Those that know me have likely experienced my competitive nature. While it was nurtured around card tables, in the classrooms of St. Edmund's and Ellis, in our backyard and on athletic fields, the personality trait has carried over into my career.
While I'm proud of the contribution I've made to corporate America at the age of 36, I sometimes find myself looking around the conference room, assessing my peers and wondering if I couldn't have been a little further, a little higher up, had I spent more time in the career development office in college.
Back in 2004, I graduated with a Varsity Lacrosse letter at Notre Dame, a major in Art History (with a summa cum laude mark on my degree), many hours spent in between the ceramic studio and stage, several nicks on the dance floor of Finnegans, some amazing friends, but no career prospects.
It took me three years, meandering through character defining jobs, to figure out I needed to get a more practical education in order to get a more practical job. So ... I didn't study for and mediocrely took the GMAT, pushed my way into Notre Dame's MBA program, and enrolled with about 15 other girls who showed promised of a dual degree.
The first day of MBA school, I told a guy with floppy blond hair that I would be at CJ's that evening. He showed up, we started talking, and I started smiling. As my jargon prone colleagues might say at work, 'there was there, there.' And I enthusiastically signed myself up for it.
11 years later, 3 kids later, my crowning achievement is my family. And despite the time it took to get here, I wouldn't change a thing about the route I took.
But as I write this, reflecting on the number of times I've scribbled the word 'I' over the past several paragraphs, I'm pretty sure I'm assuming too much responsibility for my path in life. I speculate there was more of a Him, with a capital H, behind the plan.
My Aunt Dee Dee, who in partnership with her sisters keeps Hallmark profitable, sent us a very nice card for our wedding anniversary this week. It said, hope your special day is full of time for celebrating one of the greatest gifts you've ever received ... God's gift to you of each other.
There was something about that circuitous career path, that was very purposeful, and I do feel like God guided it. Had I not experienced my 20s, had I not gained some much needed humility, had I not gone on some good and bad dates, had I not gone back to Notre Dame, I might never have met Peter. I might never have found the character to complete mine, which I believe is exactly what God had in mind.
Since we met, God's also delivered two MBAs, one MRS, three beautiful children, one loving home, and the potential for so much more if we choose to keep love in our hearts.
While there are days that I find defeat, when I come home, I'm reminded of the one thing I've truly won. him, with a lower case h. And I thank Him, upper case H, for making it possible.
Happy #7 wedding anniversary, hubby.
Lo.
Wednesday, September 5, 2018
Saturday, September 1, 2018
Back to School
Yesterday, Mary, Bobby, Peter and I piled into the car, as Eva pulled up to our house. We passed Margaret off to her, waved good bye and started what might be a new routine. When we got to school, I unbuckled my minor passengers, took them out of the car, and waited with them by the door of the school until it opened. Early bird gets the worm, right?
The gates of education opened, the bell rang, and hand in hand, Mary and Bobby entered school together for the first time. I watched them walk in alongside a mob of children shuffling forward into their toasty classrooms. Once safely inside, I dashed down the driveway, across the train tracks and onto the 8:00 shuttle into the city for yet another landmark day leading the most difficult project ever.
It's a whole bunch of new in our household right now. And it's all a little jolting. Mary started full day Kindergarten last week. Bobby just started Pre-K. We hired and fired a new nanny, then hired another one. Commuter life with the added pressure of packing school lunches, filling out school forms, and getting the kids out the door is a learning curve. I have new responsibilities and new hires at work and the demands continue to mount. I could go on, but I won't.
With all the change and all the firsts and lasts to cherish and hold, I could cry. I see so many other moms doing just that. At drop off the past couple days, I've seen the gamut of emotion. Mary's even shed some tears, telling me the days are too long and she misses me too much. But as I calm her down and push her through the door, her brother nearly dragging her inside, I have a different sentiment. I catch myself saying, 'phew ...'
With each passing milestone, with each measure of independence they claim, I breath a sigh of relief. Not quite the same sweaty exhale I express when barely catching trains to and from the city, but close.
I say, 'phew' ... because it's hard, stressful work to raise kids. And as they grow up, I find relief in the fact that all the work is worth it. That what I'm doing and what my husband and I are teaching them is working. And that they are getting stronger, smarter, and sometimes even sweeter each day.
It's been a summer of this emotion. As Mary learned to ride her bike, brush the knots out of her hair by herself, make her bed, and start to read a little bit ...
... As Bobby learned how to safely cross a street, looking both ways, and then to zoom off to the connecting sidewalk, as he jumped from the diving board, then learned to swim all the way over to the side by himself ...
... As Margaret learned how to walk, started feeding herself (and then started eating everything in sight), and hold her own against her brother and sister, I sighed knowing they were a little less breakable. A little more resilient.
Don't get me wrong, I love the baby stage. I can't stand how cute Margaret is sometimes. But I also love that they are starting to pave their own paths as they become their own little people.
Yesterday, I got off the train, and my kids were waiting right outside my car, smiles plastered on their faces, yelling Mommy! It was the best. The best. Eva drove off, headed home for the day, and the kids walked, scooted and biked back to our house with me, Mary leading the way and knowing exactly which turns to make to direct us home.
We've started a new chapter, and I think it's going to be fun to write.
Lo.
The gates of education opened, the bell rang, and hand in hand, Mary and Bobby entered school together for the first time. I watched them walk in alongside a mob of children shuffling forward into their toasty classrooms. Once safely inside, I dashed down the driveway, across the train tracks and onto the 8:00 shuttle into the city for yet another landmark day leading the most difficult project ever.
It's a whole bunch of new in our household right now. And it's all a little jolting. Mary started full day Kindergarten last week. Bobby just started Pre-K. We hired and fired a new nanny, then hired another one. Commuter life with the added pressure of packing school lunches, filling out school forms, and getting the kids out the door is a learning curve. I have new responsibilities and new hires at work and the demands continue to mount. I could go on, but I won't.
With all the change and all the firsts and lasts to cherish and hold, I could cry. I see so many other moms doing just that. At drop off the past couple days, I've seen the gamut of emotion. Mary's even shed some tears, telling me the days are too long and she misses me too much. But as I calm her down and push her through the door, her brother nearly dragging her inside, I have a different sentiment. I catch myself saying, 'phew ...'
With each passing milestone, with each measure of independence they claim, I breath a sigh of relief. Not quite the same sweaty exhale I express when barely catching trains to and from the city, but close.
I say, 'phew' ... because it's hard, stressful work to raise kids. And as they grow up, I find relief in the fact that all the work is worth it. That what I'm doing and what my husband and I are teaching them is working. And that they are getting stronger, smarter, and sometimes even sweeter each day.
It's been a summer of this emotion. As Mary learned to ride her bike, brush the knots out of her hair by herself, make her bed, and start to read a little bit ...
... As Bobby learned how to safely cross a street, looking both ways, and then to zoom off to the connecting sidewalk, as he jumped from the diving board, then learned to swim all the way over to the side by himself ...
... As Margaret learned how to walk, started feeding herself (and then started eating everything in sight), and hold her own against her brother and sister, I sighed knowing they were a little less breakable. A little more resilient.
Don't get me wrong, I love the baby stage. I can't stand how cute Margaret is sometimes. But I also love that they are starting to pave their own paths as they become their own little people.
Yesterday, I got off the train, and my kids were waiting right outside my car, smiles plastered on their faces, yelling Mommy! It was the best. The best. Eva drove off, headed home for the day, and the kids walked, scooted and biked back to our house with me, Mary leading the way and knowing exactly which turns to make to direct us home.
We've started a new chapter, and I think it's going to be fun to write.
Lo.
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