The power of making a child happy

I am not a scientist.
I am never going to win an award for mathematical prowess.
My strengths lie in creative thought, writing and spreading positivity.
My smile has made me lots of money, and not that I'm proud of that, I simply acknowledge we each have our strengths and our weaknesses.
I am a soccer mom. I am a cheerleader of life. My kids realize (my teenager at least) that Mommy is not going to help get that A in Calculus, or Chemistry, but I can help with all writing projects, creative endeavors and language studies. I will scream the loudest on the sidelines and cut orange slices at halftime. I will drive the entire team from game to game and host pre and post celebratory parties.
This does not let me off the hook for homework assistance. My children still have expectations that I will help them, even with the knowledge I may not give them the help they need.
This came up this week, when my 8 year old needed help with his science project. I knew when he mentioned the idea of building a miniature tornado that this was way out of my realm of expertise. A friend gave me some insight on how to get started and told me what the project would look like, but somehow I couldn't visualize it. Weeks went by, and I hoped Saunders would make another choice, something easier for Mommy to help with. He didn't.
So, I helped with the creative process - what the written project would look like, formulating a trivia portion with questions and answers he could come up with (for the class) about tornado's. Fun stuff that would be a hit during the presentation. But, I could not get the actual, physical concept of a tornado in my head to help him build this project.
So, I enlisted the aid of another friend, who researched it on the Internet and helped build this project with Saunders. Eventually the project came together, and I even de-beaded a necklace, cut glitter and found shiny particles to form the debris within the project.
The day came to present, and I was nervous for my kid. I hoped it worked out. I panicked and contemplated all day how he would fare in the science fair. What if the tornado didn't work? It was painstaking to think about my son's possible failure because of my ineptness in academia, and therefore, my failure as a "good" parent.
As I drove through the "kiss-&-go" in the afternoon, I looked for any signs of disappointment on his face as he walked to the car - poster board in one hand, backpack on, and empty tornado in the other hand. He opened the car door and threw the project in the back seat. I smiled, "Hey Buddy."
"Hi Mom," he quickly answered. "Today was the best Friday ever."
I smiled, "Wow, really? Why?"
He went on to tell me how his project was one of the best projects in his classroom; how everyone clapped loudly when his presentation was over (far louder to his ears than in support of anyone else's presentation); how he had a line of people to waiting to check his tornado out, even when they were supposed to be doing other activities, and how the glittery debris made the tornado even more spectacular than when we practiced it at home. He said there was one presentation he thought was better, but they definitely had the best two.
His excitement and happiness at his success showed me how little it takes to make a kid happy. Even at my worst, just giving what I could was powerful, and reminded me to take the time to show my kid that his success is important to me.

the inside of strawberry cake

This afternoon was one of those days when I felt like I had no idea where I was going. Every career opportunity seems to have fallen through the cracks. I have had the roller coaster ups and downs of relationships (friends and love interests), and I have had so many breathtaking moments I would never take it back, but just as many stifling seconds that I wonder, is this what everyone does for love and friendship?

I find when I am overwhelmed with life I talk to my Nana. I find a quiet place, and I ask what to do. What is my next step? Where is my path taking me? I say aloud (putting into the universe and hearing myself speak), “Tell me what to do.”

I wait and I wait for an answer. Today, I thought about all my options; my kids, my lifestyle, rent. I thought about how much tragedy has escaped into the atmosphere because people don’t feel they have an out – a resource – anyone who really gives a shit about what happens to them. I thought about how to let go and how to hang on.
I wondered if any of this would ever make sense.

I decided to bake a cake; a sweet pound cake with fresh strawberries. I thought, at least, I can still make something to give to my family to show them I love them. I mixed it and threw it in the oven. My thoughts were all over the place. I drove to pick up my daughter from high school. Maybe this is the beginning of my midlife crisis. I am over 40. I have a teenage daughter. I am single …again. Perhaps everyone goes through the exact same thing and it’s simply my turn.

When I pulled into the high school parking lot my sweet girl bounced to the car…because that’s who she is – I take full credit for that…and she threw her backpack in, sat down and closed the door. I backed up and held my tongue before I said anything. I always try to think about what I say aloud and what I keep to myself, especially when I’m in a mood. Before we even left the parking lot, she looked at me and said, “You’re doing a great job mom.” I immediately asked what she wanted because generally speaking, the grease comes before the rub. She said, “Nothing, I just wanted you to know I am not ungrateful and you do a good job.” I responded, “A good job picking you up from school and driving you around?” She said, “yes, and keeping a roof over our heads and feeding us. You are a good mom.”

I burst into tears, and she laughed, and I realized once again – she is my daughter. Every time I make her smile or laugh makes me happy. It’s like a drug. Even when she’s laughing at me, it is the best feeling in the world. My teenage daughter thinks I’m a good mom. I thought my life sucked…and it couldn’t be better.

And I burned the cake. When we walked in the door I saw the smoke. I thought I could juggle a bit too much as usual), and as I pulled it out of the oven, and all the smoke wafted up to the ceiling I was bummed, for a second. Then I cut into it and the inside was soft and good and the strawberries were perfectly sweet. Again, even when the outside looks like shit – the inside couldn’t be sweeter.