Confessions from a Thirty Something Momma

Dear Monday, I wanted to write and let you know how much I appreciate you. This morning on my way to work I was thinking about how much slack you get. Many people dread your existence. Most of the same folk complain about your weekly return. Others dread the mention of your name. But I don’t mind you at all. If I’ve had a rough and tiring weekend, I look forward to the new week you bring. After a great weekend, I spend the day reflecting on great memories just formed. Many a good things have happened on a Monday. My exciting first day of school happened on a Monday. My school career was peppered with Mondays where I was eagerly reunited with my friends readily to share with them my weekend adventures. Later as a young adult I lived abroad in Europe and worked with Youth With A Mission [YWAM]. During the lecture phase of our training schools, Mondays were always the start and welcome a new speaker and new topic of study and learning.   Our orientat...

Before my son was born, which was only less than 10 weeks ago, the R word was a flippant part of my vocabulary. I’d be mindlessly doing some task, then realizing I was doing it incorrectly, I’d offhandedly say, “oh-I’m so retarded” and then correct whatever mistake I made. I never thought twice about using the R word. It wasn’t directed at anyone. I was speaking only of myself. So I didn’t think it was a big deal. Then Alvaro was born. And I quickly found out the R word was a big deal in the special needs community. It wasn’t just a faux pas one ought not to say, it was a triggering word that was not to be used under any circumstances due to its ignorant and hurtful nature. Despite stumbling across this very early on after my son’s birth, I still inwardly wondered why it was so hurtful if it wasn’t directed at anyone in particular. I certainly wasn’t going to assume that label for my son. In my evolving thoughts on this subject, I made a mental effort to eradic...

  I never realized what a sporadic event attending church can be, until I had children. Church attendance then went from becoming a given if we were in town, to being peppered with all sorts of obstacles.   Suddenly a variety of factors came into play:   having a child contagious with a cold or virus, being exhausted from staying up all night due to teething ailments, having family in town that would be leaving before we could all head off together for a service. All these had impacts on our “regular church attendance.”   Considering the fact that as a child I attended church with my family four days out of the week consistently, this has been an eye opening experience to say the least.   Two weeks ago, we packed up the boys in the car and headed off to church. We dropped our toddler off at the nursery and headed into the main sanctuary with our newborn. Not long after we were seated, it was announced that this was “Worship Sunday.” The service ...

We watch Cheers. It’s one of the things we do together. There’s no real rhyme or reason to it either. We have a subscription to Netflix. One evening after scrolling past the Cheers selection, I made a comment about it the show to my husband. Xavier then told me he never watched it much. I remember watching it often as a kid. It was on WPIX- Channel 11 in New York City . So I suggested we watch a few episodes. With nothing better to choose in mind, we did. That was 5 seasons ago. Like many Americans who watched it nightly in the eighties, we sort of became hooked on it. I even made sure we sat through the theme song at least once, because Cheers and its theme song are synonymous.  So when we have time, we sit down and watch the cat and mouse chase between Sam and Diane. We watch Norm sit around and make sarcastic witty remarks about Vera, who we are never privy to see. Cliff,Carla, then Woody add their own piece of flair to the bar scene. And the best part, in my opinion,...

For those readers who have yet to experience interacting with a teething toddler, allow me to paint a vivid picture for you.   For those readers who have already experienced this, especially with their own children, allow me to bring you back to those days, if only to commiserate with my plight.   For those readers who are currently in the exact same position I am: I am very, very sorry.    Our day begins as usual. We awake to the alarm on our phones reminding us countless times that we should not continue to press the snooze button. We get out of bed and shuffle our way to the bathroom to brush our teeth. And so the day is underway for my husband & I. We get dressed. He feeds our newborn that has begun to stir from his deep sleep. I make my way to the kitchen to pack lunch bags, diaper bags, and make a quick breakfast.   Down the hall comes the voice of our almost 2 year old, Joel. “Where are you?” he yells. He then mumbles something that only h...

When I was a child, my siblings, cousins, and I would spend our evening hours in the summer in hot pursuit of lighting bugs. The ideal lighting bug trap was a jar with a lid. When that wasn’t an option, we’d settle for clear plastic cups covered with aluminum foil for a lid.   It was always very important to poke holes in the lid. We did this to keep the bugs alive while in captivity. Then, after we had our fun enjoying their lights, we could uncover them and release them back to nature.   Seven weeks ago I gave birth to my own little lighting bug. Alvaro is as cute and precious as they come. And like a lighting bug when I was a child- he already fills my life with awe and wonder. Such is the nature of being able to witness the birth, growth, and development of my children. We as people come in all shapes and sizes, just like jars do. Some jars are dark, some light, others are tall, some short. You get the picture. Alvaro’s jar is wrapped with an extra chromosome. ...