I had my morning coffee and Daily Show fix and then went to the fridge to see what I could eat for breakfast.  Yum: A bowl of cherries.   It’s funny how an early summer fruit  can trigger so many memories, all good.

I remember we had a sour cherry tree between the house and the dairy barn.  I would eat cherries off the tree until my stomach ached.  Once I remember my Aunt Nancy and some of her children coming out to help pick cherries.  Hank or Johnny climbed high up in that tree, and I ran to the wash-house and hid my eyes because I thought they might fall. We picked buckets and buckets of sour cherries from that tree for freezing or canning.   That night we had a cherry cobbler with homemade vanilla ice cream.

Thinking about that warm dessert covered with melting ice cream took me to summer days living on a farm and waking to the potential of a great day.  Maybe we’d have to help pull weeds in the front junipers or maybe help pick green beans in the garden. We’d complain under our breath and usually I’d throw a worm on my sister Cathy which sent her into a tizzy.  We’d string the beans in front of the tv, bidding on Price is Right showcases, and wondering if our farm-girl bodies covered with chigger bites from the hay and scabbed knees would ever come close to comparing with the glitz and glamour of Bob Barker’s Price-is-Right Models.  I’m happy to say the Blose girls have done just fine without the silicone and thigh lifts, thank you.  There were trips to the swimming pool daily and a quarter would usually get me a Zero bar, my favorite.  Mom would literally just drop us all off.  She had raised us to respect the rules and respect others so there wouldn’t be a phone call to her that we were misbehaving.  It never happened.  I’d inevitably get pool toe early in the swimming season until I had gone barefoot across the barn driveway long enough to build up a good callous.  Sometimes my Dad would announce after dinner, “Let’s go to the pool!”   Any time that Dad took us for an evening swim meant that we were going to be pulled under, hoisted up into the air 20 feet and we’d watch him proudly doing his flips off the board or dive.  This was summer living at the Blose house.

Summer cherries also bring me to vacations.  The anticipation of vacation was almost as good as the vacation itself.   People reading this may think that this is the wackiest, hokiest vacation ever but we would drive to wherever the National Holstein (those of the black and white Ben and Jerry’s cows for my city friends) Convention was held for the year.  There were trips to Louisville, Denver, Anaheim, Philadelphia, Detroit, Atlantic City, and of course, Nashville.  For long trips we flew, but for other trips we drove.  It started out in a big station wagon with Cathy and I having the view from that weird rear seat, looking at the vehicles behind us.  So dangerous but all of us survived.   After Anne came along (number 7 girl) my parents invested in a motor home.  We called it The Barth because that was the name of the brand.  The day before the trip, mom would head to the grocery store and inevitably would come back with a 5 pound bag of dark red cherries.  We’d try to sneak into them but she would say, “Stay out. They are for the trip tomorrow!”  Think about what that one statement taught us:  anticipation of a family trip and practicing patience for good things to come…not immediate satisfaction.  Mom would do everything to get ready for the trip, but that assured that my hard-working Daddy would be well rested and in a great mood for the trip.   And then all of the things that I’d anticipated and expected over the past year would commence:  The cherries would be broken out of the fridge before we got on Interstate 81.  We’d rotate 8 tracks of John Denver, Barry Manilow and Olivia Newton John, the soundtrack from the musical Shenandoah (oh…talk about patience…8 tracks…kids today would die).  Barbara would be asleep within the hour.  At some point, someone would fight about space or getting kicked in the head.  Mom might remind us how lucky we were to even be taking a trip so figure it out.  Dad would make friends with strangers at restaurants and gas stations. We would all feign interest as we drove away and he filled us all in on their life story as if he were hosting a Biography special.  The trips would be filled with learning, meeting new friends, and flirting with farm boys from other states.  Sounds great, right?  You bet your sweet behind it was great.

When I suddenly became a single parent, every instinct in my body screamed, “Show your kids that we remain a family. Show your kids joy.  Teach your kids patience.  Let them see that some things never change.  Let them laugh and not feel guilty about having fun.  Let them argue with one another and encourage them to fix it themselves.  Remind them they are lucky.  Everyone has a story worth sharing so shut up and listen.”

My stomach aches not just from the half a bowl of cherries I just consumed, but because so much has changed.  My Dad has been gone eleven years now.  There are no longer family trips in motor homes.  No trips to museums or pulling over to read a random road marker.  None of us really want to know the life story of the waitress who brings us our pancakes.   It wouldn’t be a good idea to flirt with random guys either.  But so much remains:  Barbara does still go to sleep the earliest!   The most important part of all is that when we get together for holidays, weddings or even through our private Blose Family Facebook page (no you can’t join), the joy remains.  The laughter remains.  We tell stories not with regret or sadness but with gratitude.  The foundation of what my mother and father created through vacations and day-to-day common sense values will never crumble.  Thank you bowl of cherries for triggering such good memories this morning.

I hate yard sales.  I really do.  I threw a bunch of stuff over the past year in the basement studio closet and the pile grew and grew. Then I moved the pile to the garage where it has stewed in the sweltering Tennessee heat.  I advertised my garage sale on Craigslist and put up a couple of signs (which the HOA promptly pulled down because you have to pay for a permit to have a yard sale…ugh HOA) My good friend Devin informed me that I should have lots of fabuious pictures to lure buyers and I should post on Facebook Buy Sell sites. Grrr.  I hate yard sales.   People try to give you a quarter for a pair of shoes because they have been worn.  Seriously.  That’s why they are in the yard sale pile. Get out of my yard, lady!

I was setting things out super early when a van opened up.  A robust man got out of the van and politely said, “Good morning.” He asked if I had any vintage furniture from the 50s and 60s. I said, “Sorry.”  Then we began to talk.  He asked me when I was moving and the dam broke.  I spilled forth my soul..I don’t know…I might not..I haven’t sold my house…still don’t have a job..it’s just time to get rid of some things..four years ago…traveling guitar player/songwriter…And then he spilled his soul ..My wife and little girl died 17 years ago in an accident….my daughter would have been 21 this spring…I left Utah because I had to escape..I drive tour buses and do the vintage furniture for fun…I don’t think I can ever risk loving again because it’s too painful…I have my dogs…I’m not sure what happens when we die.   I told him how I was able to pick myself up, but it’s a neverending work in progress.  It’s a favorite stage shirt that caught my tears today.  It’s messages from people who don’t understand that I have preserved many, many things for my kids.  We talked for about 15 minutes surrounded by my stuff.  Stuff that really doesn’t matter in the end.

Everyone has a story.  We wear masks that hide the burdens of pain, grief, and fear of loss and of loneliness.  But I truly believe that each of us is watched over by a God who never blinks.   If you don’t believe in God, think of the last time you were down and then lifted by someone or something.  That’s what God represents to me:  a sudden lift,   a buoy. an out of the blue text message from a friend.   So if you’ve ever experienced unexpected grace, well, you decide for yourself.

Before he left, he thanked me and hugged me, “This is probably the best thing that could have happened to me today.  I couldn’t have asked for a better way to start my Friday,” he said.  “For me too!” I exclaimed.  And it was true, because it was truly a crappy yard sale.  And I get to do it all over again tomorrow morning.

Goodness.  My daughter is one month away from graduation, and little over a month from turning 18.  Not so long ago she was shorter than me, brace-faced, flat chested and I was consoling her while she cried over some chickens she neglected and died in some silly reality video game.  I’m finding myself misty-eyed at church events, musicals and even the dreaded before-prom pictures. (Which for the record, I HATE!!)   I wrote a blog about two years ago entitled “Give Up What You Know” https://carvingoutmyname.com/2013/03/17/give-up-what-you-know/  and I felt the need this evening, the day after prom, to revisit that theme.

About a week ago, Lauren asked if we could host the after-prom party and sleepover.  What the what?? I’m trying to sell my house.  I am a single mom with two kids in college in the fall.  I’ve heard stories of parents being locked up for kids getting drunk at their homes.  I thought I had dodged the bullet after I told her of my strict guidelines until I wrote her a note on the church bulletin last Sunday.  (Note to Pastor Chris Joiner…it was during the offering)  “So where is after prom going to be?”   “At our house.”  What’s a Mom to do?  On the way home, I reiterated my request and asked for all parents’ emails by Monday. I sent out an email stating that I was very happy to provide a safe place for the kids to gather after prom, but I wanted to be clear that I reserved the right to search all bags for alcohol and that I needed parents’ cells.  I also said the boys would sleep in the basement and the girls would sleep on the third floor.  I also told them that the kids would need to get up early enough to help clean up as I was hosting an open house later in the day.  Lauren was horrified, and I’m sure some of her friends complained,  but I didn’t back down.  If kids didn’t like it, they could go somewhere else.

Was I nervous about my liability and obligation?  Yes.  Yesterday afternoon, I hid all three bottles (I know, very sad) of booze in the house, a bottle of five-year old champagne, and a box of red wine which will never be consumed so I should probably dump it out.  There was no good wine because frankly, I drank it from being nervous about hosting an after prom party.  Last night, I took a nap while they were at prom and then I got up at 11:30 to put out all kinds of foods.  Around 1:00 AM I game them my last little lecture about expectations. But there were no problems.  They got up at a decent hour, I made them waffles while they had pleasant conversation.  They helped clean up, thanked me profusely and left.  Here’s what last night and this morning showed me.  Not all kids today are entitled, spoiled brats.   Not all kids today are out to get high and drunk at prom. ( But it sounds like from the breakfast conversation that some at prom were)  Not all kids are giving up their virginity early and are promiscuous.  In fact, I’d go out on a limb and say this group of kids behaved better than my generation of kids.   I may be lucky, but I also put in my hours as a mom.  When you have expectations of your kids at 3 and 10, and follow through, they remember it when they are budding 18 year-olds with college-aged boyfriends.   When you don’t nag and micromanage, but act as a loving parent and not their “friend,” they know you trust them and don’t want to destroy that trust.

I thought about what Tony would think of his little Lauren today when I was looking through her pictures.   It’s been almost four years since his passing, and she was so different then.  He would most likely want her to wear sports bras and turtle necks!   He would love how she has matured and inherited his OCD for organization.  He would love that she wants to be a nurse, inspired by the care she saw him receive after his surgery and through his hospice nurses.  He wanted to be here for these moments so I do my best to keep him present.  We talked about him while she was putting on her make up.  She mentioned him this morning in conversation with her friends.   I try my best to look her boyfriend in the eye (which is REALLY hard since he’s over six feet) and be both the Dad and the Mom as I tell him to drive carefully.  At the right time, he and I may have a conversation about Lauren’s Dad.  I’ll tell him all the things I think Tony would say, and what he would want him to know about the privilege of dating his precious girl.   This is what this Mom needs to do.

I was getting ready in my hotel room on New Year’s Day when Jack said, “Oh, Sarah. Did you see what Lauren wrote on her Facebook page?” And then he read it to me.

Everyday, for 365 days, I wrote down “Bonnes Choses” (good stuff) that happened to me or something I was thankful for. Looking back at them, it is truly incredible to see how I grew as a person in faith and especially happiness throughout 2014. Thank you to everyone who made 2014 become the greatest year of my life yet. And here’s to 2015, may it be even greater and FULL of bonnes choses!

I was astonished because I knew nothing about this! I actually felt bad about my parenting. Why didn’t she tell me about it? Should I have asked what the jar full of paper on her dresser was all about over the past year? I had noticed it but didn’t ask. Maybe good Moms open drawers and read texts to make sure their kids aren’t doing bad things? I’ve never done that. Aren’t good Moms supposed to communicate with their kids and know the ins and outs of their daily lives? Had I become so busy that I had lost touch with my daughter?

The guilt went away fairly quickly as I realized just what had happened. My little blond girl who resembled Cindy Lou Hoo on our Christmas card fifteen years ago was becoming a mentally healthy young woman. She had set an intention for an entire year, even when she was having a bad day, to find a nugget of a blessing.

It made me think about parenting. We spend our whole lives talking to and at our kids. Do they listen? Not always so we talk some more. Our talking starts with trying to get them to talk by cooing, babbling and then we move to telling them not to talk in quiet church sanctuaries or movie theaters. We talk to them about toilet training, brushing their teeth, sleeping, eating healthy foods, cleaning up their toys, not hitting their siblings, respect, responsibility, faith, grades, friendships, exercise, relationships, money, alcohol, drugs, sex, death, driving, taxes, too much social time, not enough social time, filling out their college applications, deciding on colleges, deciding on what to study, job markets, medical school…etc. I have talked to these two kids of mine nonstop for twenty years. I suppose that is why Lauren’s “Bonnes Choses” jar makes me proud. I didn’t say a word.

My Mom and I were talking about it yesterday. She asked me what Lauren had written down the day she didn’t get the coveted spot in the high school musical as she knew how devastated she had been. “You know, Mom, I haven’t really asked to read them as curious as I am. If she wants me to read them, perhaps she will bring it up but I respect her privacy.” I remember what I liked about that day. I got a chance to once again comfort my little Cindy Lou Hoo, hold her, wipe away tears, bestow some wisdom about perseverance and dedication, and reassure her that this was a small fraction of her life as bigger things in her life were on the horizon. We did some early Christmas shopping, I bought her some new penguin flannel pjs, and we went out to eat.

At dinner last night I told Lauren that Grandma was proud of her for committing a year to finding something positive about each day. “Lauren,You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but what did you write down on the day you didn’t get the part in the musical?”

“I wrote down that I got to spend time with you.”

Sigh. Thanks Lauren for letting me be your bonnes choses.

Sarah Lopacinski is a Mom to Aaron and Lauren, twenty-five year teaching veteran, yoga teacher and founder of http://www.peacefulplaceonline.com.

Visit http://www.peacefulplaceonline.com to get high definition streaming yoga and guided meditations. Use the code Begin to get a $6.00 monthly rate. No long term commitments necessary. Purchase the Peaceful Place app of guided meditations through itunes or Google Play specifically written for cancer patients. Email sarah@peacefulplaceonline.com for more information!

It’s tough these days to find balance in parenting. I’m not talking about social media, cell phones or wearing the right outfit from the right stores. I’m talking about my profession: education. Anyone who has kids under the age of 25 has experienced the inevitable end-of-the-year state tests. As a teacher, I understand the tremendous stress that educators are under to “grow” their students and to push achievement higher.

As I begin my twenty-sixth year of teaching, I have what most teachers would envy: High-achieving, motivated students. They do their homework. The majority of them make high A’s on every assignment. They listen to directions. They are thirsty for knowledge. A teacher’s dream!! However, my eyes were opened the other morning. While they were doing bell-ringer work, I went around to check off their homework. It was a workbook page or a sheet. I don’t remember. I came to one boy, and he was “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I lost my paper, and I don’t know where it is.” Tears were brimming in his eyes. I stopped bell-ringer work, and we had a lesson in self-forgiveness and giving up the need to be perfect. I showed them my sloppy writing on the board and my messy desk. I told them I left my cell phone charger at home, and I forgot to copy something for class today. I saw a thousand pounds lift off of the shoulders of the entire class. Yikes. I am worried about the stress kids are under these days, and I have 12 year olds.

I have a few pointers for parents as we begin the school year.

1. Relieve stress from your child by not expecting all A’s. Parents of these students want their children to be challenged, but not if it means they may get an occasional B. We’ve fielded questions on GPA and class rank this year! (FYI…it doesn’t exist in sixth grade.) In addition, you may not think you are expecting all A’s but when your child overhears you talking about their math level and their grades to Grandma, they hear the pride in your voice and don’t want to disappoint you. Tell Grandma a funny story or about something kind that your child did. Pull the identity away from their academic and even athletic accolades.

2. Examine your attitude toward homework and quality of work.

I recently had a meeting with a parent who was very upset over the amount of homework and her child’s anxiety over the quality of her work. She feels she doesn’t measure up to her classmates. It was reported that the child spent three hours trying to complete an assignment that should have taken five minutes, constantly second guessing herself. The parent was at wit’s end. However, there were some signs of roots of this stress. The parent had emailed some of us LONG messages with multiple questions about assignments, quizzes and tests. The parent came in with a typed agenda for our meeting on her suggestions for what we could do at school. We acknowledged her suggestions and agreed to try some things but not all. We came up with some other ideas as well. What I wanted to say was take a deep breath. You are stressing yourself out and you are stressing your child out. Eventually, I will tell her.

3. Don’t push your child into a math class he/she is not ready to take.

Kids at my school who test high in 5th grade math tests are placed on a faster track, taking pre Algebra in sixth grade, Algebra I in seventh, Geometry in eighth and it goes on and on from there. This year, I have a student on my team who takes Algebra I in sixth grade! Most brains are not developed enough to understand Algebra until the age of 14. Kids are given placement tests at the beginning of the year because their parents believe they can handle a higher math. We have parents override the placement tests and the school’s decision regularly. I often wonder if parents want this more than the kids.

4. Hope that your child loses an assignment, forgets homework or fails a quiz.

I know this sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I mean it. When it happens, reassure them that they are human. Share a story about when you had a similar experience to connect with your child. They need to know that you screw up too. Ask if they need some suggestions on organizing their papers or writing down assignments. They probably don’t need your help, but if they do, help them. Your love, example of self- forgiveness and attitude about the situation are like a safety net. They won’t forget it down the road. Mental health is more important than being in the top 10% of the class.

5. Don’t be an online grade book checker and instant emailer.

Oh my gosh. I have had parents who must have the online grade book open at all times and get alerts for anything below a 95%. We all know which parents are going to send us an email as soon as a grade is entered, and we laugh about it at lunch. One year I set a timer to see how long it took for the Mom to email me: 8 minutes!! Allow for some time for your child to get the grade back up, but if you see a pattern of low marks, talk to your child first and then email the teacher. Think about the message that it sends your child about being perfect if you are constantly bringing up grades that you saw online.

6. Be honest with yourself about your own experience

Are you tying your own “If I had only…” lessons and dreams onto your child? Do you feel your life would have been set on a different course if you had been pushed academically? Do you wish you had been in a “better” college? Would it have made a difference in your career? Over the past ten years, I have had several parents ask me to rank their child in the class. I decline. Is this about their child or about them? Hmmm.

7. Google the article “Don’t Send Your Kid to the Ivy League.” It’s one of the most honest, thought-provoking articles I’ve read in awhile by an Ivy league professor. Kids today are becoming zombies, trying to get as many extracurriculars on their college application as possible, striving for highly ranked, prestigious colleges. And although I feel it’s important to go into college with a sense of what you may want to do and to pick a college that offers a good program, it’s more important to pick a college that allows kids to think, reflect and experience. My friend Steve Hoeffler, a professor at Vanderbilt has helped me with this.

I’ll admit that I have violated everything above as a parent. It’s true. I find myself asking about grades, signing Lauren up for ACT prep classes and asking Aaron if he’s had any tests in Organic Chemistry. What I feel I have done well is to always tell my kids to do their best, but to take time to enjoy their years in school. There are times when I know they are slacking, and I’ll point it out to them. They’ve also had bare bones honesty about where they stack in the deck. There will always be people around you smarter, wealthier, better looking and better networked. A truly successful adult is one who has balance of work and play and self-love.

I’m pushing 50. Actually, I’ll be 48 in August, but I might as well go ahead and say I’m almost 50. I’m not afraid of a number and definitely not ashamed. I have more energy than I’ve ever had because for the most part, I eat right, take supplements and sleep well. I’m in good physical shape and can still wear the same size from my high school and a smaller size than my college years (especially the post-freshman 15). It comes from daily commitment and intention to live a long, healthy life for myself and those I love.

However, this morning as I prepare for my day, a not-so-gentle reminder of my age hits me as I sit in the sink, putting on my moisturizer and makeup. It’s a long black hair poking out of my chin, and I’ve decided to name him Carlos. I have no reason for this name so do not ask. He sticks out of my chin in an area that I can’t easily spot. It’s as if I can find it only after a full moon in just-right-light because by the time I spot it, it’s about three inches long. Good grief. Carlos shows up to remind me that there are some things I have no control over like long pubic hairs coming out of my chin. When I get past 60, perhaps I’ll dye Carlos a bright blue to clash with my purple dress and red hat, but for now, I’ll pluck him out. Fuera de aqui, Carlos, you little stinker.

I read my mother’s blog Mother’s Day 2014 yesterday (Ellenblose.com), and I have to admit I felt some guilt.  She points out that busy moms don’t take the time to focus on whether this day is set aside as special or not.   I understand that, but she also had a great partner who took care of reminding the seven Blose girls about this day.  We would go out to lunch after church, and I’m pretty sure he covered her with appreciative hugs and kisses later on.  

For the past four years, I have celebrated Mother’s Day either with a very sick husband or as a widow.  It’s been up to me to take the crew out to lunch and to drop subtle hints that Mother’s Day was coming (Hey, kids, make sure you sign your Grandmas’ Mother’s Day cards!!).    I’m busy, but I was accustomed to a husband who bought the card and reminded the kids about the day.  I never wanted or expected anything expensive.  My favorite gift ever was a CD of a five year old Aaron singing “Here Comes the Sun” and a three year old Lauren singing “Skidamarink.”  In all honesty, this Mom has always enjoyed being celebrated and recognized on Mother’s Day.  

I knew Aaron would be at the beach with his friends this week and Lauren told me that she had to work from 1-9:00 at her new job.  I was giving myself more than a little pity-party, lamenting some to my guy friend, Jack.   He told me yesterday that he was sure they wouldn’t forget, and I felt the very first pangs of jealousy when he went to buy his ex-wife Mother’s Day gifts. Grrrr.    

It dawned on me late last night how many Moms out there celebrate this day alone.  Either divorced, single, widowed, there are many of us who don’t have that man to make sure the kids are reminded about this day.  If you know of a Mom who is single, widowed, divorced, make sure you send her a message today.  

Lauren hinted at making strawberry crepes for this morning, but I’m up and she’s not. Ha ha.   Imagine my surprise when I got an email this morning from Anthropologie for a pretty nice-sized gift card amount.  It said it was from Jack but the message read 🙂 “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! Thanks for everything you do 🙂  Love, Aaron and Lauren.”   

Wow. Thanks, Aaron and Lauren!  ( aka Jack.  🙂