Half Way to Moving Out

I recently read the following Facebook post by a mommy friend:

Today was…today...  “Jacob” turned nine today, and after getting in trouble for shooting a dart at his sister’s face, he felt the need to remind me that since he is now nine, he is half-way to moving out.

This made me both sigh and smile. Why are kids always so eager to grow up and move out? And (dare I admit) why am I sometimes so eager for them to move on with their life? It’s a crazy battle that plays out in all of our minds, depending on our mood and the number of “poop-head,” “booger-brains,” and “butt-face” labels slung about the house on any given day. I call these “white flag” days, and they generally end with Little Caesar’s pizza for the kids and a long, hot bath for me.

Now I have about as much expertise on this subject as the next middle-aged mom. I have nine “Jacobs” of my own, four of whom have already left home, with five more to go. Two live half-way across the country and two live half-way across town. Facebook, text messaging, email, and the good ol' telephone help, but I miss my "Jocobs" who have moved on, every single day.

 

As for the ones at home... Still too many "booger-brains" being flicked willy-nilly around our place for me to mourn the prospect of their leaving, but Paco and I do our best to deal with it all, one "booger-brain" a time. There are good days and there are white-flag days. Some days, one of our "Jacobs" figuratively stand at the front door with bags packed, prophesying impending freedom. Oh, the mixed emotions...

From the perspective of both parent and child (having lived both sides of this), leaving home is both wonderful and horrible. You have the freedom to fly, but now you have to flap your own dang wings—generally, a dilemma at one point or another.

 

As one prepares to set out into the wild blue yonder, society will be full of all sorts of helpful suggestions and conventional advice to commence this growing-up and moving-on endeavor--learn to balance a checkbook, change a tire, cook ramen noodles, blah, blah, blah... That's all important. But what I'd like to offer is the not-so-conventional advice to start our little "Jacob's" off on life's path. Here goes...

 

(Disclaimer--I take credit for none of these...but they all make me smile.)

 

Therapy is expensive. Bubble wrap is cheap. You choose.

 

To make a long story short, don't tell it.

 

If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.

 

A penny saved is...not much...so...

 

The quickest way to double your money is to fold it over, and stick it back in your pocket.

 

Unlike people, laundry should be segregated by color.

 

Two wrongs don't make a right, but three lefts do.

 

If you get a paper on your windshield that says "parking fine" it doesn't mean you did a good job.

 

Don't bite the hand that looks dirty.

 

And lastly...

 

Life is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved.

 

 

So slow down. Enjoy the mystery. And did I mention, slow down???

 

One of my kiddos turns eighteen in a few months, and I'm already grieving this prospect. When he does leave, the balance will shift to more kids grown and gone than at home. Not sure I'm ready yet for this, but you know how the old saying goes: Ready or not...

 

 

Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her son, Preston Norton. The day her first son left home she cried for an hour straight, ate an entire box of fudge-covered Oreos...solo...then took in two stray dogs. When they refused to answer to the name, Preston or Punky Doodle she cried some more. Today, she finds herself half-way to an empty nest.

 

 

 

Kid Soup

I know, I know… The title makes me both cringe and smile in the same breath, but it's lodged into my slightly-twisted brain and won’t leave. Let’s just roll with it, eh? I’ll have you know, however, that there is some logic behind it (and no, nothing to do with the impending zombie apocalypse).

 

 

When my kiddos were little, we often read the old folk tale, Stone Soup, about a weary and hungry traveler with no means, who decides to prepare a meal by boiling a pot of water and tossing in a stone. Of course, this piques the curiosity of nearly every passer-by, who also toss in an ingredient—a carrot, a potato, an onion, etc.—until voila, a delicious soup is prepared. 

I’m a lot like that traveler. Not so much the hungry part unless you count today—day one (yet again) of mine and Paco’s latest diet—but the weary part, for sure. I seem to be continuously exhausted, and for the majority of any given day, I have one looming question on my mind: What-the-heck am I gonna make for dinner?

Although I’ve never considered starting with a rock, I have been known to toss in many’a random ingredient—each with its own unique, special, and sometimes unexpected flavor—to make a delicious soup or casserole for my gang. And somehow (for the most part) this hodge-podge of ingredients generally turns out pretty dang yummy.

And just as the weary traveler, Paco and I (the baker and the banker) have combined into our “pot,” a variety of personalities and characteristics—each unique, special, and some with an unexpected flavor or attribute—to make up this incredible blend of people we call our children.

Let me introduce them…

 

 

DETERMINATION came into my life 28 years ago and was the first of many to teach me about motherhood. Once a shy kid, he’s now a social rock star (when he wants) and in many respects an extension of me. “D” started writing his first novel at 16, and today has approximately eight finished manuscripts—two published, with another under review. He currently teaches junior high English, and will do so until the day his writing sustains him…which will be soon!

 

 

AMBITION arrived a year later and let my peaceful “D” know who was in charge. When she wanted something, she’d tackle it head on (in the early years, including “D” himself). Not only was “A” my earliest walker, she also taught herself how to ride a bike, do back handsprings, play the guitar, was the first to graduate from college and is now looking into grad school. Her strong will has served her well!

 

 

LOVELY is not only beautiful on the outside, but radiates that same loveliness within. Her kind and gentle heart serve her well in her own role as mommy. There's nothing that brings me more satisfaction as a mother than watching “L” mother her own boys—my grandsons. I can't help but beam inside at this sight.

 

 

STRENGTH is not only packed with muscles, but has a rock solid core, and I’m not referring to his physique, but rather his countenance or inner strength. He has competed internationally on the U.S. Junior Men’s Powerlifting Team, and can probably bench press a buffalo, but would tell you his greatest accomplishment is the two-year mission he’s currently serving. “S” is our gentle giant.

 

 

TALENT is oozing with abilities that never cease to amaze us all. He’s self-taught in both piano and art, and has honed his talent for acquiring requests from teenage girls desiring their portrait via his mad sketching skills. “T” has taken the art of flirting to a cultivated, whole new, and very literal level.

 

 

BELLISIMA (beauty) is my beautiful Peruvian rose. She came into my life as an 11-year-old and has literally blossomed before my eyes. As every rose (and every teenager), she can be as soft and delicate as a rose petal, but if not handled properly, the prick of a thorn might result. Most of all, “B” is strong—always able to withstand life’s storms as her roots grow deep and her limbs stretch far.

 

 

INTEGRITY radiates the qualities of honesty and moral principals. He is growing into a man of order and responsibility. “I” likes to be on time, and prepared—very much the boy scout that he is, but knows how to chill out and cut-loose when the mood strikes. He’s been known to have us all holding our gusts, laughing at the dinner table, and can do a pretty mean “worm” on any given dance floor.

 

 

CHARISMA is the spice of our great, big, integrated pot of kid soup. She is capable of being ten places at once, and charms, as well as entertains everyone simultaneously. “C” is proficient at maneuvering any given course of events into the direction she desires, so we believe inevitable success will be hers in a career in politics, Hollywood or both. Hey, if Arnold can do it…

 

 

And lastly, we add KINDNESS to the “pot”—our little dab of sweetness who’s always concerned with everyone and their feelings. The warmth of her hugs are healing, and the radiation of her smile, contagious; however, we were quick to discover that the combination of KINDNESS and CHARISMA could be a lethal duo.

 

 

There you have it—the baker and the banker’s kid soup via their prominent characteristics. I neglected to list some of their less-than-desirable personas—the screamer, the wall-puncher, the time bomb, the whiner, the crier, miss moody, etc… We’ll save these for another day…or not.

So if you're making your own kid soup, what would be the ingredients?

 

 

Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her son, Preston Norton. She absolutely adores her concoction of kid soup, but on a rainy day prefers clam chowder and a good book.

What is Your Dream?

Hi. My name is Tamra and I’m a Dreamer.

<In unison> Hi Tamra.

No, you see, I’m an uber-dreamer—an idealist extraordinaire. An optimist! I see the world through rose-colored glasses and all that. My condition goes beyond the Dreamers Anonymous status. You know that whole “when-life-gives-you-lemons-make-lemonade” concept? Well, not only do I make lemonade, I make it pink (just because) and bottle the stuff and sell it with full conviction that I’ll be the next Donald Trump of lemonade. And (heaven forbid) if my lemon venture tanks, I’ll chalk it up to a learning experience that will somehow enhance my future endeavors.

For me, dreaming and optimism are synonymous. Not only is the glass half-full, it’s half-full of diet freaking Coke. What’s not optimistic and downright dreamy about that?!

I can’t help myself.

I have to look on the bright side of life. I have to see a positive and happy future for myself and those whom I love.

I have to be a dreamer.

It’s how I roll—me and Walt, that is.

Did I mention I just spent a day with my honey and kiddos at Disney World’s Magic Kingdom in Orlando, Florida? I wasn’t in the park more than fifteen minutes when I heard the magic words of Mr. Disney flood through the intercom system and resonate in my soul…

“If you can dream it, you can do it.”

Pretty sure I bowed my Mickey ears at that very moment and said a resounding, AMEN! (I knew I liked this guy, and not just because of my love for beautiful singing princesses and talking animals).

Walt was a dreamer—an optimist.

So am I.

But too often I’m confronted with a different mentality—one that is the polar opposite of every fiber of my being.

“I can’t.”

“I’m afraid.”

“What if I fail?”

“Why bother?”

“It’s too much work.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

Now, to be honest, it’s not that I’ve never had one of these thoughts. I’m human. I have my moments of uncertainty and doubt. But at the end of the day, when I lay my head down, I have to dream (and folks, the dreaming I’m talking about happens before I fall asleep). I have to believe in myself and in my goals.

Because if I can’t believe in myself, who else will believe in me?

Dreams can come true. I’ve yet to fulfill so many of my dreams, but some have come to pass.

In my late twenties when I (only) had four kids (hee, hee) with the oldest just starting kindergarten, I had a dream of writing books for children…so I started writing.  I was fairly certain I’d be the next Dr. Seuss when I wrote the phonetic masterpiece, MAX THE CAT—a book for anyone desiring to master the short A vowel sound (Yup, I was teaching my kiddos to read). From there I composed OLLIE THE GOAT, and even illustrated my talking-animal magnum opus. I sent my “art” out into the world (Golden Books, if I remember correctly), and anxiously awaited the arrival of my publishing contract.

In the meantime I continued to write, and read, and write, and read about writing, and write some more. I took a correspondence course on writing for children and a college creative writing class. And I wrote, and wrote... Aside from my stellar annual Christmas newsletters (ask any relative), I wrote a breastfeeding newsletter for the county health department as part of my Lactation Specialist job, and even attempted to write a snail-mail parenting newsletter. This pre-internet idea tanked, but remember what I said about learning experiences?

Then we moved to Texas. By now I had five kids—can you say writing material? My work shifted to family-life pieces which I submitted to dozens of Southeast Texas and Houston area newspapers…and one editor wrote me back. Score! I had my first writing gig for the Fort Bend and Sugarland Sun Newspapers with my family life column, THE HOME FRONT. I was paid $20 a column and would surely be the next Erma Bombeck.

Over the next fifteen years my writing has evolved. One page at a time, I wrote my first young adult novel, which was published by a smaller regional publisher. I’ve since published eight novels for children and teens, most recently SHAYLA WITHERWOOD: A HALF-FAERIE TALE (my faerie “Harry Potter”) with this same publisher.

Am I the next Dr. Seuss or Erma Bombeck or dare I say, J.K. Rowling? Ummm…not so much. I actually hold down a fifty-hour-a-week, bakery manager job to pay my bills and feed my kids.

Am I still optimistic that someday I will make a living as a writer? Every day! Every. Single. Day.

Due to my work schedule and evolving family dynamics, at this phase of my life, my writing has shifted full-circle back to the family-life pieces and therefore, this blog. Oh, I still have stories to tell and novels in the works. But for now, this is what I’m driven to write. My muse is my family and life in general as a middle-aged mother of nine, and “newlywed” (of four years) to my first and forever love, Paco.

I am a dreamer, and my life is a dream.

How about you?

 

Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Blogger, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son with her son, Preston Norton. She prefers her lemonade pink, her Coke diet, and her dreams in Technicolor!

I Gave Birth to Julia Child

Okay, maybe not…yet, but give a mom credit for trying. You see, I have a simple philosophy in my sometimes not-so-simple life—kids should know how to feed themselves. And if they actually learn a few culinary skills in the process, boo-yeah—dinner is served, or as Julia would say, bon appétit!

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not talking Boeuf Bourguignon, Coq au Vin, or breaking any child-labor laws here. Sure, Julia was the American queen of French cuisine and I promise I’m not one of those over scheduling alpha-moms trying to churn out a clan of overachieving culinary minions. I’m just happy (especially during the summer months when they’re out of school), if my offspring can flip a piece of French toast or even a grilled cheese sandwich by themselves—some of the first dishes I teach my kiddos. We start with the basics and progress from there. If junior can make scrambled eggs—good. If he can make an omelet—even better.

Now, before I proceed any further, let me clarify a few things…starting with the fact that their dad and I actually do cook most of the meals at our house. I take care of dinner during the week, and my husband, Paco, does weekends (he’s somewhat of a “food whisperer.” Give the guy some seasonings and a slab of meat and he can make any ol’ food behave). But we both work during the week, so if these kids who know how to upload, download, inbox and outsmart any adult when it comes to all-things technical, can’t figure out how to cook something more than microwave popcorn, I’m afraid the zombie apocalypse is already upon us.

Think about it…

Secondly, I’m talking older kids here (although the little tykes are always eager to learn at our side). Currently, my house is populated with five kiddos ranging from 11 to 17…and they’re always hungry. We are in all phases of this momma’s self-feeding campaign at our house. Some are completely self-sufficient while others are a little more resistant.

One day, a certain child-who-shall-remain-unnamed tried to challenge me. “Mom, it’s your job to feed me!” said child with fists on hips.

“No, my dear” (okay, not sure I said the my dear part, but pretty sure it was past lunchtime, I was knee-deep in a huge project, previously mentioned “dear” had spent the day Facebooking and watching Netflix and we both were likely famished), “it’s my job to turn you into a responsible adult. There’s mac and cheese in the pantry or turkey slices in the fridge.”

All I have to say is hunger is a great motivator.

“My Dear” fixed the turkey sandwich and has yet to wither away in starvation.

This is all still a work in progress. Kids will forever be hungry and we have seven years till our two youngest graduate from high school. What are your thoughts when it comes to kids and food? I’d love to hear your ideas on this topic—especially kid-friendly recipes!

 

 

Tamra Torero is wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Blogger, Bakery Manager, and Author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her oldest son, Preston Norton. She makes (and teaches how to make) a pretty mean French toast, loves the movie, Julie and Julia, and will love you even more if you share this post.

Never Wake a Sleeping Mom

I’m tired.

I’ve been tired since 1985—the year my life changed forever (and not because singing We Are the World made my heart swell and brought tears to my eyes).

You see, this was the year I became a mom. The first of my nine children made his grand entrance into the world…hungry.  Each night, with his initial whimpers pulling me from a peaceful sleep, I prayed (and sometimes pleaded with God), to please help my little guy fall back asleep.

He never did.

So, for the next two decades (because those little babies with their hungry little whimpers kept coming and coming), I spent a good chunk of my nights awake with baby “plugged in” (a.k.a. breastfeeding).

But that’s not what this post is about.

I learned to deal with those middle-of-the-night breastfeeding sessions as well as the many other middle-of-the-night shenanigans that accompany the care of a baby. I’ve also learned to deal (for the most part) with waking up for a sick child…unless it involves cleaning vomit—ug! Never ready for vomit duty! It’s either all over their bedding or strategically hurled onto the carpet in front of the bathroom (um, yeah…that’s what that stain is).

But that’s not what this post is about either (sorry, hope I didn’t lose you there on the hurling thing).

This post is about the fact that I’m tired. Not only am I knocking on the door of the big five-zero next year (can you say, night sweats, hot flashes, and I’ll take my diet-Coke in an IV drip if necessary, please?), but I work full-time outside the house…on my feet…ten hour days…five days a week.

But that’s not what this post is about either. We are, however, getting closer.

You see, now that I have a full house of teens and pre-teens (3 teens + 2 pre-teens = a full house in that great poker hand of life), one would think that I might finally get a good night’s sleep. That would be a negative. For some reason this group of teens and pre-teens have stumbled upon this crazy notion that since it’s summertime, after their dad and I fall into bed, exhausted after a full day’s work, nighttime is now their playground.

Oh, they’ve heard all the warnings…

“Don’t wake me up unless someone is bleeding!”

“If I get woken up, y’all are grounded until you’re 52.”

And the least effective: “Wake me up and you’re toast—burnt-to-a-crisp toast!”

Needless to say, the figurative stench of burnt toast permeated throughout the entire house this morning. Yup, it was a rough night last night and this morning, this momma was a bear. Let’s just say you wouldn’t have wanted to be my cub today.

Am I the only parent apparently raising some sort of non-blood-sucking breed of vampires? Is anyone else experiencing this? Does anyone have a suggestion?

Well, here’s my suggestion to myself: Momma needs to pull up some Momma Pants and send those vampire cubs to bed.

Self-scolding complete.

Goodnight…I hope.

Tamra Torero is wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Blogger, Bakery Manager, and Author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son with her oldest son, Preston Norton. In a word, she's tired! Feel free to share this blog if you enjoyed it!