Pushing Forty!

Whoever said, "Forty is the new thirty," LIED!

I know, I know...I can hear all my friends groaning at me right now because for the past 5-6 years, I have used the quote endlessly with all my friends who were turning forty. Whenever a friend would lament at edging ever closer to the big 4-0, I would whip out this quote - not quite understanding what they were complaining about.

Well, here I am, standing on that same edge - only two months from my own fortieth birthday; a day I swore for years I would be excited about. However, now I am not so sure.

I have always admired women in their forties, well maybe always is pushing it; since I was thirty anyway. These women seem so self-assured and confident, so calm about the calamities of life, so full of grace and wisdom and patience (something I was not born with and something I work very hard to have every day). I realized that these women, by age forty, had gotten to a point in their lives where they like themselves and don't care what others think; they have "arrived," they are mature and others look up to them. I could not wait to get there and be amongst these remarkable women.

Here I am...knocking at the door to be let in.

What I never thought about, all these years, was the physical aspect of forty. Backwards I know, but true. I have been so focused on the inward changes of this "coming of age" that I never looked or asked about what forty did to one's body. I am now finding out for myself! I've spent the last ten years working on the inside and I just assumed my body would follow, that it would take care of itself...and you know what they say about assuming...

Weight has never been a problem for me, except when it was working in the opposite direction; I have always been thin. To give you some idea, my goal at age sixteen was to weigh 100 pounds and not have to shop in the kids department at Sears or The Children's Place; I was so excited when they opened up the 5-7-9 shop in the mall...a size zero and I was in heaven! My other dream was to have a womanly figure and not be stick thin and flat as as board; that dream came true at nearly age 17.

When I had my first son, three weeks before turning 21, I was back into my size two jeans in two weeks. My mother was appalled and made the statement, "Just wait until your second one, then you can kiss that tiny waist good-bye." After my second son, I was able to get into a size four jean after three weeks. And so it progressed, until I had my fourth child at age 32...I was lucky to get into a size ten and was pushing twelve. My 18-year-old son continually reminds me I look "great for my age"...another euphemism for, "Damn, you are old!"

I noticed the morning I turned thirty...my body really didn't look the same as it had just hours before. I complained, I lamented, but I did nothing about it. I was going through a divorce at the time, thus a "divorce diet" which left me unnaturally thin for my height. But the hard body I had...well, it was gone. It was as if the "age fairy" came during the night and replaced it with a lesser model, one that required more work and effort to maintain (as if I don't have enough to do). Over the past several years, I have dieted and lost the extra pounds and inches, I have worked out to become firmer, I eat better to stay healthy but I notice now, it takes much longer to get noticeable, if any, results. And the results usually don't come without pain. And that "fairy"...she keeps showing up every year, and every year what she leaves me with is worse than the year before!

Back in September, I was training to run in the Duke City Marathon with some girlfriends, we were going to do the relay. I decided I'd better "step it up" to two runs a day. Day two, second run, I blow my knee out. No provocation, no indication, nothing...just done. I could barely even walk and stayed off it for months to allow it to heal. I was finally able to walk briskly three months later...too late to work off all the crap I'd indulged in over the holidays, but a starting point. Come to find out...I have a torn miniscus and now must go to physical therapy; something else I don't have time for, what with the mammogram, the cholesterol screening, the bone density test, etc. etc.!

I am noticing, the closer that I get to 40, that my thighs are not as firm as they once were and are encroaching on my kneecaps. I now understand why women wear pantyhose all the time; I am not quite there yet, but could be by June! I've also noticed the ever popular "bat wings" (as I call them), which immediately show up when I wave my arm...I won't be doing that in a short-sleeve or sleeveless top any time soon. And of course, those "curves" that I asked for...need to be put back where they belong. The gray hair that peppers my head (and now eyebrows) is a pleasant reminder that the days are flying by and, oh, now would be a good time to dye again. Probably the most annoying of changes is the one where I feel like an 80-year-0ld woman getting out of bed...thanks to my back. This back has been through a lot - carried four kids for years and now it is time for paybacks. I get up and stretch, creak and crack all the way to the shower and, though everyone tells me I should give them up, I know my three-inch heel shoe collection isn't helping with this issue at all.

I know I should be grateful that I have my health. Is that what we say now that we're forty? Is that the end-all-be-all statement for when we complain about anything having to do with our less than perfect physical bodies? What's a girl to do?

Well, this girl is going to get herself to the gym and get serious about making her outside match her inside and prove that forty really is the "new thirty." Hopefully I will be unrecognizable, and not from plastic surgery or Botox, in Scottsdale on my 40th birthday and that the surprise will be how fantastic I look and feel!

Only then will I be ready to become one of those remarkable women that I look up to. Although, truth be told, what I admire about them is that they are comfortable in their own skin and that their beauty is not just skin deep, that what lies beneath the surface somehow radiates from within.

~alicia

Making the Grade

Parenting is a lot like going to school. You show up every day and every day there are new challenges to be met, new things to learn. But there are no books or manuals - you learn by doing and by screwing up, and then by doing it right the next time (or the time after that). There are pop quizzes and there are, most definitely, tests. And right about the time your child graduates from high school, you realize you are right there with them - graduating from 18 years of parenting.

Parenting is hard...single parenting is even harder. For the first several years of my boys' lives, we were without a lot of support from a father or husband, as he was in the Navy and living on an aircraft carrier for a good portion of our lives. I worked full-time and had two small boys that I was trying to raise in a town where I knew no one and had no family support. I wasn't always cheerful, I wasn't always kind, I was a terrible cook and I had a short fuse - I was very young, very inexperienced, and very scared. I went from being a daughter, a sister and a girlfriend to being a wife, a mother and a full-time employee in a matter of 24 months. Sounds like I just rattled off my list of excuses, but my point is, I was no June Cleaver, but I loved my kids...and still do.

I have tried to teach my kids the basics of life - to share, to be kind, to stick up for themselves and what they believe in, to be true to themselves, to be honest, to tell the truth. I've tried to be consistent in my parenting no matter the situation - married, divorced, single, dating or remarried.

I have also tried to discipline with a rememberance that I was once young and did dumb things, made bad choices and suffered consequences. Not that I want to the be the "cool" mom or my kids' friend (I am sure they have enough of those), but I have tried to weigh the crime and the consequence and I have to tried to keep my cool and treat them with respect. Self-esteem is big on my list of qualities a person needs and I want my kids to have it, so I try to discipline in a way that lets them walk away with their self-esteem in tact.

I've tried to support and encourage my children in whatever activities or talents they have pursued. I remember growing up and playing sports and not having a lot of parental support or involvement. I remember that awful feeling of looking up in the stands after scoring a basket and not having my mom or dad there; so I vowed to always be there to cheer my kids on, no matter what personal sacrifices I had to make to do so. So while they probably get sick and tired of me yelling and cheering from the baseball bleachers or the football sidelines, I've been there. I can count on one hand how many games I've missed in 14 years of soccer, baseball and football.

My friends, my co-workers, my parents often comment that they don't know how I do it. Honestly, I feel like I don't have any choice...these are my children and they are young only for a short time. I want to be there for them, I want to cheer for them, I want to encourage and support them because I want them to know how important they are to me. As I've always said, "Actions speak louder than words." If I die tomorrow, I want them to be able to look back and KNOW that they are not only the most important people in my life....they are my life.

And so, here is my oldest, ready to leave the nest and start off on his own journey and here I am second-guessing myself and the job I've done. Have I taught him well? Will he remember what I've tried to instill in him? How will the negatives in his life, namely the divorce, affect his future relationships? What paths will he choose in his life?

As the mother of a high school graduate I've wistfully reflected on the past 18 years (where did it go?!) and I sit here with the bitter taste of disappointment on my tongue.

Why the disappointment?

It seems like overnight he has changed. He is no longer a boy, but a man; he is no longer loving and kind, but distant and full of attitude; he is no longer grateful or appreciative, but selfish and entitled; he is no longer present, but always on the go; he is no longer affectionate, but cold and pushes away. Don't get me wrong, he is a great person - a good student, an awesome athlete, a good friend; he is polite, he is likeable, he has sa great sense of humor, he has a great work ethic and gives 100% at everything he does, he is loyal, he is honest...he is himself. And I am so proud he is my son.

But it is bittersweet; the severing of the "apron strings" is a heartbreaker as a mother. I am disappointed we can't seem to get along, that the growing up causes fighting, angst and unhappiness between us. I'm disappointed because there are days that I feel there is no love, no appreciation, no understanding of sacrifices that have been made. I am disappointed because I remember the day they laid that baby boy in my arms and thinking, "I am NOT going to screw this up." This wasn't how I envisioned it all playing out in my head...or my heart.

I guess I am most disappointed because I feel like, on graduation day, I didn't get an A. Oh, I passed, but not with the grade I would have liked, not the grade that I hoped for and worked for.
It takes me back to a conversation I had with my own mother and perhaps her own feelings of failure because I never went to college. I remember staring down at this newborn baby laying in my arms and nothing in the world meant more to me at that moment than that precious gift. Several days later I wrote my mom a letter and told her that I was sorry that I had disappointed her and let her down; made her feel like all her work was for naught.

I am older and wiser now (ha!) and the wisdom that I have is from the lessons and experiences I have had over my lifetime; most of which have come from my sweet children. I have learned things from them that no school or college could ever teach me and I've been able to apply them to my life and to the lives of others in the form of advice.

I want my mom to know, today, that if I had to trade a college degree for what I have, I wouldn't make that trade. I have four beautiful, smart, funny, talented children who remind me every day who I am and what I was meant to be and that is worth more than a piece of paper that I could have hanging framed on a wall saying that I sat through 4-6 years of classes.

I have, instead, a lifetime of memories - of a small hand brushing my face as if committing it to memory, of giggles and pillow fights and wrestling with my boys. Of fun times, of sad times, of scary times, of pulling together, of pulling apart, of pain and of joy. The things that life is made of.
I have learned that my success is not defined by my home, what kind of car I drive, the number of degrees that I hold or how much money I make each year. My success is fully dependent on the quality of relationships that I have in my life and, more importantly, that my kids are happy, responsible, obedient and confident; that they learn to follow their inner voice for what is right in their lives, regardless of what the world around them tells them to do.

So while I may not have gotten the grade I felt I deserved, I know it was still a good grade. Fortunately, I get to try again and maybe I'll get it right the next time.

~alicia

Who Would Have Guessed

Who would have guessed,
On the day you were born,
It was a day I will never forget
There was laundry to do and errands to run
Deadlines that had to be met

And who would have known
That the world would stop
For that one moment in time
And as you took your first breath
The woman that I was
Died a sure, but painless death

And in her place a mother was born
At that very same time and place
And I knew it was right
And I do still this day
Everytime I look at your sweet face

Who would have guessed
That a woman like me -
Busy, successful and free
Would be so content, every single day,
To sit with you and just BE?

Your little hand, so tiny, grasped at mine
And found a place to hold on
And your eyes, oh so bright, looked to my voice
It is what you came to depend upon

Who would have guessed
On the day you were born
That the greatest gift I received
Was becoming a mother, to you, my sweet child
It is my destiny, my dream - believed

And who would have guessed
After all of these years
The love that still fills my heart
When I look at your sweet face, my child,
It takes me right back to the start.

~a

The Missing

Every other week, Princess scrunches up her little face - sometimes the tears fall and sometimes she just complains when her brothers and sister have to go to their dad's. Even though this is the way that's it has always been for her, she still cries for them not to leave.

And every time, they tell her it is okay, they will be back. And each time, I fight to swallow the lump that has formed in my own throat - I don't want them to go either. I want to stomp my feet and yell, "This isn't fair!"

Nothing in life prepares you for the constant interruption of the life you have going...so your kids can go to their dad's. I suppose some people would think I should sigh with relief and relish the parenting "break" this affords me. I am supposed to feel "fortunate" for all my blessings in divorce: my kids have a dad who spends time with them, they have two families, they have a great step-dad and a host of step-relatives that love them.

Doesn't matter. I still want to throw myself down on the floor and have a fit, sob that I want the kids to stay...but I don't.

I miss a lot of their lives - even though when you count it out on a calendar, it is only 10 days a month; I miss them. I missed them 7 and 8 years ago, when they were all still so little and dependent on me - when they were full of love for their mother (now they barely talk to me). The ache follows me, like a shadow. I have learned not to outrun or hide from it...because it is always there, no matter how much time passes or how old they get.

I miss seeing them after school, when I get home from work - they bring life to the house and fill it with energy; I miss the, "what's for dinner?" greeting upon arrival home. I miss the rolling of the eyes when I ask if their homework is done, because of course, they don't have any. I miss the smell of their stinky little bodies after football, baseball, or an active day on the playground. I long to hear the familiar sounds coming from their rooms - the guitar, the tv, the laughter; proof that they are home and safe. I miss the scent of "boy" and deodorant when TLo hugs me (with one arm) before bedtime. I miss how we have family time around the dinner table when everyone laughs and is silly; when Princess does her best comedy routine and we laugh until we are crying. And yes, I even miss the clothes on their floors and unmade beds - further proof that their rooms belong to them and are not empty caves waiting for their return.

When the loneliness gets to be too much, I will text them, hoping for a return message - acknowledgement of some sort. Sometimes I'll dial one of them on their cell phone just to hear their voice on the outgoing recording. I don't leave a message because I know they won't return my call.

I don't talk much about missing my kids because it always leads to the same thoughts, the same conversation with myself. Ten years ago, when I never dreamed that this missing would become my silent companion, if I had known how I would long to have my kids with me all of the time - would I have acted or chosen differently? Could I have? I know, logically, that things happen for a reason and I know how blessed I am to have a wonderful life with Handsome and Princess, but it doesn't make the ache go away; it doesn't make the realization that I am missing out on half my kids' lives any less painful.

"Where's Sissy?" asks Princess, when I pick her up from school.

"She's at her dad's."

"I miss her," she says, just has she has done every week since she could talk.

"Me too," I say, as I embrace my silent companion and head home to my empty, dark house.

~alicia

Fairy Tales Are Just That...Tales

I grew up believing in the "happily ever after" of marriage. I dreamed, as a girl, of my wedding day - the dress, the flowers, the party, the music. What I didn't dream of is what would happen when the happily ever after came to an abrupt halt; the way my life would play out from that point on.

I was married, to my high school sweetheart; we were very young and foolish and thought we could rise above all the challenges of marriage and life. We were wrong.

After six years of a Naval career, which meant a life at sea for one and a life on land for the other, it was time to move back in together and have a "life." Not so easily done when you've only seen each other a total of 18 months over a period of five years. As a couple we quickly learned that the ocean wasn't the only thing seperating us. It is easy to be married when you only have the highs of a return to port, a fun-filled weekend with no worries, carefree living; then the the lows of saying yet another goodbye. Such was the rollercoaster of ups and downs that we called marriage. However, when the rollercoaster became a merry-go-round, someone got bored.

Divorce is like the fire-breathing dragon in the fairy tale...it paralyzes you with fear. It breathes fire, it beats you down, it makes you cry, it makes you scream, it makes you afraid to put one foot in front of another to try to move past it. No matter where you go, there it is. You want to run, to flee, but you can't find a way around it. You try to wish it away, pray it away, but it is there to stay.

People ask, "Didn't you see it coming?" No, I did not. I had no sense that it was coming - the the castle was on fire, the dragon was at the door, the ship was sailing without me. Clueless. Which made it even more embarrassing...other people knew before I did.

After months of looking for an easy answer, I faced the dragon - it was there and I had to accept it. I remember feeling like such a failure; that the one thing I had dreamed of my whole life, the one thing I thought I would be successful at was gone. It was like having the rug yanked out from underneath me and I couldn't get back up.

After months of struggling to survive, to get out of bed, to function like a human being, I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. My dearest friends were there for me, helping me step-by-step and day-by-day; saving my life, believing in me when I did not believe in myself. I realized I had three wonderful kids that were also dealing with the dragon and I had to help them; be strong for them - they were so young to have to the face the dragon! The devastation began to seem not so devastating, but there was a lot of work to do and so I started rebuilding.

And, alas, a White Knight came along and saved me from the fire-breathing dragon. He came along and swept me up, took me and my children away from the devastation and helped us to rebuild so we didn't have to do it alone. Suddenly, I was surrounded by love, laughter, sunshine and happiness. And the merry-go-round music began again, but the music was different this time and the ride was smoother.

Call me cynical, but I don't believe in fairy tales anymore...

But I do believe in the power of love

~alicia

When I Grow Up...

All I ever wanted to be was a mom.

Some will say I had low aspirations for myself and did not aim high enough; some will say I was lazy and took the easy way out (ha!). All I know is that it has been the one constant in my life, the one thread that wove itself into my tapestry I call life, the one thing I really wanted to be "when I grew up."

Oh, there were other dreams that were tossed in there that changed with the wind and with my age - at 5, it was a ballerina; as a teenager it was a model and Miss America; along with the standard fare of fireman, basketball player, and veterinarian...all those fun and exciting jobs.

Even today, as a mother of four beautiful kids, and nearing 40, I have colleagues and bosses that tell me I should go back to school and get a degree. So I set myself to thinking of "what I want to be when I grow up" - a life coach? A journalist? A computer programmer? An accountant? A lawyer? Where is my passion?

Passion...slowly my mind turns to thoughts of my children - my youngest in 2nd grade - and how I need to help them first get through school before I can even think of going back to school. I think of my oldest son, in college, preparing for life on his own, making decisions that will affect his path. And, as for my kids in the "middle" they are embarking on some wonderful times and experiences in their lives. Do I really want to miss out on all that because I am sitting in a classroom, or up to my eyeballs in homework?

I began as a young mother, nearly still a child myself - barely out of my teens and married when I had my first child. When I think about the classroom I've been a student of for the past 18 years, it is the classroom of life. It takes a lot to make a family work, to raise kids, especially on your own. When you are in your early 20's, it is a time for figuring out who you are, what you believe in, why you are here...but I didn't have time for all that because I was busy being a mother and a wife. I guess somewhere along the way, I found my answers. Maybe those answers aren't the same ones that I would have found had I been in college, living in a dorm and living life like all of my friends, but answers, nonetheless.

I will say that the lessons I've learned can't be found in any textbook, or necessarily in the Bible, but they have been great lessons - things that my children have taught me (probably more than I've taught them), lessons by trial and error and, the ever popular and favorite of mine, lessons by fire. And here I am, well past the age of college and degrees, and still learning something new every day - about myself, about my kids, about life. Now THAT is a classroom!

So, once again, the decision I come back to is that what I want to be when I grow up is a...Mother. Not just any mother, but a GOOD mother.

I have always felt that I carried these beautiful beings in my womb and it is my job to give them the tools, morals and values to see them safely through to the end of their journey here on earth. I consider it a privelege to help guide their footsteps, to cheer them on and to help them when needed.

It is sometimes a hard path, one that leaves me in tears from time-to-time, as well as doubting my abilities. It is at those times, when I feel at my lowest, that one of them will do or say something remarkable to me that fills me with hope and the ability to continue going. I hope someday they will each understand where I have been coming from all these years and the reasons for my determination to make sure they are safe, healthy and making responsible choices. Until then, I will just continue to fail, learn and love every minute of it.

~alicia