2015...the year of the "Strong Mother"

I'm not going to apologize or rehash the past two years...I'm just going to begin again. I'm looking at a clean white page in front of me. There is nothing more refreshing than a clean white page to write on don't you think? That is probably why I have about 54 journals where I write on the first page and then stop. I digress... It is January 1, 2015. I like the number 2015 because it seems strong. I have always made numbers into characters - that is how I learned my multiplication tables; I gave them feelings. (3 is a feisty fellow and always causes trouble; 5 is a mom; 1 is a baby; 8 is a great uncle who likes to have fun wherever he goes; 9 is a grumpy grandfather who causes tension) I know I'm a little unstable. I suppose that is why I always failed my times table tests that were being timed by the clock..."I'm sorry Mrs. Lisa but I had to tell the story of how 3 and 5 met to figure out the answer." Where was I? Oh, 2015 is a strong number - it has a 5. The year of the mother but it is 15 which makes her stronger - the year of the grown up mother. That would be me maybe. This is getting deep. I just turned 39. 2 of my least favorite numbers 3 and 9. Don't roll your eyes! I'm not sad about turning 40...my whole life I have wanted to be older. I have an older sister. I always seem to have older friends (you know how older women like to make fun of their 'younger' aged friends...) So, I always wanted to be 13, 16, 21, finally 30...well now it's 40. I'm not saying I WANT to be 40 just that I'm ready for it. I'm ready to say to the world, "I have the emotional scars, the wrinkle lines, the gray hairs that won't accept Loreal 9 Light Natural Blonde." But this post isn't about me having one last year as a 30 year old. My children are respectfully 13, 11, and 6. 6 is the only good solid number in the bunch. To say the past year has been a little crazy would be an understatement. (starting a second job, having my middle child's teeth knocked out, having my husband go through a stroke and lose partial eye sight, renovating a foreclosed house that no one else wanted but I knew would be my forever dream home) I'm pumped that it's a new "white page" to not 'start over' but rather 'begin a new chapter.' In a nutshell having kids these ages means you have a lot of emotions running wild in your house. 13? He knows everything. I mean EVERYTHING. And the funny thing is even when he thinks there is a possibility that he might be wrong he is still the most confident person I know and will GO DOWN still believing he is right and everyone around him is a complete moron. An 11 year old??? Well, let's just say there is crying one minute, stare downs the next (he should really go into politics)and then every now and then a quick hug or a thought is released to give you a glimpse of what his vast mind is thinking. Can you tell I still haven't figured this child out? And then there is a 6 year old...girl...not much has changed since she was 4, honestly. Still a show stopper, center of attention, constant talker, obsessed over having a boyfriend one day when I breakdown and let her date her fellow kindergarten classmates (never), and still a little streakier. My conversations with Sister Girl when boys come to the house (which is a lot) "You are not allowed to run around in front of them naked!" She can make you crack up but usually because she has just said some absolute ridiculous off colored, inappropriate statement. That would be Sister Girl. She's a Wild One. (I have to add though...Sister Girl is in Kindergarten now and in true Callender fashion she has followed suite and somehow tricked her teacher into believing that she is a perfect little angel who never talks, never falls below the third ring of the rainbow, and would never, never step OVER the imaginary line you have drawn in the sand!) MY CHILDREN AMAZE ME...THEY MUST BE MAGICIANS! Why after two years am I sitting in front of a white page filling it up with little black letters? I have spent the past two years trying to figure out who Sarah Weeks Callender is again. The Sarah I was before a baby on my hip, a diaper bag on my shoulder, play dates filling my calendar, and hoards of girlfriends to talk on the phone with all day because we were all at home during nap time cleaning our house or catching a breath while our preschoolers watched the latest cartoon. Now I am working mom. Professional mom. I drive my three kids to school either in my business casual outfit for the day or on the rare occasion I can get my life together I have my yoga pants on to go work out. I have breakfast in the van with my cup of coffee to go because I never have time to enjoy either before running out the door and yelling at the kids to hurry up and don't forget your backpacks! I drop my 7th grader off at the door and try not to embarrass him, while threatening two younger children to not roll down their windows and yell out the van at their big brother who is already turning scarlet because his peers are actually seeing that he has a family...because none of them do you know...they all live alone and are secretly grown up and drive to school and make money on the side of being in middle school. I park my van in the front of the elementary school because that is what the parents who really care about their kids do...I actually walk (or follow) my 5th grader in and yell at him as he runs away from me that I love him and hope he has a wonderful day! I try to hold my fashion-esta kindergartener's hand as she asks me if she looks ok and scans the parking lot for paparazzi to jump out and take her picture while she imagines the sidewalk is her red carpet to the school. "Oh stop, stop mom...there is Cindy Lou Who...HELLO Cindy Lou Who...oh, oh, wait mom, there is Marco Pollo, let's walk with him....oh, mom....hurry there is Sandy...I want to walk in with her...." MERCY! My heart has beat a thousand times before we make it up the steps and I manage to tell her goodbye and send her on her way to begin her social career at school for the day. And then it's just me....I turn around and walk back to my van and it's just me. I have no kids hanging on me. I have no one crying or screaming at me. I have me. So what do I do? This is where two years ago I decided what I would do. I got a job. My old boss at the preschool I worked at didn't like me saying this on Facebook too much. I'm not saying working at preschool wasn't a job for me. It was just that...it was a job. I took my kids to preschool with me and I taught (with my whole heart and all my energy - until those little boogers sucked every ounce of it out of me) but then I picked my own preschooler up and packed up my classroom and left the building to continue on being a stay at home mom. Now I had a different kind of job. For me at least I had a career...I put my big girl panties on, interviewed multiple times and was given a budget and 'vacation days' and 'sick days' and told I had to clock in and clock out. I got a job. It was a dream job honestly. Nonprofit...check. Writing...check. Christian organization...check. A few blocks from my kids' school...check. Work with other mothers...check. Work from home when I needed to...check. I couldn't have asked for anything more if I had dreamed it up! But...instead of planning play dates at the park on a sunny day I was planning my day around what grants were due a month from now and who I needed to meet with to get their budget before my deadline. Instead of working out three days a week and taking 2 hours to leisurely go to class, walk the track with friends in order to catch up on the latest school drama, get my heart rate up for 60 minutes while trying not to get in trouble with the older women behind us because we CAN'T STOP TALKING no matter how many burpees and supermans he makes us do, then stand around the parking lot and talk about how much we have to do that day (grocery shop, clean the house, meet a friend for lunch, volunteer at school)...I now am lucky to go running with a friend for 30 minutes before the school dismissal bell rings at the end of the day. Now let me stop and be realistic for a moment...I only work three days a week in the office from 8-2. I have two days at home...I do get to go to class on occasion when the stars line up and I plan everything else in my day down to the last minute before my head hits the pillow at 11:00pm. But do I meet up with friends every week for lunch dates and leisure coffee chats? No. Do I hang out at the park and feel the sun tan my pale skin while visiting with other women? No...I went and got a second job. As if one job wasn't enough for me to juggle. But the second job completely fell into my lap. I even pushed it off a few times! And it kept coming back! So I accepted it. I make up my work schedule. I track when I work (as in "I just worked for 45 mts from the car line on my smart phone...check). I even create what I am going to do each week...and it is only 10 hours a week! I keep pinching myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. But on the other side of things I am crying because yes, now I have a total of 30 hours a week I am 'working' for someone with a responsibility that goes beyond taking care of my 3 kids and feeding my family and keeping my house clean. Now I am making a van payment, helping to remodel a new house we bought that completely needed a full makeover, and putting clothes on a constantly growing 13 and 11 year old boy while making sure my 6 year old has matching boots for her outfits! Now I have choices to make...work out and visit with friends so that I can at least maintain one or two relationships I use to have but then stay up until 10:00pm to get my 'hours' in or go home like a good employee and work at my computer while the kids are officially on someone else's watch and not socialize or shop or exercise. Choices. Priorities. Consequences. Those are three words that would describe my life now as a grown up. It's just me. In the mini-van when I drop the three peeps off. It's just me and no one else telling me what they want to do. I have to make a choice. I have to set my priorities based on what I know I have to get done that week. I have to face the consequences of each of those choices. I have to juggle the burps in the road like never before..now they aren't burps (aka: when the nurse calls from school and says little Sister isn't feeling so good today) they are more like road blocks, show stoppers, dynamite in my path that blows up everything on my adult to-do list. This white page is full now. My house is alive again. My free time is over. I should have been working instead of 'writing' but oh, it felt so good to just write about me and not the latest need for a grant! After two years to just sit down and write my thoughts...it felt so good. Happy 2015 to me. The year of the strong mother. (The Chinese people really should consult me on their calendar...doesn't that sound better than the year of the monkey?) The year to continue making my choices, to continue figuring out who I am as I near 40, to continue making priorities for our family that guarantee success and peace and love and wisdom for everyone involved. To 2015! Cheers.