The Greatest Gift

I called my sister the other day. I had a bee in my bonnet so I climbed up on my soapbox. I ranted and raved. Gesticulating wildly with spittle flying from my lips as I carried on like a maniac.

As I paused to take a breath she quietly said "I agree with you. I think so too." And just that quickly she took the wind out of my sails. I had no where left to go. 

That is the power of my sister and a lifelong connection. 

Forty years ago my sister was told that it was her job to take care of her new baby sister. She has done so ever since. 

We shared a bedroom. We shared clothes. We shared friends.

This is the girl that walked me home from school with a bloody nose after I fell on the ice.

The same girl who held me when I cried after a boy broke my heart. And who teased me about having a flat chest and a bubble butt. 

This is the girl who used to sing to me late at night in the backseat of the car while my head rested in her lap. 

She dragged me, as I whined, all the way through high school math. I couldn't have done it without her. 

We went on double dates together. 

She taught me how to drive. 

She called me a dork and smacked the heel of her hand into the middle of my forehead too many times to count. 

She pulled my curls. 

We grew up, we got married, we had babies, we moved away. 

We've spent hundreds of hours on the phone together since. 

Sometimes she irritates me. But most of the time she comforts me. She understands exactly what it was like to grow up with my parents, in my home, in my town. 

She thinks the way I think. I can say things to her that I would never say to anyone else - ever. And she never gets offended. 

I know that I can call her for any reason, at any time and she'll be there for me. 

She is my sister. Our lives are forever intertwined. There is no one like her, no one that could ever take her place. 

So often, when we are children, we don't appreciate the gift of a sibling. We fight. We get our feelings hurt. We compete. Yet, for me, my sister is the greatest gift my parents ever gave me and I am grateful. 

The Girl on the Playground

Every day I look forward to seeing her. What will she be wearing today? This bold little thing, mixing her colors, her stripes and prints, her leggings and boots. Her hair is cropped short and swings easily as she turns her head.  A smile, a laugh, a quick word to her friends.

I watch for her, on the way in to school in the morning, on the way out at the end of the day. Catching a glimpse of her puts a smile on my face and makes my day.

After school I sit at the picnic table on the playground watching my children, talking to the other mothers, I wait for her. I hear her voice. I watch her surreptitiously sneaking a peek out of the corner of my eye. She heads straight for the swings most days. It doesn't matter what her friends choose to do. Once there she sets herself flying, leaning back, legs and arms outstretched, ever higher. And she sings, out loud, boldly. Her sweet clear voice threaded among the playground sounds of children's voices and laughter.  Someone says to me "She's really come into her own this year." and I have to agree.

I don't know this girl beyond her name and her face. What makes her happy or sad, who are her friends, how she's doing in school. I don't know her story or her family. But I know she embodies the girl I wish I could have been.

I was broken, shy, scared all the time. I had no confidence. I wasn't comfortable in my own skin. I hated the fuzzy mop of curls on my head. I never would have sung out loud while I reached for the sky. I didn't know what to wear and worried about what people would think. I was the girl walking by myself with my shoulders hunched and my head down.

Perhaps the girl on the playground agonizes at home while she puts on those incredible outfits. Perhaps she despairs of doing anything with her straight hair and so cut it all off. Perhaps she has days when she is lonely and her mother doesn't understand her and her friends are mean.

Perhaps.

But I'd rather think that the girl on the playground has found her magic. That she believes in herself and that she sings out loud, proudly, for all of those other girls who have gone before and are yet to come, who have lost their confidence and their voice.

Soon the girl on the playground will move on to high school and I won't  see her anymore. I hope, as she's swallowed up in the masses of other teenagers that she keeps her smile, her confidence, her voice. I hope she always remembers what it feels like to fly. I hope she always has the strength to follow her own path. I hope she always stands strong and let's her voice ring out loud, proud and bold.

This is the girl I wish I could have been.

This is the girl I hope my daughter becomes.

This girl  gives me hope.

Freedom to Choose

Recently there was a measles outbreak in Disneyland, California, leading to more cases of measles in January of 2015 then there are normally seen in an average year.

This measles outbreak lead to another outbreak in social media of comments, photos and blog posts bashing those who have made the choice to not vaccinate their children.

Every time I see these posts my heart hurts. We live in an incredible country. There are men and women who gave their lives so that each one of us had the freedom to make our own choices.  Those same people fought and died so we have the freedom to speak freely. Yet it seems we are using that freedom to judge, attack and accuse others instead of valuing our ability to make that choice and speak our mind.

I am a mom, first and last. From the moment that tiny being moved inside me I would have died for him. I'm sure all of you feel the same about your children. The mama bear protecting her cub. The papa penguin caring for his own very special egg.

I realize that every choice you make, every choice I make, is about wanting what's best for those small beings entrusted to our care.

So I have to wonder why are we showing so much hate? Why are such foul things being said about other parents who want the exact same thing we do? What are we teaching our children when we post and share these negative accusatory posts?

I understand that each one of us share the same need to do right by and protect our children. But every parent makes different choices.

Some homeschool, some send their kids to public school or to private school.

Some feed their kids Kool aid, some feed their kids organic fruit juice.

Some go to church, some don't.

Some go to work, some stay home.

Some cook dinner, some pick it up at McDonald's.

Some read stories to their kids, others watch TV with them.

Some vaccinate, others don't.

Unless you know someone really well, you don't know which of those choices they've made and why. Judging someone for any one of those choices is not fair because each one of us is doing the best we can, the best we know how for our littles.

I wish, instead of spreading hatefulness, we could teach our children to accept everyone's choices as equally valid. What is right for one family is not right for another. We all must do as we see fit in taking care of our babies and respect the choices other people make.