When It Rains...

On Saturday the electricity in our garage that Carlos uses to connect the leaf blower decided to quit working. He looked around, reset all the fuses in our  house but nothing has helped. This was a bummer b/c not only does he have no electricity in the garage, he also doesn't know how to fix it himself.
On Monday after finishing up the first of the four classes that I teach out in West County, about a half hour drive from my home, I walked out to my car to find it dead. We jumped it, or tried to, but that didn't work. B/c we've *read "husband"* lazily ignored my months long suggestions of signing up for AAA I had to call a tow truck, have it and me delivered to the dealer. I was told it was going to cost an outrageous amount to replace the battery, and oh yea, there are two recalls on it, and it needs a new starter. So I was given a free rental (silver lining) and left in time to make it to my final class of the day.
Tuesday I went downstairs to do some laundry only to find the washer was not working. Carlos figured out that the circuit that the problem with the electricity in the garage had effected the line that the washer is hooked up to. Awesome. So until that problem is fixed, I have no washer unless I want to run an extension cord all the way upstairs and down the hall to a grounded outlet.
So today, when I realized that 2/4 of us were out of clean undies and socks I washed the necessities in the bathroom sink. I went back downstairs to stick the wet clothes in the dryer only to find that although working, it's not heating, due to what's probably a broken coil.

So, we have a broken car, no electric in the garage, no washer, and no dryer.
To be fair we should have seen it coming. I mean, it's been ages since any of our technology has broken down. We were due for some unfortunate financial commitments.

It's been a rough week in the Castaneda home...

Mommy Guilt?

It's a question because I'm not sure what it is. I mean, I know what it's supposed to be; that anguish you feel as a mother when you leave your children to go to work. It's supposed to be that tugging of your heart strings that comes with the reality of someone else having to care for your children. You made these kids to fill some hole in your life and now you're abandoning them to make a little cash. Or a lot of cash. Or just enough cash to make you feel like a grownup and not solely a mother....That's what most moms would define it as.
But here's the deal. I've decided I don't like this term. I don't think it's fair or just or doing my children or me any good to admit guilt for what I have and need to do as an adult.
My kids have two parents that work hard: Their dad loves them so much and wants so badly to be the best provider he can be. He quit his job and went back to school full time to get his PhD. He realized after 7 years with a good job in his chosen field that he wanted more, that he deserved more, and in order to get more, he had to pursue an advanced degree. Their dad is a full time student, a smart man who does more than most to better the future of his family.
Their mom works hard too. I have two part time jobs - from home - so that I can do two things. One: be with them, raise them, train them. And two: provide for my family financially while my husband pursues his advanced degree. We agreed on this path nearly 2 years ago. You can read more about the start of our crazy journey here. 
But here's the point. If I constantly focus on how sad I am to leave my kids when they go to their child care providers so I can work, I'm doing them a total disservice. If I've chosen this path then I need to be confident when I leave them. I need to be an example of hard work. I have to exude faith in my life decisions. Otherwise they are learning that work is an obligation, a hassle that we have to do, but don't want to do. And then what? My kids grow into mediocre adults and find mediocre jobs that manage to barely pay their bills and afford them the life they've been stuck with. I want better for them. I want them to learn that mom and dad love them so stinking much that mediocrity is not an option. If Ricky comes to me at 18 and says "mom, I want to be a plumber" my response to him will be the same if he chooses teaching or medicine or law as his future. And it's this - do what you want, but do it the best you possibly can. Don't settle. Ever. You're better than that. You're smarter than that. I've made sure of it. I worked hard so you would learn how to do the same and the value in it. You don't have to rich, but be happy. And the best way to be happy is to be confident in your choices. Find a life path that fulfills you and betters you as a human being, as a citizen of this world, as a partner, as a parent. Because otherwise, you're wasting what you have, what you've been raised with, what you've been blessed with.

Summer

Gone are our warm nights and whole days spent out doors. We're stuck inside and I find myself reminiscing about this past summer. Over a year ago, I won a contest that provided me with 4 round trip Amtrak tickets to anywhere in the continental US with sleeping and meal accommodations. We had a year to use it and finally, 2 weeks before expiration, we redeemed the prize for a trip to Dallas TX. Why TX? Well, my good friend Stacey lives there with her 13 year old daughter. She offered us her home while they were going to be out of town on their own vacation. It was going to work out perfectly, free board for the Castañedas, and Stacey got 3 days of free house sitting services. So we loaded our bags and boarded the Texas Eagle. We had two sleeper rooms across the isle from each other that each accommodated two people. Two seats faced one another that converted into a bed at night with a second bed up top that came down to make bunk beds. Our meals were covered on the train and let me tell you, that Texas Eagle sure knows how to feed their passengers. We had steak and roasted chicken and flan. Yum. When we boarded it was 8pm in St. Louis and just in time for the final dinner call. After eating we headed back to our rooms to put on our jammies and head to bed. Everyone slept decently aside from the train whistle that was too close for comfort. Our train pulled into Dallas at 11 the next morning where we rented a car for a great price thanks to a friend who works for Enterprise, and  headed to Stacey's. Her home sits about 30 minutes from downtown in a nice quiet subdivision. The three bedrooms, 2 full baths and large built in pool was perfect for our mini train vacation. We spent three days sight seeing, finding and enjoying food at Colombian restaurants (which we have none of in St. Louis) and we even got to hang out with good high school friend, her husband and two little girls who live near Dallas one afternoon. We took the kids to see a rodeo, the aquarium, Lego Land and ride on the Dallas Trolley. But the majority of our time and the best part of our trip was simply staying in and enjoying the pool. It was exactly what we needed. We get so busy with my teaching and Carlos being in school full time and not to mention two rambunctious kids that it was so nice just to relax and not worry about work or priorities for a few days. The kids loved the train and I'm thankful we could give them such a unique and fun experience.

 

Marriage and Pain

I feel like this past year has been inundated with painful relationships. A few years ago, I heard a story about a young married couple I knew that were separated. They had only been married a few years and already they were dealing with so much pain that they had to take some time apart to figure out what comes next. The most interesting thing I heard through that story was the comment a father of a friend made about the situation. He said "this seems weird right now, but in 10-15 years, half of the married people you know might very well be in a similar situation or even divorced." I processed that comment for a few days. I thought of all the married friends I have and tried to picture them divorced. I looked at my own marriage as well. I thought, "how does that happen? How do go from head over heels and 'soul mates' to then crying over your wrecked marriage and the mess that has become your life? How do you start over at 40? or 35? or 30?!" I couldn't fathom my marriage falling apart. I couldn't picture what would have to happen to make us conclude that apart is better than together.
And then a close friend started dealing with a separation, and then another and then another. It was a year of news that nobody wants to hear. And there was me. Trying to be supportive and encouraging and someone to just listen, while all the while, not getting any of it. I cried with these people, I held them while they coped with their breaking hearts. I vented to my husband about how spouses can treat each other so badly. (He warned me to cool the heck down or he was going to stop listening). I did what made the most sense to me and I just loved on them as much as I could. I don't know if it helped, I don't know if they even noticed it, but honestly it doesn't matter. The lesson that came out of all this was not how to be a supportive friend to someone dealing with a painful marriage, nor was it how to avoid one of my own. But what I discovered was this...
I still don't get it. I understand how people can make bad decisions, I understand that people are selfish and foolish. But I don't understand how they get there. How their brains make the decisions to stop communicating with their partner or to cheat on their partner or leave their partner. The areas between point a and point b remain a mystery to me. And that's ok. I should be happy that I don't get it. I should rejoice that my husband and I are surviving and enjoying marriage. I should be and am thankful that neither of us have been tempted to falter in our commitment or felt the need to tune out from each others needs and expectations. I'm thankful for him and pray that he is thankful for me. We respect one another and appreciate one another. This is what keeps us together. This is what held us close after the butterflies and honey moon stage wore off. Respect, Trust and Appreciation.

Mama D

This was the name my friends in high school gave to my mom. It was funny and catchy and I think she enjoyed being a mom that my friends actually enjoyed being around. She still keeps in touch with some of them. I had a cool mom. I still do. There are few women that I could even begin to compare to this person that has put up and dealt with so much over the years. Not to say that she had difficult children or a rough marriage. I like to think that she'd tell you that she had it pretty great. She and my dad raised 3 kids in a loving home. She often worked part time, but she was always home to greet us after school. She cooked dinner most nights (despite our jests of her poor cooking skills. Which now, I don't know why we ever gave her a hard time. She's an amazing cook. .... Sorry, mom)
She did it all. But the thing she did best, aside from attending sporting events, and driving us to social outings and helping us with school work, was loving us. "Of course she loved you, she's your  mom, that's her job." It is, I agree. But she loved us and still does, mind you, in a way that is incomparable. My mom loved us so much that I can look back on the 18 years I lived at home with fondness. Even when I was in trouble, or crying over how strict I thought she was being, I still felt loved. And my memories that involve pain or frustration are covered in this warmness that I recognize as love. I have an amazing mother.
There was a time that I didn't appreciate her. I'm sure many teenage girls go through periods where mom's opinion isn't all that important. We have those months or years maybe where our friends, our boyfriends, our societies opinions are more valuable than hers. Fortunately for me and my mom, I came around and realized the stupidity of my ways. Unfortunately for me, payback is a bitch and I foresee 2-3 years of B living with her grandparents so I can avoid her hormone driven wrath.
Mind you, I wasn't a difficult kid. I had friends that made good decisions, as did my brothers, I dated only mildly, and stayed out of trouble. But I remember making her cry. I remember fighting with her over dumb stuff. Stuff that no one should fight over but that I'm sure many teenagers and moms do. I was selfish, and rude and disrespectful. We grow up and suddenly have this knowledge about life, that if only we had had it in our teens, our lives would have been so much easier. But we didn't, and no one does. We have to learn those hard lessons the hard way. We have to walk before running and we have to fall down a few times before figuring it all out.
The worst feeling as a kid was not making my mom cry, it wasn't listening to her lecture me, or yelling at me. It was hearing her say "I am disappointed in you". Those 5 words crushed me. And after all these years, I've figured out why.
Some kids have crappy parents. Parents that don't hug them, parents that don't read to them as young children, parents that could not care less how they did in school or who their friends were or what things interested them. Yes, some parents shouldn't be parents. But my parents, my parents were/are amazing. I never doubted that they loved me because they reminded me over and over again. They never had to ask how school was or who my friends were or what my hobbies were, because they were involved in my life. My parents invested themselves in every possible meaning of the word. Yes, we were some of the most loved and best cared for kids I knew. I never feared that I could loose that love. Not once. It never entered my mind. But their respect, their approval, that is what I valued in them. When you're young you search for tons of approval from friends, teachers, peers, etc. But my parents approval, more specifically my mom's, that mattered more than anything else. As an adult, it still does. I value her opinion and her blessing higher than most. She's gone from being my mother, a maternal figure that taught me and raised me, to this vessel of wisdom, of comfort, of agape.
I struggle daily with being the type of mother I want to be to my own children. But in the end I know I must be doing something right because I hear my own mother talk to people about her pride in me as a daughter, a woman, and a mom. And that folks, is the highest compliment of all.

Our house, in the middle of our street.

Have you ever heard the lyrics to "Our House" by Madness. I always recollect the chorus to this song when I think about our home. Mostly because the only part of the song that I know is "our house, in the middle of our street". And seeing that our  house is in the middle of our street, well, you get it.
I recently had a conversation with my good friend Alyson about friendship. We lead different lives, ie: I have kids, she does not. But for 15 years, we've stayed close despite our different paths. I told her about  how when you become a mom, you often go through this process of "mom dating". You have to make new friends. There's no way around it. You suddenly get this urge to form social connections with women that share in the joys and pains of parenting. You realize that your previous friendships, those friends who work full time, and go to happy hour, do fun stuff every weekend and get to sleep in on their days off, just aren't cutting it. Don't get me wrong, I love that I've stayed friends with Alyson and a handful of others in the past 4 years, but those new friends, the ones that are moms, the ones that rejoice and commiserate with me, those are some amazing relationships.
And thus we come back to the topic of my house. More importantly, my street. These past 2 years I have been abundantly blessed by my neighbors. I've made some amazing friendships with women that have really enhanced my time as a mother of young kids.
We've lived in this home for 7 and a half years. Not until 2 years ago did I really ever get to know the people that lived near me. We knew our neighbors on either side but that was it. Our homes are fairly close together and whether it was because I worked full time or because I just didn't' care, I never made an effort to stray far enough from my front door to see who resided on my street. Thankfully, and only b/c I have children, I started walking. We began to spend time in our own front yard which lead to spending time in others front yards.....and on porches.... and then in kitchens. That simple act of stepping away from my comfort zone has developed into amazing relationships that without, I'm not sure how I would do it. The old saying "it takes a village to raise a child" has some serious merit. Of course I believe that families in rural areas with neighbors separated by miles can do just as fine a job as any raising their kids. But for me, my village can't be ignored nor can it be under-valued. Weekly, I call on my friends, my neighbors, for support, and every time, they oblige, as I do for them. We're a community. We're family.
I know it won't always be like this. Some day my little family will outgrow this home and we'll move. We may even move far away. This city has been my home for nearly 30 years and leaving will be difficult. But what will be the hardest, will be severing the closeness I have to this street. It will temporarily break me, of that I have no doubt. I envision myself fighting against what I know must happen, of temporarily refusing to go. "You'll have to make me" I'll shout. My husband will laugh and assure me that there are more neighbors to meet and form relationships with on our next street. But he'll be wrong. Bonds like the ones I've created over the past few years are rare. I recognize that and I treasure it. These sisters, these children, these stories that I've become a part of are so special and unique.

My hope is that I enjoy and appreciate what I have for how ever long I have it. To understand that not everyone is as blessed as I to have a neighborhood of friends, hell, cheerleaders that applaud their parenting successes and support them in failures. This is rare, and wonderful, and dare I say it, pre-destined.

Topics

I go through these stages of formulating a list of topics in my mind. It usually becomes super obvious to me when I know I haven't blogged in months. Things will happen, and I'll think "gee, I need to write about that." I use to have a journal *read 7* growing up. Journaling was my escape. It was my outlet for creativity. The difference was that, obviously, no one read my journals. I could put as intimate and detailed information down into them as I wanted without fear of anyone seeing my inner thoughts and feelings. Thank goodness because as most 16 year olds, my hormones were redonkulous and my "thoughts" were, um, typical.
So... Here's my grown up list with "typical" topics written down, so I don't forget it.

My street
My mother
Marriage and pain (not mine)
Our summer
Family


There's more and I'm sure it will come to me. But stay tuned. I plan on spending the next 2 hours of "nap time" doing some emotional spewing all over this keyboard.