My son’s last day of school is Friday.  When the bell rings that afternoon, he will no longer be a third grader.  We’ll say good-bye to his teacher and his classmates.

In two months, he’ll go back to school as a fourth-grader. He won’t learn his teacher’s name until the first day of school.  But for some parents, they already know.  They are requesting specific teachers for their children.  As a parent and former teacher, I don’t agree with this practice. 

To find out why, click here to read my essay, “A Lesson in Giving Up Control: Why Parents Shouldn’t Request Their Child’s Teacher,” on MomsLA.com.

Last week I wrote about receiving my disabled parking placard.  This week I’m writing about actually using it.

Let me start by saying that, when possible, I always venture onto the residential streets to try and find a “freebie” spot.  While some meters give me an hour for $1, others double that rate.  And I know that walking is good exercise for me, so I don’t mind parking a block or so away. 

But last week, I couldn’t find a freebie spot, so I was forced to park at a closer spot, one that had a meter.  I reached for my credit card to pay the meter and then stopped myself.  I had a decision to make.  Should I pay like I usually do or park for free by displaying my placard?  I was torn and really didn’t know how best to handle the situation.  Neither decision felt quite right to me. 

I have “earned” this placard (if that’s the right word) and thus was “entitled” (again, not sure that’s the right word either) to free parking.

But. 

But I don’t “look” disabled.  But, the two dollars won’t make or break me. 

And, putting up that placard puts me and my situation out on display.

It wasn’t easy, but I did it.  I parked and walked towards my doctor’s appointment, feeling like at any moment someone would call me out as a fraud.  I know I’m not a fraud.  I know that this, sadly, is my reality.  But it’s a reality I sometimes feel unprepared for.

The picture above shows the items I received in the mail a few days ago.  Maybe it’s because I’m a writer, but I couldn’t help noticing the combination.

My Writer’s Digest magazine — a subscription I’ve had for a few years now.  I read each issue, marking pages with Post-Its, highlighting passages, reading it as a writer looking for information and inspiration.  Because since I am no longer a teacher (because of a disability), I am a writer.

The other item, my disabled placard, is one I’ve had mixed feelings about for quite a while.  I’ve been vehemently opposed to getting one and worried that I wouldn’t even qualify for one.  Although, as my husband pointed out, I’m no longer teaching due to my disability, and I receive a monthly disability check, so it really wouldn’t be a stretch to think I’d qualify for a placard. 

(Click here to read my essay on Role Reboot.org titled “Why I Don’t Hang a Disabled Person Placard In My Car.”)

But the placard is such a visible sign that there’s something wrong with me.  And I still believe there are others who need it more than I do.  But lately, there have been times I’ve really felt like I needed it too.  Like the day we parked several blocks away from my rheumatologist’s office to save money by not parking in the building’s parking lot.  We weren’t sure how long we’d be so I opted out of an hour-only metered spot.  A disabled placard would have made finding a parking spot much easier.

I haven’t used the placard yet.  I haven’t even put it in the car yet.  But I will. 

And one day I’ll use it.  And that will be it’s own essay.

Mother’s Day may come once a year, but the art of mothering is a 365-day-a-year responsibility.  In honor of mothers everywhere, I’d like to share these words about mothers that was published last year on MomsLA.com

Click here to read “The A to Z List of a Mom’s Jobs.”

Mother’s Day is in a few days, and in honor of this special day, I’d like to share with you a post that was recently published on MomsLA.com.

Click here to read “20 Quotes About Mothers and Motherhood.”

 

I started getting pedicures a couple of years ago.  Often times, I don’t even have my nails polished — I’m just there for the convenience of having someone else cut my nails so I don’t cause myself additional discomfort trying to do it myself.

On Monday, I went for a pedicure, and inspired by the warmer weather we’ve been having, I did have my toenails polished.  A pretty shade that caught my eye.  This particular hue is described as a “classic burnt sienna.”  But what stuck in my head was the name of the color — Very Structured.  

I am a “very structured” person.  Certain chores like laundry, writing bills, and grocery shopping are done on certain days of the week.  I prepare dinner at the same time each night.  I write daily “to do” lists.  I publish this blog each Wednesday. 

And, apparently, even in my choice of nail polish, I’m “very structured.”

The older I get, the more I think that there isn’t always any rhyme or reason to why things happen.  The older I get, the more I believe that a lot, more than I probably want to admit, is really out of my control.  There’s only so much I can do.

So I’ve been trying to make a conscious effort to do “little things,” to put some good will out into the world and hope it spreads.  The other morning, I picked up a plastic spoon on my son’s playground.  A few days ago, I stopped the car in the middle of the street so a jay-walking postal carrier could cross safely (even though the driver behind me grew impatient and honked). 

On Monday, I was walking to a doctor’s appointment, and I saw this spray-painted “got love” message on the sidewalk. 

What if it was that simple?  What if we went through our days simply showing love in all its forms?  Love to ourselves.  Love to our family and friends.  Love to our community.  Love to our planet. 

It’s something I can do.  It’s something I can control.

I don’t know about you, but I usually have a difficult time answering when someone asks me, “How are you?”.  It’s a complicated question without a simple answer, and the best way I knew how to figure it out was to write about it.

I’m proud to say that Breath and Shadow has included my personal essay, “I Am,” in their spring edition.  You can read it by clicking here.

I wasn’t sure what to write about for this week’s blog.  I was tempted to write about my son’s perseverance when he plays basketball, and the fact that he attempts every shot my husband makes.  But I’m not.

Instead, I’m going to keep it short and true.  I’m sad this week.  My son is on spring break from school, and our family had plans to spend a few days in Cambria (one of my most favorite spots).  Instead, we’re home.  I cancelled our trip, because I haven’t been feeling well for most of this year.  I cancelled our trip, because I’m not eating like I used to, and I don’t have the same energy like I used to.  I cancelled our trip, because the pain has been worse in my legs, and I needed to be closer to home.

We’re still all on spring break.  We’re still all having fun. 

But it’s not Cambria.

Dear Readers,

If you don’t already know, let me give you the facts.  I’m a white woman, married to a black man.  Our son is bi-racial. 

Understandably, how I look at race is different now than it was when I was a kid.  And along those lines, The MOON Magazine has published my personal essay “Being ‘White’ ” as part of their “White Issue.”

You can read my essay here.