Water saturated with lemons. So good. So refreshing. So easy. So worthy. So me. So Liz.

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Disturbing Vacation

Thoughts of relaxing.

Reading.

Walking.

Enjoying.

I have plans to simply chill and take a break.

To soothe my senses.

So that I can return to the classroom refreshed.

Renewed.

Re-inspired.

Ready to make the most of every moment.

Every day.

◊

But.

Unfortunately.

Plans have been skewed. Overturned. Rerouted. Unplanned. Undone.

Today.

And into the next three to six that follow.

◊

Pipes broke. Flooding happened. Contaminated water surged. Poured out under the house. Leaving behind obnoxious, irritating, and down right unsanitary fumes.

Sounds of men, prepping, to get rid of contaminants. Using overly loud machines to blow away pooled, saturated dirt. And strategically placing fans to relieve the air. Of nose-pinching smells.

◊

My thoughts have rearranged.

Reading, walking, and enjoying the day have been put on hold.

While waiting for those guys to finish and leave.

Because.

Cleansing the undertow takes precedence over taking a quiet break from it all.

◊

Relaxing will begin later.

At another time.

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What are YOU worth?

And how is it measured?

Is it based on your word? Your actions? Both? Does what you do outweigh what you say? Do years of experience increase YOUR worth over someone else’s hard-earned academia?

How about the process, the end result? Is a positive outcome a determining factor of worth? Should that decide YOUR value? Do you decide YOUR worth, or does someone else decide it for you?

When is enough enough? Is it possible to have too much worth? Too little? And does it even matter? 

What do you think?

 

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Beachfront

“Someday, Mom, when I am super-rich – a millionaire, you know – I will buy you anything you want.”

beachfront house

Brad had began this conversation six or seven years back. Just a thought that had popped into his mind. He was imagining his million dollar future.

As I was thinking, wishing, and dreaming, Brad couldn’t contain himself; thus, he blurted out that he wanted “…to live in a mansion. I will have people cleaning for me. I will have as many cars as I want. I will have a movie theater. A snack bar. A bowling alley. A skateboard park. My pool will be huge, in the shape of my name…”

“Wow! That’s awesome!” I exclaimed, when he finished naming a million more things.

Of course, aside from all those material things, I had to assume a wife would fit into his future, so… I broached the subject.

“Make sure she loves you for who you are, not for what you have,” I humbly told him.

“Well, how will I know if a girl likes me, for me?” he asked, very interested. “I mean, how do I know it’s not my money she wants?”

“When you meet a girl you like, someone you really would consider as a wife, do not let her know how wealthy you are. Just don’t talk about it, and don’t take her to your mansion.”

“Ah,” he responded. “Good idea.”

“That way,” I continued, “she will like you. Then when you both know you are the one for each other, surprise her. Tell her you are a millionaire.”

Brad nodded his head. Up. Down. Slowly.

“So? What would you want?” he asked again.

Without hesitation I happily said, “A beach house. Nothing big, just a place where I can sit, look out the window, and see the ocean in my front yard. Far enough away from the water so I can have a grassy yard with a walkway to the door; surrounded by a little white picket fence. A cozy place. I want to hear the water, and see it too.”

“Oh, that sounds nice. Okay. I will buy you a beach house. Better yet, I will buy you a beach house on your own island,” he said, so certain he would someday make my dream come true.

Rudy had been sitting in the other room when he overheard our conversation and asked, “What about me? What will you give me?”

“A Range Rover.”

“A Range Rover? Why?”

“Well, that is the car you wish you had, right? A black one?”

“Yeah.

“That’s why. That is what you wish you had,” Brad said. He was serious. A serious 9 or 10 year old kid.

When Brad does become a millionaire, I just hope the beach house he purchases me will be big enough to accommodate any and all visitors. Plus, Rudy’s Range Rover will need to be in tiptop shape as we cruise along our sandy front yard, salty air encasing its interior.