New resolutions for an old year....

I do not make New Year's resolutions. I believe I mentioned that last year, right before I made a resolution which I shared with the entire cyberspace universe. Which turned out to be the proof for why I do not make New Year's resolutions, because inevitably, I did not keep it. So now I am sitting here with mud in my eye, or something like that, because I have made a liar out of myself in a public forum.

I don't want to talk about it. If you want to know that badly, you will have to go back in time and look for yourself. Meantime, I am going to maintain a wounded silence on the topic of New Year's resolutions, and move on.

But if I were going to talk about them, I have a few that other people might want to think about.

This past winter, as I looked outside at the piles of snow in amounts not seen in these parts for lo these many years, I seriously wondered when that whole global warming thing was going to kick in. I moved south because I wanted to be closer to the equator. Evidently I overshot my mark, because this past winter I enjoyed the kind of balmy weather usually experienced at the south pole.

Perhaps a resolution for the scientific community might be in order. I would resolve to keep a lid on it when you discover something new to talk about until the facts actually support your theory. An additional hint to the scientific community - choose the name of your movement wisely, because you never know when "Warming" will have to become "Change," as in the event, Mother Nature does the opposite of what you predicted. [Mother Nature is whimsical, and enjoys making fools out of humans. You forget that reality at your reputational peril.]

Weight loss is a favorite resolution target for many Americans. Since we are the most overweight population on earth, that only makes sense. But the American population is not the only thing in this country that is bloated. I think our Congress and President should make a resolution to treat the national budget like we do our personal budgets.

In other words, never spend another dime that is not paid for, don't outsource mandates to the states to cope with when you have no money to fund them yourself, reign in our national debt to manageable levels before we are financially bankrupt. [Oh wait. Too late for that one. Well, we need to emerge from bankruptcy and be more responsible, then, at the very least.]

Corporations are another entity that needs to look introspectively, and decide where their priorities lie. They tend to look for short term benefits at the expense of long term consequences. We are seeing the risks of this strategy play out in horrifying detail as we watch BP fight the consequences of poor planning and poor risk management in the Gulf of Mexico.

Although an oil spill is more dramatic than a few anonymous layoffs, I don't think it's too extravagant to point out that the short term benefit to stockholders has outweighed the long term impact on the public for a long time in lost jobs, lower tax revenue, minimized benefits, and higher stress on both the public and the private coffers, and spreading disenchantment with corporate America generally. For example, I would have to say that an oil giant who waits until well into the second month of a dreadful spill to "redouble" their efforts has probably not pursued the solutions as thoroughly to date as we would all wish, and one has to assume that there was some fiscal incentive to hold off as the driving force.

I think America's leading corporations need to resolve to put the public welfare on par with their own bottom line, and to pursue a course of action that benefits everyone, rather than benefiting their own stockholders at the expense of everyone else.

Complaining is the new great American past time. No matter how worthy the action, you can find someone to complain about it. I think we should resolve, as a country, to focus on what is positive at least as often as we complain about what is wrong. If we complain about teen crime, perhaps we need to compliment those teens who engage in community service. If we focus on government corruption, perhaps we need to laud those government employees who give selflessly of their time and talents to help others in need. If we talk about failing schools, perhaps we also need to look at the schools that are successful, and see whether there is anything to be learned from their success. The constant focus on the negative in our daily lives leads to a self-fulfilling prophecy, I believe, and the more we focus on the positives, the more likely we are to act positively.

As a general rule, I have noticed that dogs tend to be pretty happy in the moment. If you are feeding them, they are overjoyed, even if it's the same thing they've had twice a day for the last ten years. If you take them out, they are thrilled to distraction. When you let them back in, they act as though they haven't seen you in years. If you pick up a toy, they are ready for action, and when you sit down to read, they are dead asleep in ten seconds flat. Whatever they do, dogs do it with gusto and fervor, and throw their whole heart into the effort.

I think my mid-year resolution for this year is to be more like my dogs, more in the moment, more willing to enjoy what I have now, instead of worrying about what may come. I cannot control the future, it is going to happen, no matter how much I may worry about it. So I might as well enjoy today, as a girder for what will surely come tomorrow or the next day.

On this Memorial Day weekend, I am resolved to be thankful for the sacrifices willingly made by others, so that I can pursue my passions and interests in a country where we are free to criticize our government without fear, complain about anything we want, live wherever we choose, worship however we want to, and lead whatever life we feel is best for us and our families, no matter what anyone else thinks of it. It is one of the greatest gifts we have in this life, to pursue our own version of happiness and freedom without fear of reprisal from the government that is in control of our existence.

To paraphrase Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, "A coward dies a thousand deaths, a brave man dies but once." There is a lot of truth to that, and it takes a high toll on the nerves. I will resolve to focus on today, and let tomorrow take care of itself.

Thank you to the people who have given their all, so I can have all that really matters.

A love letter to my daughter...

Twenty five years ago, I held a small seven pound bundle of boy in my arms, and I thought it was the most pure love I would ever know or feel. It was euphoric, and the waves of peace and love and joy just washed over me as that little tiny person, newly born, gazed soulfully and trustingly into my eyes. I couldn't imagine ever feeling that way again, but it was okay, because he was my son, and I could love him all I wanted.

Over the next six years, the hope for another chance at motherhood gradually faded as one miscarriage led to another. After four times, I had resigned myself to the idea that my son would be an only child. I grieved for all that he, [and I,] was missing out on. That sadness was magnified when one day he presented me with a little blue Play-doh person, which he informed me was his new sister, and he asked me to make her alive.

Shortly thereafter, I was unexpectedly pregnant again. I had no hopes, only fears, and a dread of the inevitable. The weeks passed, and I got sicker and sicker, losing over 20 pounds off my 5'9" 110 pound frame. I was a medical experiment, as I endured hyperemesis in the extreme, and then bed rest as the days turned into months, and she held on.

I didn't dare hope, even late into the pregnancy, that this would work out. I was afraid to put a nursery together or buy clothes, because I couldn't quite believe she would make it, and I would really have this dream come true. I was afraid to let go of my feelings and love this new baby, because I couldn't bear to lose her. Of course, eventually I had no choice, as I saw her little heart beating on the many ultrasounds, and then felt her move. Within weeks, she became so real to me I would already have died for her.

Still, I would look at my handsome little boy with his dark curly hair, and I couldn't quite imagine feeling the same way I felt about him for anyone else.

When my little girl made her early, and requisite fully dramatic appearance, it was a harbinger of the life to come. She was a medical emergency, as I was in hard labor by the time I got to the hospital [long story, I don't come out of it looking intelligent at all, so you are not going to hear about this part,] it was six weeks before the due date, and I had to have a C section because of the way my previous C section had been done.

She was in severe distress as my insides started falling apart around her, and the anesthetic didn't work as they made the initial incision. Long story short, I can actually speak to how it would feel if someone cut you open without anesthetic. Ya. Moving on.

The quiet operating room at the moment of her birth is something I will never forget. We all held our breath waiting to hear that cry that never came. It was a heartbreaking moment for me, to have come so far, only to be disappointed at this bitter end. The euphoria I had experienced the first time was replaced with desperate fear, a panic that is simply indescribable. I started to weep silently, and they told me they were going to knock me out so they could finish the operation. I argued, but they insisted, and I went to sleep distraught and miserable.

When I awoke a short time later, it was to the news that she was alive, she was in the NICU, and she was in a bad way. They wheeled my bed past the NICU on the way back to my room, and I got my first glance at my new little girl.

She was laying naked on a little table with a light above her, wires and tubes running off her in every direction. Suddenly, I felt that mother love welling up inside me, just as powerful and real and all encompassing as before. I was worrying about her before I had even seen her face, and there was no question that I loved her as fiercely as I had loved my firstborn.

I asked why she wasn't in an incubator wrapped in a blanket. They gently told me they had her on the warming table so they could get at her more quickly if she needed help, and I felt the icy cold fingers of fear squeezing the blood out of my heart again. I had time for one more quick glance at her still, fragile body before they swept me off to my room to rest and recuperate.

For all that long night, they wouldn't allow me out of bed to go and see her, but they were good to provide me with almost constant updates. I sat up on the side of the bed, and then got out of bed to stand when no one was looking, trying to regain my strength to make the walk down to see my baby for myself.

The next day, I walked down to see her, and my heart was in my throat when I looked at her. She was so tiny, her little ears still folded up against her head, paper thin, her tiny fingers smaller than the tines of a fork. It was amazing to me that someone so small could have such a grip on my emotions, but she grabbed hold and has been playing with my heart ever since.

My love for my two children wasn't exactly the same, either then or now - they are two different people, and their approach to life, as in most other things, has been different from the first moment. But I suddenly realized that the miracle of love is that it is truly boundless, unlimited, and a mother can love all her children with the same overwhelming emotion, even as she loves them all for their own unique selves.

Adam, the moody intellectual, is a laid back perfectionist. He usually thinks everything over in excruciating detail, looking at every possibility before making a decision to be sure he has done exactly what he needs to so the outcome is assured. He makes no move before it's time has come (and sometimes gone, but I digress.)

Erin, the spontaneous emotional performer, is the opposite. There is no decision that cannot be undone in her world. She will make 15 decisions in the time it takes to pour a glass of soda, only to make another change before she takes the first sip. I'm not sure she ever worries about the outcome, as long as she can have fun getting there.

Traveling through life with Erin is an adventure every single day, and she turned my peaceful, quiet existence upside down with the first beat of her heart. I have never been able to take anything for granted with her, and I suspect I never will. She is my wild child, the one I can never quite get a handle on, the one who still confuses and bewilders me, even after 18 years of close observation.

I am a completely different parent with Adam than I am with Erin. The strict structure and clear boundaries and rules that were so effective with Adam are useless with a free spirit like Erin, and she has renegotiated everything from the very first moment of life.

She played goalie on roller blades at age 3 to keep up with everyone else, and she lost her first tooth at her brother's rough housing hands. She has performed since the moment she could walk and talk, and she has been fighting to be in charge, not only of her, but of all of us, since before she was born.

My little girl is not the stuff of the fairy tale princess, sugar and spice and everything nice. She is made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails, with a truck full of bhut jolokia pepper for good measure. She will be the match for anyone she comes up against in life, and yet, underneath it all, there is a sensitive, vulnerable soul who meets me in my heart in the most thoughtful ways.

She is a living contradiction, whimsical and capricious, constantly doing the unexpected thing. She is strong willed but warm hearted, quick to anger but quick to forgive. She has faced some very difficult knocks in life, and carries her wounds deep within, but she has never let that stop her from having a good time and enjoying the fun that life offers her.

Erin has taught me to let go a little, that spontaneity can be fun in small doses, and that life is richest when you have variety. She is beautiful and smart, and has provided me with a lot of entertainment as people focus on the obvious characteristic, forgetting about the other. She has a quick mind, and a quicker mouth, and is rarely at a loss for words, which often make me laugh out loud.

As Erin approaches this important life milestone, her high school graduation, I know in my heart she is ready for the life ahead. I have been blessed beyond my wildest imaginings to have her in my world, and my world is a better place for her being here.

A couple of months ago, she had to write a senior speech for an assignment. Her speech was unexpectedly mature and reflective, and she made some very interesting points. It was clear to me that she is on the road to growing up, and although she is only at the start of the journey, she is on the right path.

As she struggles to find her way in the larger world, I know that she will remember who she is and where she has come from. That will give her the foundation from which to soar as high as she wants to.

To my smart, witty, crazy, whimsical, beautiful, amazing daughter, wherever you go and whatever you do, you know that you are always a heartbeat away from me, no matter how far you travel away from here. You no longer need me to be the coach on the sidelines, giving you direction and instruction. From now on you will find me in the bleachers, shouting encouragement and cheering you on. I am available for advice and ideas any time you call, but I will leave the living of your life up to you.

From the moment I first laid eyes on you, my world has changed, expanded, and been turned upside down in ways I could never have imagined. You have enriched my heart even as you depleted my bank account, and you have added to my library of memories even as you frayed my edges. My life story is utterly changed because you came into the world. I look back, and it is almost like I opened the door into Oz the day you were born, but I don't want to go back. You live life in full color, and I cannot imagine it any other way.

My darling daughter, my Sweetie Pie, my teammate and buddy and friend, on this, the day you graduate from high school, I wish you enough failure to grow, but enough success to encourage you to keep trying.

I wish you enough sadness to make you compassionate, and enough joy to keep you smiling.

I wish you just enough fear to keep you safe, and just enough courage to go for whatever you want in life.

I want you to experience self-doubt and self-fulfillment, work and play, poverty and riches, and the wisdom to know what is real and what is false.

I wish you fun and happiness, and the knowledge of the difference.

I wish you long life, thunderstorms, walking along the beach, a lifetime of good books, and the right someone to share them with.

I wish you discernment in your friends, and the ability to know which ones to keep, and which ones to lose.

I wish you everything that life has to offer, for better and for worse, and that when you reach the end of your life journey far in the future, you will be able to look back on a life well lived with few regrets.

As you reach forward with both hands, know that I am always right behind you, an arm's length away, to help catch you as you fall, and to give you a shove when you need it. I give God the glory for knowing exactly what I needed in my life, and it was you.

Happy graduation, Erin Rose.

What's in a name?

When you look at pictures of people born a hundred years ago, it is easy to believe that they had no fun at all. Life was hard, and you can tell, because they all look like they are having a dreadful time of it. Grim faces betray the difficulties they faced on a daily basis, and the stiff clothing betrayed the formal nature of the occasion.

But despite the stern faces that peer out of the photographs, it is clear that some of them had a sense of humor, especially when it came to naming their numerous offspring. If you visit a cemetery, or even look through an old family photo album, you will see some pretty interesting appellations for all those cute little tots with their long hair and sad eyes. I realize, of course, that we have to allow for the time period into which a person was born, and perhaps the names weren't quite as unusual then as they are today. But sometimes, you have to wonder if they just got bored with it, or if those really were the hot names of the day.

I find it interesting how names seem to cycle, and those old time names, which sound so antiquated to me, are suddenly coming into vogue once again. I heard from a friend the other day that a new niece was named Lillian. That is a name I haven't ever heard applied to anyone under the age of 70. Suddenly it was, apparently, the perfect name for a newborn.

Of course, people come up with names for their children in all sorts of ways. Many couples take months to choose the perfect moniker, one imbued with meaning and character and sophistication. Children are named after their parents, old family friends, or another much loved relative. Some people name their children after people in the Bible, while others choose the celebrity of the hour. One family will search for a name that is so unique, their child will stand out in the crowd, even on paper, while others look at the list of trendy names and go with whatever is at the top of the list.

My grandparents certainly came up with some unique labels for their six offspring, most of which I don't expect will make a return trip to the top of the popularity charts any time soon. But they probably weren't any more unusual at the time than some of the names that you see today.

They named their eldest child Albion Marcus, which was probably not that unusual of a name in 1919, but isn't exactly the top choice among parents of today. I will be surprised if Albion makes a comeback, as I've only known of two of them in my whole life. But it fits my uncle, a serious, detail oriented man, who even at 91, continues to take charge in whatever situation he finds himself.

Next up, we have Phillip Rudolph. Personally, I like the name Phillip. In fact, that was almost the name of my firstborn, after this much adored uncle who died from complications of diabetes when I was little, but lives in my memory forever. When I hear Rudolph, all I can think of is jingle bells and bright red noses, not exactly the image most parents want for their newborn. Of course, this was before Rudolph was known primarily for being a reindeer, so perhaps I should cut them some slack. Maybe Grandma had a secret crush on Rudolph Valentino!

When my aunt, the first daughter, came along, they went all out, and named her Myrtle Aldora. She has never claimed the Myrtle, although my Uncle Bud has somehow gotten away with a lifetime of calling her Myrt, followed by his happy chortle. She remains the only Aldora I have ever known, and I have always wondered where they came up with it.

The next child in line, Frederick Orvall, has always been Fritz to me. I have, on very rare occasions, heard him referred to as Fred, and it always causes me confusion, as I try to recall exactly who that might be. The name Fritz has always fitted him to a T, there is something carefree and fun about it, which is exactly how he has always appeared to me, although he has his serious side, too. He was born on Christmas Day in 1924, and the world has been a better, and more exciting, place ever since, no matter what you want to call him.

My mother's name is Rosella LaVerne, a name that is probably one in a million. Or two. My lovely daughter, whose middle name is Rose, is named for her grandmother. I named her Rose, because I thought I would spare her a lifetime of explaining [and spelling] Rosella. I was informed some years ago that she is bitterly resentful that I named her Rose, and she has maintained ever since that she will change it to Rosella at her first opportunity, which is obviously the name I should have given her to begin with. I see this as clear evidence that you simply cannot win the name game with your own children.

The youngest child in the family was about to be given the name Agnes Luella, when someone apparently thought better of it and named her Alice Marie, instead. I have always thought it was best to be the youngest, and I consider this to be one more proof of that truism. [Have I ever mentioned that I am the youngest in my family?] I can tell you my aunt definitely prefers Alice to Agnes, since she has told that story a few times, and never without a heavy sigh of relief. Of course, I don't call her by either name, since she will always be Tootsie to me, but that's another story for another day.

As for myself, I apparently started my life as Debra, but upon being adopted, had it changed to Sarah, which I have been ever since. I am not especially fond of Sarah - it's a serviceable name, I guess, but I utterly fail to understand the popularity of a name that no one can spell right without direction, and which is not really that great to begin with.

My cousin, Rachel, [who never liked her name, either,] and I envied each other's names back when we were young. We were both sure it would be so much better to have the other name, and we even talked about trading. In the end, of course, we didn't, since we were Minnesota Lutherans.

Let me just share with you a little tidbit about Minnesota Lutherans. Or really, Minnesotans in general. Probably Lutherans too, although I think it's more pronounced in the Minnesota variety. We do not go in for a whole lot of nonsense. Trading names falls under the category of nonsense. It was, in a word, a non-starter. We would not have been indulged in that kind of foolishness.

So instead, I called her by the sobriquet Tracks, due to her initials RR. She called me Des, after the Sahara Desert. It was silly, I suppose, but it served the purpose, and now it makes an amusing anecdote when trying to illustrate a story about the goofy names people have.

When it came time to name my firstborn child, it was a big decision, and I wanted to get it right. I was under the impression [due to everyone at the doctor's office telling me so] that I would have a girl, so I didn't spend a whole lot of time worrying about boy names. I focused instead on the name that my perfect little girl would carry with her forever.

When the doctor exclaimed, at the moment of his birth, "It's an Adam," it turned out to be a very good thing. The name I had so painstakingly selected, Tiffany, is not one that I would be too happy about today. I was young, it was trendy, I have no real excuse. You are stupid when you are 24, what can I say?

Fortunately, he ended up with a name selected at almost the last hour, but which has always suited him right down to the ground. Serious, sober, short and to the point, that's his name, and that's his personality.

He, predictably, did not always agree, of course. There was that one long evening at church youth group when he decided that he was going to be known by his middle name, Karl. [Karl was his great-grandfather's name. I wanted to name my newborn after my dad, whose name was Stanley Wallace, but I didn't feel that was quite going to make the cut, so extended the range to my grandfather.] That lasted a week or so, and he has been satisfied with Adam ever since.

My lovely daughter had her name selected months in advance, as I wanted my then five year old to get used to the idea of a sibling, and wanted him to learn his/her name from the start. Adam, in fact, had the honor of selecting her name, and in his usual analytical way, made it easy on himself by choosing the only name on the list that could work either way, Erin [or Aaron.]

After months of weekly ultrasounds, as my high risk pregnancy limped towards the finish line, I knew she would be a girl. I was happy to be able to have an Erin of my very own, since that was my secret first choice of names for her. Her name means peace. I was obviously hormonal, or possibly delusional, I'm not sure which.

Names define us, in many ways. Research has shown that names have an impact on everything from success in school to how much money you make. With the right name, you can have popularity and riches, while the wrong name may doom you to the back of the unemployment line.

When we alphabetize people by last name, always starting with A, I wonder if those people at the beginning of the line get a boost of self-esteem every time they stand up first, or if being at the end of the line helps in the development of patience and resiliency.

The one name that is rarely chosen with care is the nickname, which can come from anywhere, and be embarrassing or familiar or become the first choice, depending on the person whom it adorns. My cousin, Rebecca, has been Becky since she was born. My brother, Charles, is Charlie. Another cousin briefly went by the name Poopsie, while I refer to my first born as Sonshine.

Some names are less charming, of course, especially when bestowed by classmates, friends, or, heaven forbid, enemies in middle school. The phrase, sticks and stones can break my bones but names can never hurt me, is a patent falsehood, because those names, which some people carry with them for life, can inflict pain and damage long after the name is forgotten by everyone else.

Juliet opined "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." But it would still have thorns. I think that's something to think about.

A mother by any other name....

Twice a year, I think about a woman to whom I am related more closely biologically than to anyone other than my children, but about whom I know nothing. I do not know her name. I don't know what she looks like. I would not recognize her voice on the phone, and I have no idea if I get my musical ability or my passion for writing or my bad teeth or my lucky predisposition to be on the thinner side from her or not. (I am sorry to all the dads and future dads out there, but somehow, that guy never seems to enter my mind. It's a mom thing. That's why kids always say, "Hi Mom" on television. It's nature. Deal.)

I am adopted, and my biological mother is not, and never was, a part of my life. I like to say that she gave birth to me, then gave me life by giving me to someone who was better able to be a mother. Good choice, from my point of view, since I have the best mom there is.

But it also illustrates a point that I think is worth examining on this weekend where we honor and venerate our mothers. Being a mother is not about biology, it is about love, and time, and caring. It is about taking another person into your heart, and wanting what is best for them, even when it costs you. It involves worrying about them, being proud of them and taking the time to make them your own, whether they were born to you or not.

We only have one mother, and no one can take her place. But there are a lot of other chosen honorary family members out there that become an important part of our lives, and I would like to extend the day to honor them, as well.

My children, for example, have a wonderful honorary aunt, who is related not by biology, but by love and time and attention. She has been a part of their lives since before they were born. She knows their story, and she knows mine, too. She is there for them, whenever they need her.

It is comforting for me, as their mom, to know that there is another adult in this world that loves and cares for my children almost as much as I do, and loves and cares for me, as well. In supporting me, she is supporting them, and in supporting them, she is supporting me. If that is not deserving of the label family, then I don't know what is.

Happy Mother's Day to Aunt Beth from all three of us. You are the absolute best!

We also have a neighbor and close friend who has become our family. She is there for us, whenever and wherever we need, no matter what it may be. We could, any of us, call her in the middle of the night, or at work, on vacation or on a sunny afternoon, and she would be there for us, whatever we needed. We have been there for each other's children most of their lives, an important resource and support in times of need.

Her daughter, who is like a daughter to me as well, once said to me, "I need to wish you Happy Mother's Day, too, since you are my second mom." The importance of that to me is obvious, since she said it years ago, and I still cherish it in my heart, as I do her. I am so grateful that my children have had someone in their lives to see them as they really are, for better and for worse, to know their whole history, and to love them anyway.

That is a mother's love, and to Susan, I wish you a happy Mother's Day. You are loved.

I have been blessed in my life to have the most wonderful collection of aunts a girl could ask for. They have loved me, nurtured me, cared for me, chastised me, corrected me, and inspired me. Without their influence, in every facet of life, I would not be half the person, or mother, I am today.

Thus, in no particular order, because they are all my favorite for one reason or another, Tootsie, Shirley, Aldora, Marian, and Jean, happy Mother's Day to each one of you. And in memory of my Aunt Alice, as well, because although you are gone from this life, you are not forgotten. I love you more than I can say, and I am so grateful for each one of you in my life.

As I have been loved by my aunts, I am lucky, indeed, to be an aunt to two nieces and a nephew that I have seen too seldom, but loved from afar. I hope they realize they are in my heart, cared for and prayed over every day, and that if they ever needed me, I would be there for them. I am one of many aunts, and I know they love them all, but they are my "onlies" and as such, are very special to me.

To Jason, Alyssa, and Rachel, happy Mother's Day to you from your loving aunt. I send you a hug, and my love, even if I'm not there in person.

My life experience being supported and loved and mothered by so many others in so many different ways, has taught me that being a mother is more than a label, or a biological event. It is a calling, and a mission, and extends far beyond the confines of one's family.

We, as women, have an opportunity to shape and support and love any number of children, and it comes naturally to most of us. By listening to the beacon emanating from the hearts of those in need, we have the privilege of answering the call for the children, and the not so young, that need us for one reason or another in their lives, and we have the joy of being a part of someone's chosen family, whether for a short time, or a lifetime.

As a child who lost my father very early in my life, I learned to dread Father's Day, because it was a cruel reminder of what I had lost, while all my friends took for granted what they had. I was not resentful of their fortune so much as angry at my own lack of it. I regret now that I did not take the time to recognize the people who made the effort for me, not to take my dad's place, but to stand in for him, when he could not be there.

As an adult, and a mother, I have taken that hard experience, and tried to make a difference for those children who come into my life and have a need, not for a replacement mother, but for another adult who loves them unconditionally, as their mother does or would. Although the role is different for each one, I hope that they all know they each have a place in my heart, uncontested and entirely their own, and that it will be that way forever, no matter where they go or what they do in their lives.

Committing to a child is not about giving birth, it is about giving love, and that is a gift that is freely given and willingly offered to anyone who wants it. When it is returned, it is a special and wonderful thing, and the magic of motherly love takes place.

To those children, some of whom are now adults, in my life that I love and cherish as a supplemental mom, know you are wished from your mother-of-the-heart a day of love and caring. I will be thinking of you, and caring for you, as always, and I am here, if you ever need me. You have only to ask, and I will answer to the best of my ability, whenever you call out. (I will not name you, because I don't want to leave anyone out! But you all know who you are, I hope, or at least you should.)

There are some brave women out there who have been willing to take on a role that leads to as much heartache and pain as joy and love. She is the step-mother. Vilified by Disney and reality, rejected and accepted in equal measure, step-mothers are forever relegated to be the runner up. It is a hard and unforgiving position in which to find yourself, and my heart goes out to any woman who is willing to endure it. In the end, most step-mothers earn their appreciation the hard way, but perhaps it is the sweeter for the pain.

To all the step-mothers out there who took on the role for the love of another, happy Mother's Day. You have earned a pat on the back and a day to be honored for being willing to endure the most difficult and complicated family role there is. You, of all mothers, deserve a day to yourself, where it is all about you.

Mothers-in-law have a reputation for being impossible. Most of the women I know who either have one or are one must be the exception. I have heard a few horror stories, but mostly I hear about women who have taken their child's chosen love into their heart and accepted and nurtured and cherished that love almost as if it were their own. Everyone is blessed, including the grandchildren, who will have that many more loving adults to model acceptance and caring.

To the mothers-in-law out there, happy Mother's Day to you, as well. Keep the faith, keep smiling, and above all, keep your opinions to yourself unless you are asked. That is the way to unlimited time with the grandchildren, which is the real objective!

On a lovely August day, 25 years ago, my understanding of what it means to be a mother grew exponentially when I gave birth to my first child. He has expanded my universe in ways I could never have imagined, and the love I felt for him even before he was born has multiplied daily ever since.

I didn't think it would be possible to love anyone the way I loved him until my daughter came along a few years later, and I finally understood the magic of mother's love. It is boundless, and endless, and without limitation, and it is achieved without any effort at all. (Well, most of the time. There are a few years I would prefer to forget, when it is just as well we had an established history, or we may have had a different ending!)

I feel more pride when my children succeed than I have ever felt with my own success, and I feel more hurt at their failures. I feel their pain when they are wounded, and I feel their joy when they are happy. No matter how near or far they are from me, they are always in my heart, and I know that I am in theirs, as well. As long as they are alive, they will know my love for them, because it is carried within them, a part of their very being from before they were born.

To my children, Adam and Erin, I am grateful to be your mother, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for each moment that I have called you my own.

I know nothing about the woman who gave me life by giving me up, but I do know that I owe her a debt that cannot be repaid. I cannot imagine it was easy, and I think it is probably still hard, especially on days like Mother's Day, when the reminders of what she has lost are everywhere. No matter how many children you have, each one is a gift, special and unique, and there is no replacement for the ones that are lost.

To my biological mother, thank you for letting me have the mother I have, because it was the greatest gift of love you could have given me. It was worth it.

The day would not be complete, of course, without mentioning my own mother, the woman who has loved me, supported me, been an angel of mercy my entire life, and hung in there with me when only a mother could have loved me. I will never doubt that God brought us together, and it was a perfect fit. Mom, you proved that biology is a word but being a mother is a calling, and you have succeeded brilliantly in every way.

To my mother, Rosella, my role model and teacher and my first real love, the one who taught me what being a mother is all about, happy Mother's Day. I wish I could be there with you to celebrate you, but you know that you are celebrated each and every day in my heart.

To each mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, step-mother, aunt, and mother-of-the-heart, Happy Mother's Day to you. Celebrate what it really means to be a mother, and know that you are special and wonderful.

Turning seasons....

Spring has finally sprung in our part of the world, and it seems long overdue. And with it comes the usual springtime rites of passage, prom and graduation, which ushers yet another crop of young people into the adult world they have dreamed of for so long. Since I am harboring one of these budding adults under my own roof, I have had substantial opportunity these last few weeks to observe, up close and personal, the transformation.

It has brought to mind the Biblical passage from Ecclesiastes 3.

"There is a time for everything,
And a season for every activity under heaven:
A time to be born and a time to die,
A time to plant and a time to uproot,
A time to kill and a time to heal,
A time to tear down and a time to build,
A time to weep and a time to laugh,
A time to mourn and a time to dance,
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
A time to embrace and a time to refrain,
A time to search and a time to give up,
A time to keep and a time to throw away,
A time to tear and a time to mend,
A time to be silent and a time to speak,
A time to love and a time to hate,
A time for war and a time for peace."

If you have spent much time with a high school senior at this time of the year, you will find that the last few weeks of school can include most of those times, sometimes all at the same time. As your child pulls away from you, they tear down what has worked for so long, and try to rebuild, on their own terms, what will work for them going forward.

It can be a painful and difficult process, and few children do it well. Few parents do, either, even when you have done it before. You are renegotiating your traditional roles, trying to find a new equilibrium. You are learning how to be adults together, instead of the adult-child relationship that you have held for so long, and the growing pains are often surprisingly agonizing.

The next few weeks will bring the end of an era to my household, and it is an emotional and exciting time for everyone involved. Senior year is a fast ride on a short track, and it goes so fast you barely have time to catch your breath and it's already over. It is a whirlwind of activities, each "last" moment speeding by in a blur. Long before you are ready for it, you find yourself sitting in a seat watching your young adult process with a lot of other equally young adults, and you realize they have changed before your very eyes, and the future is already here.

As we approach this momentous place in our life journey together, that fork in the road where she makes her own choices, and goes forward on her own, I find my sense of what is truly important has changed rather drastically from the days of diapers and legos underfoot.

When my son was little, I was set to be the perfect parent. I remember holding him in my arms and thinking, I will do everything right, and we will never, ever have a moment of conflict. Right. That worked out well. I didn't understand that conflict comes, not because you have done anything wrong, but because children are hard wired to test their boundaries, and they do so on a regular basis, just to see whether those boundaries still hold them.

I remember believing that if I didn't allow my little tyke to have a gun, he would never want to have one. That also worked out really well, right up until he was about two, and started using his finger as the gun I wouldn't let him have. Wake up call, anyone?!

My daughter loved Barbie dolls, even though, as a Serious Mom, I didn't want to allow that overendowed hussy in my house. Before we were done, we had the house, the convertible, the spa, and more clothes than Barbie could wear in a lifetime.

Looking back, I realize none of that was as important as the time I spent reading to them before bed. Exposing them to music developed their appreciation in ways I would never have dreamed. Encouraging questions, and taking them seriously contributed to children who constantly question and expand their knowledge and understanding of the world.

As I approach this new phase of life, where I am sitting in the bleachers instead of being out on the playing field with them (thanks Dr. Miller!,) I have realized anew that the things that matter most cannot be bought or endowed. They are earned, through the power of being present in the lives of the children you brought to life.

As I look backward at the last 25 years, my only regrets, and they are few and far between, are in time not spent, words not said, hugs not given. I did the best I could each and every day, and at the end of the day, I usually could look in the mirror and know that I had done my best, and it was good enough.

To anyone at the beginning of the journey, especially if you are overwhelmed at the busyness and the demands of your life, know that the only thing that will really matter in the end is the time you have spent with your child. It matters far less what you are doing, than that you are doing something, anything, to build the ties that will bind you to each other for life.

I would not be the person I am today without the two people I brought into this world. The changes, both big and small, have not always been easy to accomplish, but they make me a better person today.

As the seasons change, and spring turns to summer, I wish you sunny days even when it rains, and moon beams every night. I wish you laughter and tears, hope and despair, courage and fear, and a few stones skipped over the water on a lazy summer day. I wish you the journey I have been privileged to take, and I encourage you to embrace the present. Then the future will take care of itself.