being Mom2Amara | MoninaW | a Cleveland mom's blog

what's down there?

2012-05-24T12:00:00.000-04:00

I've been quiet lately. Shocking, I know. Life's as good as it will be. I'm happy. Amara's happy.

But when my happiness sank a degree or so, I sought the company of my friends, who were more than willing to indulge me in some retail therapy.

So I bought a I-filed-for-divorce purse, just as I bought I-got-separated black boots. Oh, did I mention I got a hot black wallet to go in said purse? And a few dresses and sandals too...

This purse is gigantic. I can barely fill it. And I do hate having to dig deep down into a bag.

But then again, that's a great problem to have because my new purse is filled with singlehood goodies I had forgotten all about.

It's been years since I've walked around with perfume in my bag. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I carried around makeup. I have mascara for those last minute touch ups. Seriously.

I now carry Advil. Because I hate headaches. Not just migraines but tequila ones.

I always have a hand held compact in my purse. There's never a mirror around when you need one and how else can you check t p see if you have food in your teeth, fix your hair or touch up your makeup? Hate to say it, but before, I really had no one to impress...

I have headphones. Why? Because when I find myself sans child and nothing to do, I can bust out my iPhone and enjoy some music. In peace. Why not?

What are you purse must-have's? And what else should I have deep down in mine?

off to see the Mouse

2012-04-25T08:38:00.001-04:00

I’m like the Mercedes Benz SLS of motherhood

2012-04-16T06:30:00.000-04:00

It’s no secret Amara and I have a special relationship.

We’re no typical mother-daughter duo. She’s been one of my best girlfriends since she was four-days-old shopping at the mall with me. And even though she’s now in the third grade, nothing has changed. I value her opinion. I trust her. She trusts me. I keep no secrets. I have one rule: if she asks, I answer honestly. I guess that comes from years of heartache, death, and everything good in between.

So it irks me when my hands-off parenting style is questioned, especially by others. Hello? Keep hovering over your own kids instead of over me, will ya? Back the heck off!

These helicopter parents – or [ahem] grandparents - can justify their children’s actions no matter what. And they allow their kids to be lazy. Why pick up after yourself if Nana’s just going to do it for you? Ugh.

What’s the opposite of a chopper? Me. Or some ground vehicle like a car. (Of course, I chose the Benz SLS because I have to be hot, sleek and perhaps sometimes with the top down. I'm no Yugo!)

When Amara does wrong, my daughter knows it. I won’t stand for it. It’s part of making her a contributing, responsible member of society. I want her to be mindful. I want her to be philanthropic. I want her to be loving.

But some people want to defend some of Amara's bad actions. No, she's not doing anything horrible or illegal. But that's not the point. I just want to speed off in our "Benz" so she doesn't have to listen to all the excuses. I don't want her defended. I want her to just be her. And I want her to grow from lessons learned.

Or maybe it's not an action. Maybe it's buying 20 of the same shirt but in different colors because she "looooooves" it. That may be an exaggeration, but not really. Does she really need to be indulged? She's eight and can barely dress herself in the morning. Exhibit A.

No matter what, it's so frustrating. I mean, who needs a helicopter? Most days, I'd be just happy having a bicycle.

So to all your helicopter types, I'm begging you, please, let your little (and not so little) ones grow up on their own. Let them learn their own lessons.

And while you're at it, leave me and my Benz the heck alone.

a note from Amara

2012-04-10T05:30:00.000-04:00

I mean, how can you say no?

Dear Family and Friends,

I would like to tell you about my first 5K race. I'm going to run a 5K in May to raise money for a brain tumor research. I am doing this race because my Lola died from a brain tumor. If you donate money it will go to a good cause. I'm trying to raise $250.00. Can you donate a dollar or two for my race? It would mean so much to my team and me. You can donate by clicking here.

Love, Amara

who needs Broadway?

2012-03-28T06:07:00.000-04:00

Who needs Broadway?

Ok, this girl does.

Every year, I become a follower of sorts. I become one of many. And I do so proudly.

Yearly I flock to the largest performing arts center outside of NYC with thousands of other theatre lovers to take in a show (or two or three) at Playhouse Square.

And yesterday was like Christmas morning for us theatre goers because Playhouse Square revealed its upcoming KeyBank Broadway Series! I literally have been counting down the days until this week's announcement.

I was promised the new season would appeal not only to me, but to my divalicious, musical-loving daughter. And they are so right.

This Disney Moms Panelist started crying when they announced Beauty and the Beast is coming in November! Oh. My. Gawd. I will be seeing this every night. Guaranteed. I'll even consider taking Amara.

And one of my favorites - Anything Goes! - is on the impressive lineup. This is a classic I can't wait to introduce to my daughter.

Others on the schedule include:

Sister Act. Nuns in sequins. Enough said.
Priscilla the musical. Drag queens and a bus. Yay!
War Horse. CLE get excited. Because I am!
Guys and Dolls. Another classic.
Book of Mormon. Another oh my gawd from me. Nine time Tony winner. I have no words.

How fortunate we are to have Broadway come to Cleveland year after year. And this season may be the best one yet.

For more information, check out PlayhouseSquare.org/Broadway. And hopefully we can all meet up after curtain call.

Disclosure: I was invited by Playhouse Square to attend a launch party introducing this year's season. However, I was unable to attend. Opinions stated, are always my own and never wavered by products received nor compensated unless, otherwise, stated.

breaking the rules

2012-03-27T11:20:00.002-04:00

I compiled an "adult" to do list in my head soon after Dad2Amara and I married. It comprised basically of tasks or rules I felt were expected of those no longer mooching off their parents, those now establishing their lives and identifying who they want to be.

Many of my "firsts" occurred because of this list. My first margarita. A neighborhood knitting club. And I went in for a physical with my doctor.

I exercised (ir)regularly. I ate right. I tried to sleep seven hours a night. But then the doctor called me "borderline obese," and I went into near eating disorder mode. I was obsessed with not crossing the line into the "O" word. There was only one "O" word I cared to hear and honestly, I think the whole world could hear me too. This was in 2002.

It's no secret I've battled my weight, yo-yo'ing up and down. But recently, I lost so much weight in a short amount of time that even I was concerned. But with an eight-year-old, deadlines, and simply life, I ignored the pain and my friends' (and body's) pleas to see my doctor. And perhaps my obsessive impulses regarding the scale started to creep back.

But I received a rude awakening when I ended up having minor surgery. "It was ok," I rationalized. "I can map everything out."

Yet here I sit, seven days later. I had planned to write, blog, and read. That went out the window with the unseasonable temps last week.

And the weight I had lost? It perhaps was the first casualty. Because as soon as I realized I was semi-pain free and able to eat, I did. And continue to do so. I indulge in all the foods I couldn't have for months.

But this time, there's no nagging in my head. Because I'm healthy. Because I can.

Will I continue on my diet of Pop Tarts, fried rice, and mocha chocolate chip ice cream? Nah.

But for now, breaking the rules never tasted so good. And I'm going to let loose for a little bit longer.

wannabe

2012-03-20T06:30:00.000-04:00

Hi. Remember me? The wannabe runner? Slowest girl to complete a half marathon? Haven't run since Thanksgiving because of unforeseen circumstances?

It's no secret I have no athletic ability whatsoever. But I tried. Sure, I was picked last for the kickball team in grade school. But I gave it my all.

Well, kinda the same goes with my singing ability. And my artistic skills. Same with acting. Mediocre. But dangit, I still sang my heart out at competitions. And I rocked my orations at States. Wannabe performer.

Yet I still admired the arts. (I bet you thought I was going to break out the Spice Girls, didn't you?)

So it warmed my heart when Amara applauded the touring cast of Memphis last week at Playhouse Square. She watched intently through the acts then began to sing "Scratch My Itch." Amara instantly fell in love with Huey and Felicia. Makes me excited to take her to upcoming performances of Mamma Mia and Footloose. Of course we'll hit the International Children's Festival in May too.

And just because I wanted to test the waters, I brought Amara to the Rembrandt in America exhibit at the Cleveland Museum of Art. An eight-year-old to the museum...what was I thinking? Well obviously I'm a genius! She was enthralled with each piece, dissecting the artwork as if she were in class, inspecting it as if she were an art dealer. Amara now even has a "favorite" Rembrandt.

This week also kicks off the Cleveland International Film Festival. I don't have plans to take Amara, but I hope to be attending a blogger reception and take in a film or two (or three).

But my wannabe cultured self isn't stopping there. Next week, Playhouse Square will reveal the shows for its upcoming 2012-2013 Broadway Series. Can. Not. Wait. I was invited to a preview launch party just before the public announcement. I'm not sure how I'll keep my fingers from tweeting with excitement.

All that's missing from my spring lineup is a trip to the Orchestra. But I'm sure that will happen soon too.

I may not be able to carry a tune, but I'm more than willing to support those who can. The arts community in Cleveland is so alive, so vibrant. We're so lucky to be a part of it.

So, have you seen any good shows lately?

'seen' another change in me?

2012-03-17T09:06:00.000-04:00

I rarely ever used to go to the theatre to watch movies. Or rent them.

I thought it was because I had the attention span of a squirrel. In all seriousness, when I was younger, doctors believed I had a form of ADHD. But Lola2Amara contested their diagnosis and said I was just being obnoxious.

But I digress. Figures, right?

So lately, I've seen a difference in my interests. Maybe it's because I find myself with some time on my hands without child. Or maybe it's because I actually enjoy them. But I'm watching movies again. New releases. Movies that everyone talked about years ago but I never got to see. I'm finally catching up to my friends.

Just like I never had a chance to watch as Hollywood came to Cleveland to film parts of The Avengers. And no, I never read the popular Marvel comic book series.

But that doesn't mean I'm not totally excited to see the new movie in just over a month. Marvel's The Avengers hits theatres May 4th. I can't wait to see CLE on the big screen.

There are so many new flicks coming up I know I'll go see - I can't believe I just said that. Guess it's just another change I've noticed.

What movies are you looking forward to?

how do you take this thing off?

2012-03-12T06:00:00.000-04:00

I am technically not single yet. But daily, I learn a new aspect of life where I am truly on my own. Some days, this brings tons of joy. Others, great frustration.

Last week, I'm going to go with the "frustration" part.

As Mom2Amara, I've taught my daughter the basics. Tying her shoe. Brushing her teeth. And how to dress, which in turn leads to her undressing herself. I think Amara's a pretty ~~sassy~~ independent third grader.

But I don't think this is what she and I envisioned when we discussed pairing accessories with our outfits.

the culprits

Last week, I found myself in a predicament I never imagined - I was sitting in an emergency room. Alone.

I drove myself to the hospital, and the nurses took me immediately into a room. Whaaaaat? No waiting room? I had no time to process I was even at the hospital let alone by myself. It wasn't until two hours later I realized oh. my. gawd. I'm on my own. No one was there to hold my hand.

But I handled the visit. It was when I was finally sent home that I flipped out. I had two fabulous accessories on my wrist. The identification band was a cinch to remove. Slipped right off. But the gorgeous neon orange "allergy" band was wrapped so tightly around my arm, I thought it might cut off circulation at some point. So in search of scissors I went.

The orange bracelet was on my right wrist. Did I mention I'm right handed? Have you ever tried to use scissors with the hand you don't write with? Yea, doesn't work so well. And when I say that, I mean it doesn't work period.

I screamed and pouted as I tried to take that damn thing off. I tried to rip it apart. I tried the scissors again. I jumped up and down. I tried osmosis. I cursed erythromycin and morphine, the reasons why I had to wear the fricking thing anyways. It was almost comical

Until I started to cry. Amara was in bed. And there was no one else to take off this awful reminder of my hospital visit.

Such a small thing in the grand scheme of things. But it's kinda like when I was pregnant - why doesn't anyone warn you about things like this?

I eventually got the allergy bracelet off. But it made me recognize and take note of all the other things I'm going to have to do on my own. Like cleaning the bathroom. Buying a car. Forgoing mid-week GNO's when I have Amara.

Life's certainly changed in the last year. But with each day, I learn something new. Including how to take off a hospital bracelet.

(Blogger's note: Yes, I have loving, kind friends who were willing to come up to keep me company at the hospital [A huge thank you to all of you. You know who you are.], but I was okay. I'm typing this post, aren't I?)

fat and ugly no more

2012-03-09T05:30:00.000-05:00

I’ve always been fat.

Now before you go yelling at me. Let me explain.

I know I have come a long way. 50 pounds down. That’s huge.

Well actually, I was huge.

But no longer. I was never a skinny girl. And I never will be. But now I’m a healthy girl. And kinda a good role model. (Note I'd say a really good role model but I know I didn't lose the last 10 pounds in a responsible way but we won't get into that right now.)

But I know sometimes I say things that probably aren't good for my daughter to be hearing. Like saying I still want to lose more weight. Or I’m ashamed of my flabby stomach. Or the room shakes with my thunder thighs. Or that Amara inherited my thunder thighs (because Aunt2Amara, you know we both have them and our daughters are destined to have them...sorry).

So I have to learn to embrace the beautiful body I have.

Beautiful.

Yea.

Remember when I said I was never a skinny girl? Well I had never ever been referred to as beautiful. I mean, that’s reserved for supermodels. And television anchors. Or my neighbor. But not me.

No, I’m not having a pity party for one. I’ve been called attractive. Cute. Pretty. But beautiful? Nope. Then it happened. I didn’t believe it. And sometimes I still don't. But how can I have my daughter believe me when I say it when I don’t believe it myself?

It's no secret I have been placed in unknown territory. I have had to learn who I am, discover how strong I am (or am not), and trust the people who love me. So my birthday manifesto this year (it's been four years since I have written one) will include only one public declaration: I will continue to believe, trust, and rely on those who genuinely care for and love me and my daughter.

That way I will remember that I am fat and ugly no more. And I will always know that the events of the last few months will not break me.

hot mess

2012-03-08T06:00:00.000-05:00

She has always been my little diva.

And honestly she has more fashion sense than I do. She helped choose my dress for Jump Back Ball. And remember when she was designing outfits and stilettos?

I am not one to squash her creativity. I want her to express her individuality.

But this time, I think perhaps I should have stopped her.

Note the undried hair. The floral jacket, striped shirt, and plaid skirt. Oh and of course I took the photo before she put on her brown Uggs.

Hot. Mess.

Amara's been doing this more and more. And by "this," I mean putting together outfits I wouldn't be caught dead in.

Yesterday she had on a camouflage t-shirt (with some bling of course) paired up with a pair of hot pink sweat pants.

Oh. Dear. Heaven.

Again, I feel like I should have said something.

It's no longer about her spirit or imagination or use of color. I'm more worried about her popularity in school. Yes, I said it. I don't want her to be in the wrong crowd. I don't want her to be a loser.

Before you start throwing your proverbial stones at me, allow me to explain.

She's eight. And before this year, Amara was in a wonderful school environment where the students were sheltered. This year, she's in a big girl school with lockers. And dress codes. And lockdown practices. The talk of all the third grade girls the first two weeks of school was about Kiley and how she decorated her locker with a chandelier and wore heels to class.

Amara can rock a pair of knee high black boots. Sure she's borrowed my glitter eyeliner once or twice. It sure makes her gorgeous brown eyes pop. But my girl still wears sweaters adorned with ponies.

No, I don't want her to grow up too fast. But I don't want to subject her to ridicule too early.

Kids can be so cruel. I know. I used to be one of them. The mean kid. Oh the things we used to do to our fellow classmates. We would make them cry. We would make our teachers cry. I am not proud of it.

That's what I don't want Amara to endure.

I feel like I should have chosen this battle to fight and made her change her clothes.

Yet, I let my daughter walk out of the house looking like that. And yes, I knew she looked insane. Yes, it bothered the begeebers out of me.

But she insisted she matched and looked fabulous. And Amara is pretty fabulous. So who am I to argue?

Guess I'll have to accept her on her messy days. Just like I have to accept that she's borrowing my makeup.

Update 8:30 am: Considering I initially left the house with virtually no accessories and two different shoes on, it's only fair I resurrect this.

Note the curled bangs. Plaid shirt. Suspenders. Gigantic glasses. Barrettes.

Hot. Mess.

so I ripped away her innocence even more

2012-02-28T09:00:00.000-05:00

I consider myself to be a pretty involved parent in our school district.

Teachers know me. We attend football games, spaghetti dinners and the homecoming parade. Amara's coaches recognize me. And Amara and I know the student handbook so well, she cried.

But not until yesterday did I know Amara participated in practice lockdowns at school. In third grade. Third grade.

After the tragic events that unfolded just 60 miles east of our home, I knew I needed to talk to Amara about these lockdowns.

So I questioned what they did during these practice lockdowns. I pressed her to tell me why she thought they were important. Her response?

"In case a bad guy gets into our school."

And then I knew Amara was going to grow up just a little bit more today.

I mean, I've already stripped away her innocence by dragging her through a divorce. She's had to take care of me during the loss of my own Mom, her grandmother. Why not add to her angst.

So I began by asking if she remembered walking through Chardon Square with me. I reminded her who Sheriff Dan and his dog are.

Then I told her that sometimes the "bad guy" is a classmate. And I proceeded to tell her about yesterday's school shooting.

I instructed her to tell a teacher if she ever saw a student with a gun or other weapon at school. I pleaded with her to tell an adult if she ever saw on social media or received a text speaking of violence.

I told her sometimes other kids just suck.

She's eight. No eight year old should have to worry about this.

No Mom should have to worry about this.

guess I'm not Cinderella

2012-02-27T09:00:00.000-05:00

I think I broke the glass slippers. Or in my case the mink colored heels I wore Saturday night.

Rather than a royal coach whisking me away after a whirlwind weekend, I'm home, slapped in the face with a dose of reality - Amara has a fever. Again.

If you ~~haven't been living under a roc~~k ~~follow me on any social media platform~~ know me, you have heard me talk non-stop about my excitement for this year's Jump Back Ball.

Oh. My. Gawd.

It did not disappoint.

I love my dress. (And remember that whole ordeal?)

I love the people I partied with.

I love Playhouse Square.

And it was bookended by drinks, good food, and friends all weekend long. Did I mention there were drinks?

Dare I say the last three days were magical?

But the fairy tale always comes to an end. At least for me. Ahem, divorce, right? And this weekend was no exception I came off this blissful high straight back to motherhood. The glitz and glamour of Jump Back Ball were replaced with yoga pants and snuggle time on the sofa.

Oh yes, I wish the weekend could have lasted forever. And yes, Jump Back Ball 2013 is already marked on my calendar.

But I guess I'm not the Princess type. By night's end, I wanted nothing to do with my glass slippers. I'm not meant to be in a castle. And I may not always get to keep my Prince. But there's one thing I know: my happy ending always includes Amara.

anatomy of a dress

2012-02-21T07:00:00.000-05:00

I'm not going to lie. It's been a rough month.

But through it all, I've had one thing to look forward to: Jump Back Ball.

I have wanted to attend this benefit for Cleveland's arts center for-ev-er. Literally. (And for my out of town friends, you should know, Playhouse Square is the largest performing arts center outside of New York. For reals.)

But purchasing tickets for this event brought more angst to my life than I could have imagined.

I needed to go dress shopping. And this stressed me out to no end.

Never have I gone to a benefit or dance in a black dress. Ironically, I reserve the iconic LBD for weddings.

But the only cocktail dresses I liked were black. So with the help of a dear friend, shopping we went. And I came home successful.

Or so I thought.

A dress really has to be fabulous in every aspect. The length of the dress has to work with its color, shape, embellishments. Oye, the dynamics I had to consider.

I stared at my fuchsia dress for two weeks. It swayed perfectly. It fit wonderfully. And then I returned it.

I had another dress. Totally hot. Platinum. Eye catching details all over. Figure hugging silhouette. And completely two inches too short for my cottage cheese thighs.

Dress three is perhaps the largest clothing purchase I have made in years. I am infatuated with the dress. But buyer's remorse kicked in. Bye bye dress three.

And that brings me to...drum roll please...dress number four. And that's my final answer.

I am in love with my dress. I don't think I've ever owned a dress like it.

I never would have bought spaghetti straps.

I never would have considered its color.

I never would wear that much bling.

And no, I'm not sharing what the dress looks like...not yet.

But here's a peek at how phenomenal dress three was. So use your imagination. Dress four will be all that much better.

still

2012-02-08T08:00:00.000-05:00

why I'm worth $36 of glitter

2012-02-06T15:30:00.001-05:00

Things aren't so simple anymore.

I'm a firm believer happiness is not something to be saved. You should live in the moment.

But recently my creative spark seems to have dimmed. I'm no longer writing. Running. Baking. All for which I am passionate, all that tantalizes my senses, I just can't seem to fully appreciate.

Breathing is a struggle.

Then I started to question a lot. It was all too much to bear.

We all have our vices. In the month of New Year's resolutions, I gained nine pounds. Can you guess my vice? Yes, it's my coping mechanism too. Among a few others.

So rather than drowning my sorrows in empty calories, I decided this weekend to douse them in glitter. Literally.

But who spends $36 on glitter?

This girl.

It's amazing how your perspective can change after walking into Sephora. And I've always said that a girl's best friend is eyeliner. I still stand by that.

So every day, I promise to face the world with a little sparkle.

I'm worth the $36 of glitter.

It's my reminder that a little glitter never hurt anyone. And that the world can be a better place with a little glam.

just keep swimming

2012-01-26T20:15:00.000-05:00

I think I've been Mr. Grumpy Gills lately. But I just need to keep swimming.

Just keep swimming.

Which makes me even more excited for this.

How an American Idol taught my daughter an important life lesson

2012-01-16T16:39:00.000-05:00

I was mocked.

I remember when the first season of American Idol was announced. People at work laughed at me for being excited for the show’s debut. But I didn’t care. I knew I would be enthralled with it.

Granted, I watch the reality show less and less these days. It lost its appeal. Not to mention life has my schedule a little booked.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t myself reap the rewards of its Idols. I am a teeny bopper at heart.

So this past weekend as I was listening to Kelly Clarkson’s new album, Amara asked me a piercing question.

What does it mean when she says, ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’?”

I shook my head. Why do I always end up with the profound eight-year-old? How could I make this song lyric resonate with a third grader?

So I did the only thing I could do. I compared it to the one thing that has consumed our lives the last few months.

It's no secret. Divorce is painful. It shreds families apart. And good people turn ugly.

I told Amara even though some days may seem long and dark, she will get through this time. And she will see how she is a better person because of it.

This will transform her. For the better.

Yes, there were days when I just wanted to die. My heart literally hurt. I was nauseous. Dizzy. I couldn’t breathe. For what seemed like an eternity, I asked God for a sign, a way out. I waited. But I can’t blame anyone for where I am in life. I realized I had to just move forward and thrive.

In with that, I will become stronger. She will become stronger.

And with her gorgeous brown eyes, she looked at me and said she’s already gone through chaos she never imagined she would live through. Then she told me about the great sadness she felt after my mother’s passing.

Damn you American pop culture for having relevance and infiltrating in on my child’s character.

So guess what? Apparently mayhem will toughen you up. And an American Idol does know what she's talking about. What doesn’t kill you will prepare you to deal with the heartbreaks of life.

You just have to hope there are people around that can nurture and care for you as you fight.

this is how 2011 ends

2011-12-27T07:00:00.000-05:00

There are many things I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

And that doesn't say much since I'm really not that nice of a person all of the time.

But 2011 hasn't been really nice to me.

Yet as I reflect back on the year, I wouldn't wish a lot of it on even those crappy souls that came after me. But in hindsight, this year has been one of the best for me too.

2011 has been ugly and painful. But it forced me to take a road less taken and not look back. And I had to become a "nicer" person and let go of bitterness. I am reminded by brilliant friends of what truly matters in life. I have overcome obstacles and turned emeralds into diamonds. (I'm not a lemon into lemonade gal!)

So good riddance, 2011. Happy to see you go.

Here's to 2012!

I'm a numbers girl

2011-12-19T09:22:00.000-05:00

I heart math.

You would never guess it now. But I actually used to be really great at numbers. Like calculus great.

Now I’m literally grateful I can multiply by 10’s in my head.

But for some reason, I still have this knack for numbers when it comes to dates and times. I can clearly remember milestones big or small.

April 21, 2003: I moved into my first house.

March 7, 2008: Amara received her first phone call.

December 4, 2009: We lost my Mom.

And today, today is an ordinary Monday for most. For my friend Danielle, it’s a fabulous one because it’s her birthday. For me, it’s another one of those days that I can remember so vividly but this time I want to shut it out from my memory. I want it to stay as part of the past but know it will always be a part of me. It made me who I am today. Hopefully that’s a stronger person.

I don’t think anyone realizes the significance of today. And that’s ok.

I’ll just go on crunching numbers the way I do. That’s who I am.

that was easy

2011-12-05T10:03:00.001-05:00

We've all seen the commercial with that easy button. Press it and presto - instantaneous gratification of some sort.

That was easy.

Well yesterday was anything but easy for me. I was on an emotional roller coaster. It was pouring down rain. And I looked a hot mess.

I made a stop on the Turnpike when two strangers rolled down their car windows. Oye. I was so not in the mood to speak to anyone. But I didn't want to be rude. So I graciously turned. And they paid me a nice compliment.

Me.

Completely unprompted. They didn't know me from boo.

It made me smile.

I drove away. And all of a sudden, for a few short minutes, I forgot how grumpy I was about the weather and the compliment made me giggle.

So today, do something easy. I know I plan to.

always in our hearts

2011-12-04T07:00:00.000-05:00

3/12/49 - 12/4/09

blessed (in pictures)

2011-11-28T07:00:00.000-05:00

So I reread my Thanksgiving post and realized what a bummer it was to start the holiday season.

Because all things considered, I'm blessed. I'm blessed with a supportive family and fabulous friends. I'm blessed with a good job, a roof over my head, and food on the table.

And over the past few months, I realize how blessed I am to not only have a beautiful daughter, but to have one that amazes me with her poise and grace.

I'm so proud of how Amara has handled herself. She's had a lot of growing up to do in short period of time.

That's why I was so grateful we had an afternoon that was all about Amara and her cousins downtown with local photographer Sarah Sloboda.

Amara was free to be herself. And heaven knows that's what she did.

Photo courtesy of SarahSloboda.com

Sarah really captured Amara's true character.

Photo courtesy of SarahSloboda.com

And that smile. It's what warms my heart.

Photo courtesy of SarahSloboda.com

I'm in awe of Amara.

And I'm grateful to Sarah for capturing my daughter's true essence. This wasn't a "photo shoot." But Sarah really did help my family create wonderful memories. She allowed each child's personality to shine. And she gave each of them time to be in the limelight.

These past few months have been incredibly difficult, but I can now look to these photos and be reminded of all the hope the future holds and love by which I'm truly surrounded.

I am blessed.

the 'first' holiday

2011-11-24T07:52:00.000-05:00

I don't want to poison Thanksgiving. And I'm not talking about my cooking.

This will be the first holiday which Amara won't be with both her parents.

I won't lie. I considered for a fleeting moment offering to share the day with Dad2Amara to preserve a sense of stability for my daughter. But I ultimately knew what would happen. After superficial conversation, we would end up bickering like children.

So instead, I will go without my heart today for the first time in eight years. My only child will not be sitting beside me at the dinner table.

Sure, I will be surrounded by family. But I can't help but think I'll still feel alone.

While I was in college, I spent a Thanksgiving on my own in my apartment in Chicago. No one knew I spent it by myself.

It. Was. Miserable.

I had to work Black Friday. So paying for a flight home for a turkey dinner made no sense. And I didn't tell my friends about my plans so there were no invites to attend their family gatherings. I mean, I couldn't impose. So I sat in my apartment, in the dark, crying. Because I was spending my first holiday alone. Not even football could make me smile. I think I ate chicken nuggets.

This Thanksgiving, I'll have my family with me. But the beautiful little girl that matters most won't be with us.

But I have to remember that after my first Thanksgiving alone, I spent a glorious Black Friday with friends. And that is what will happen tomorrow. I will have Amara again. And we have a fantastic weekend planned.

So this Thanksgiving, no tears. Only gratitude. For I do have much to be thankful.

And that includes no chicken nuggets on the menu.

Dear Santa

2011-11-09T08:29:00.002-05:00

Dear Santa,

It's been a few years since I've last written. My last letter may have included glitter and a request for a Cabbage Patch Doll and Belinda Carlisle album.

I know this is your busy period. But hopefully your elves will deliver this letter to you.

I love Christmas. And I love your jolly nature.

Yet today, Santa, you made me want to yank away my 8-year-old daughter's innocent spirit.

She's only asking for one thing from you this year. And it's something I can't give her.

I explained how wish lists are exactly that - wishes.

And she cried.

But she was prepared. She said you were magical and capable of anything.

And that's when I wanted to tell her the love she feels on Christmas morning isn't because of you and your red sack. It's me. I'm awake in the middle of the night eating cookies, drinking milk and wrapping gifts. Not you. For her entire life, I cultivated this wonderful, glowing story on how you bring joy and happiness into her life. But today, I longed to tell her the truth and that what she's asking for is not what's best. And I hope one day she understands and forgives me.

So Santa, I hope you can understand why I'm writing you this morning. Just thought you should know. You didn't just make Amara cry. I cried too.

Signed,
Mom2Amara