My mother claims Mother’s Day was invented by greedy greeting card companies. She could be right, but having a day when we honor our mothers is a grand gesture.

Our ideals about motherhood are all over the place, especially in these days of social media where parents create the perfect cake, decorate a color-coordinated room on 50 cents and have time to build custom shoe closets.

Moms shouldn’t worry about what other people think, but it’s not easy to ignore our mothering skills when we feel we’re being compared to the mom down the street who grocery shops in Spandex, cooks organic food, has a job outside the home and still volunteers at the school.

When my boys were young, just getting them to school with matching shoes felt like a major accomplishment.

Instead of living up to some pie-in-the-sky model, it’s reality-check time.

Here’s some friendly advice for moms, and dads too, that will hopefully relieve some of the guilt associated with parenting, the most rewarding non-paying life-long job in the world.

Stretch marks are okay. They never fade, so don’t believe the hype in the back of magazines. Cellulite is also okay, so wear shorts with a swagger in your step.

Being tired is okay. When a mom’s day starts before dawn and includes getting sleepy kids out of bed in the dark, making sure grouchy children are dressed and backpacks and lunches are gathered for school, all before 8 a.m., that’s more work than some people do in a week.

Being cranky is okay. When you’ve been up all night with a teething infant, a child with projectile vomiting or a smart-mouthed teenager who loves sneaking out of the house, it’s okay to be a bit crabby at two in the afternoon.

Having a messy purse is okay. A woman’s banged-up handbag often resembles a five-and-dime store as it serves as a depository for toys, extra diapers, pacifiers and Zip-lock bags of Cheerios, some of which opened in her purse.

Over the years, my purse has been used as a pillow, second base, a booster seat in a restaurant and a door stop. No way I’m paying big bucks for an accessory that does all that.

It’s okay if you’ve forgotten to brush your teeth or your hair in the morning. It’s also okay to tell your child “no,” “your face will freeze like that,” “I said so” and “do I look like I’m kidding.”

On really stressful days, it’s okay to ride home from work with the windows rolled up while you scream at the top of your lungs.

It might not be healthy to eat ice cream straight out of the carton after sounding out every word in “Mr. Popper’s Penguins,” but a parent has to do what a parent has to do.

This year, let’s concentrate on what we should do:  sing and play with our children.

Honor traditions or create new ones for holidays and special occasions.

Make sure our children know they are loved, praised when they do right and enlightened when they do wrong.

They should know how to hold a fork and knife correctly, to chew with their mouths closed and to say “excuse me” when they burp.

They should know how powerful the words “I’m sorry” can be and that one should carry an elderly person’s groceries but not another person’s guilt.

They should know hugs make some of the worst hurts feel better. They learn that lesson when you hug them after a terrible day and when they hug you when you’ve had a rotten day.

They should also know their mother loves them and that they are the last thought she has every night before she goes to sleep.

So here’s to all the sleep-deprived moms and dads with worry lines who not only have stretch marks but knows how to stretch the family’s budget.

Happy Mother’s Day.

You are appreciated and loved.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

My grandmother often stayed with us during the summers. Those were memorable times as she was fun, strict, a bit irreverent, and always smelled like Chanel No. 5.

She didn’t like to get up early, but she was always bathed and ready for 12:30 p.m. because that’s when “The Edge of Night” came on television.

We knew better than to disturb her when Mike and Nancy were on the screen.

People often laugh at those who get addicted to the “soaps,” but those half-hour dramas are a part of numerous cultures, no matter what they’re called.

In high school, I became a devout watcher of “The Young and The Restless.” The show featured fresh and strong women with great hair who didn’t bother with bras.

Plus hunk Tom Selleck was a regular on the show.

My siblings were forbidden from making any excess noise from 11-11:30 a.m. because Lori, Leslie, Phillip and Jill would be battling out life.

I loved that soap so much, I scheduled my college classes around “TY&R.”  After my parents started watching TY&TR, I switched over to “General Hospital.” I couldn’t see myself discussing forbidden love with my parents.

The show was a favorite of mine for years. I remember a conversation I had in the grocery store with three women waiting in three different lines about “General Hospital’s” Luke and Laura.

The entire country was mesmerized by the story line of “who shot J.R.” from the night-time soap “Dallas.” My friends and family were glued to the T.V. when the season premiere aired with the answer of who’d shot the evil megalomaniac from the “Big D.”

That was followed by “Knot’s Landing,” “Everwood,” and “Falcon Crest.” Women over the age of 50 better belly up to the bar and admit they had at least one dress with big shoulder pads, courtesy of Linda Evans from “Dynasty.”

Although I’ve never seen one episode of “Downton Abbey,” the PBS series has thousands of viewers who read the online message boards, dress like their favorite characters and – like me in college – wouldn’t miss an episode of their soap, I mean drama.

The daytime soaps these days still revolve around sex, greed and smoldering looks between good looking people. Come to think of it, so do the night-time and premium channel soaps.

The only real difference between “The Kardashians” and “The Guiding Light” is the amount of wardrobe money and hair spray allotted to the stars.

Which brings me to the current popular soap, HBO’s “Game of Thrones.” People might not think GOT is a soap, but the show has a lot in common with the daytime dramas.

Both have dragons. The dragons from old soaps were the ancient matriarchs who caused trouble. GOT has fierce in-family fighting, but Victor Newman has argued and fought with every person in his family.

“The Edge of Night” had my grandmother.

“Game of Thrones” has me.

My son asked me to read the books and watch the show a few years ago so we could talk about them. I was hooked from the first episode despite its deserved “R” “rating.

People say the show is violent.

I agree.

They say there’s excess profanity.

I hear that every day in rush hour traffic, and it’s coming from my mouth.

Just like I know nobody on the daytime soaps ever cleans a toilet, I know there’s no such thing as white walkers or dire wolves.

But that’s what the world of entertainment’s all about.

Take me away, Calgon, from the constant, senseless and cruel violence in this world to the make-believe world of diamonds and pearls, flawless make up and fire-breathing dragons.

That’s what makes fiction so deliciously fun.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Recently Lamar CISD announced the names of four new schools, and they and those who nominated chose quite well.

The four new campuses are Clifton Terrell Jr. Elementary, Maxine Phelan Elementary, Harry Wright Junior High and Dr. Thomas Randle High School.

I count myself fortunate to know, or have known, all four.

Cliff Terrell was a true friend to education. I met him through this newspaper, and spent a wonderful car ride with Cliff to Wharton County Junior College one afternoon.

We talked about the future, education, children and life in general, and his outlook was optimistic and eager.

He was someone who handled a dozen different obligations with ease and grace and helped everyone from WCJC to the Boy Scouts to people in general.

Cliff passed away a few years ago, but he left a huge legacy and a definite chart to follow if one wants to make their community a better place – do what you say you’re going to do and do so with humility.

Before I met her in person, Maxine’s stellar reputation as the matriarch of the English department at Lamar CHS preceded her.

Tough and fair, knowledgeable yet always willing to learn, is what I was told. She cared deeply for her students and pushed them to go beyond what they thought they were capable of learning.

She came to the newspaper office one afternoon, and Clyde King said there was someone who wanted to meet me.

A petite woman introduced herself as Maxine Phelan. She had no idea I was the one who was awed to meet her.

I stumbled over my words, but that brilliant smile quickly put me at ease. Since that meeting, I’ve talked with Maxine and her husband, Herb, many times, and we’ve become friends.

When I was frustrated with a college grammar class, Maxine patted me on the hand and told me something I’ve never forgotten.

“New fads come and go,” she said. “Stick to the basics and you’ll be fine.”

I think she’s given hundreds of teenagers that same comforting advice over the years as well as knowledge, encouragement and a smile that lights up a room.

Harry Wright is a legend in town. He was the first principal at Terry High School and he united everyone when the school opened. I’ve seen him at sporting events and he’s a definite crowd favorite.

He is the epitome of an educator who believes in giving youngsters a chance and challenging them to do their best. I don’t think he’ll ever make it through the grocery store without at least one person thanking him for being a fantastic person and educator.

Dr. Thomas Randle has been the superintendent of the school district since 2001, and I’ll admit to being a bit in awe of him. However, when I first met him, Dr. Randle instantly put me at ease and remembers my name whenever I see him.

He visits all the campuses in the district, often taking a quick walk through the halls, talking to students along the way.

He’s legendary for the costumes he wears at the annual back-to-school convocations – race car driver, astronaut and farmer, to name a few – and he delights children every year as the Easter Bunny. There aren’t many superintendents who’d go that far to put a smile on a child’s face. He’s always challenging his teachers to get to the top of Mount Everest, in other words, never stop until you reach the top.

What these four individuals have in common is a passion about education, whether it’s in the classroom, the board room, the principal’s office or the superintendent’s office.

This community should be proud for honoring those who’ve spent their lives as down-to-earth, bona-fide teachers and educators.

Bravo Lamar CISD.

         This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

 

Like thousands around the world, I watched in sorrow as the 850-year-old Notre Dame Cathedral was engulfed in flames. The church is an icon for Catholics around the world, and especially the French.

Fire has caused some sorrow in my family, and watching helplessly as those flames in France seemed to gut the cathedral brought back memories.

Many years ago, I was visiting my grandparents. My grandfather sat by a big picture window in their library because he could see all the way down the hill by their house.

One evening, the house across the corner was on fire. He sat there calmly, watching the flames dance across the night sky.

“That’s some fire,” I said to him.

“Yes, I don’t think they can save it,” he said.

My aunt burst into the room, crying.

“Dad, your house is on fire,” she said between gulps of air.

“I know,” he said and continued looking out the window.

“You own that house?” I asked him. He told me he did. I asked how he could remain so calm.

“What’re you going to do,” he replied. “It is what it is.”

I’ve never forgotten how quiet my grandfather was as something he owned was destroyed right before his eyes.

He taught me an invaluable lesson – remain calm in an emergency and understand and accept when things are out of your control.

The second fire happened at a cabin we have in the woods. My husband was spending the night out there, and I got a call in the morning.

“There was a fire here,” he said. “But I’m okay.”

Fire fighters were quick to respond, but one section of the cabin was destroyed.              We finally figured out that flames had seeped out between the back of the fireplace and the wall.

We had no idea the structure had shifted to allow that to happen, and it was a good thing my husband saw what was happening and could call the firefighters out.

It took months to repair the damage at our cabin, but I was so grateful and thankful that my husband wasn’t injured in the blaze.

Our last run in with fire happened last summer. My husband called and quietly explained that our son’s 50-year-old house had burned to the ground.

Nobody was living there at the time, and the house had burned so fiercely and quickly, there wasn’t enough left to rebuild, much less run an investigation.

All I could do was cry.

After I calmed down, my husband convinced me that our son could have a fresh start with a new house.

A fire takes everything in its path – furniture, clothing, pictures, a feeling of safety, but you pick yourself up and go forward.

My grandfather was able to save most of the house and rent it out again. We rebuilt our cabin, and our son has started rebuilding his home. France has vowed to rebuild Notre Dame, and donations started pouring in from every nation on earth even before the flames were extinguished.

The morning after the fire at Notre Dame, a gold cross remained standing and seemingly untouched by the intense heat and flames.

People are saying the cross is a symbol of hope and, watching the light illuminate that simple cross, I believe they’re right.

Amidst the ashes, that simple gold cross is a sign that even though fire can destroy structures, the really important parts of life, the intangibles like faith and hope, cannot be destroyed.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

The bride was radiant and the groom smiled nervously. Friends and family were gathered at the Cotton Gin 116 event building in Brookshire to witness Margaret and David exchange wedding vows and begin a new life together.

The wedding was definitely a Lone Star event – both the bride and groom wore cowboy boots, and all the groomsmen wore Texas cowboy hats and vests. Guests were encouraged to dress casually in their favorite western duds, and yellow roses on all the tables reflected the theme.

As the bride walked in, she did so a little slowly as she’d broken some bones in her foot. Margaret’s foot was the last thing on her mind that evening.

She only had eyes for David and David only had eyes for her. Even though I was sitting a few rows back from where they exchanged vows, the unwavering looks that passed between them was electrifying.

They celebrated a wedding tradition I’d never seen before – both had written letters to each other, and they put the sealed letters in a wooden box to be opened on their first wedding anniversary.

They’d written how they felt about the other in the days before making their union official, and the minister told them the letters would be a great reminder of why they’d gotten married.

Their reception was spectacular. This was the first wedding reception at the newly renovated cotton gin, and the polished wooden floors were so shiny, I could see my reflection. The grounds were meticulously maintained, and the food was good and plentiful.

But the most wonderful part about the wedding was the love Margaret and David showed to each other. Even though the hall was filled with people, those two kept each other in their sight almost all the time.

I thought about all the times I’ve seen marriages go badly. Two people fall in love and make promises. Times get tough, and many bail, thinking someone new won’t cause them any trouble.

They’re mistaken.

Marriage has its share of unhappiness, but it’s worth toughing out the rough years if both people are truthful to each other and work to honor their commitment.

There’s another person who’s promised to stay through watching you sit on the side of the bed in your ratty pajamas while you cut your toenails.

They stick with you when there’s not enough money to pay the car note, you unexpectedly lose your job or you need a root canal and there’s no dental insurance.

The internet displays a world of beautiful people doing beautiful things while bragging about their beautiful lives.

It’s all an illusion, and reality faces a tough competition with fantasy.

We all get crow’s feet around our eyes, a little paunch from indulging in late-night chocolate ice cream and, sooner or later, the hair goes gray and bifocals are a necessity.

For those who stick it out, they understand between the wedding vows and the retirement home there are glorious moments.

Sometimes they don’t seem as numerous as the bad ones, but knowing someone else is there and won’t desert you is worth the world.

Looking at Margaret and David, I believe they’ve found someone worth holding on to. For their honeymoon, they’re taking Route 66 to see what’s on the path far from the interstate.

I have no doubt these two know what they’re doing and that the car trip will be filled with conversation, laughter and love.

And, oh, did I mention – Margaret and David are both in their late 60s. But from the look in their eyes, they’re teenagers at heart.

Best of luck you two lovebirds. Thanks for reminding me it’s never too late to believe in love.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

After an early morning and a full day, I went to photograph a soccer match.

I picked up a camera I seldom use because I wanted to see how well it would perform with fast action on a sunny day.

Pointing the camera toward the stands, I pressed the button, heard a click and checked the playback.

Black screen.

Pointed the camera at the field and pressed the shutter button a couple more times.

Still nothing in the camera’s playback screen.

I showed the camera to the teenager taking pictures next to me and asked if he knew what could be wrong.

“Well the camera takes better pictures if you take the lens cap off,” he said, reaching over and gently taking the lens cap off the end of the camera’s lens.

I haven’t done anything that stupid in years.

Wait a minute.

I did something equally stupid just two days earlier.

Most people do stupid things, I told myself. But most of us don’t say anything because we don’t want others to think we’re dumb.

But if my columns over the past 20 years have revealed anything about me, it’s that I do dumb and stupid things on a regular basis.

So I decided to share my stupidity for seven days on my very public Facebook account.

The first entry of seven was about leaving my wallet at home. I didn’t realize I’d left it until the grandchildren and I were at the check-out counter. We had to leave what we’d picked out, and I felt like I’d let the grandkids down.

They were quite understanding, even more so when I promised to get them double what we’d picked out because we had to come back.

The second entry was owning up to wearing mis-matched shoes to work.

When I find a pair of shoes that are comfortable, I’ll often an extra pair in a different color. I’ve grown weary of returning shoes or having a blister at the end of the day, so when I find a good shoe, I stick with it.

Until I’m getting dressed in the dark and, hours later, realize that I’m wearing one blue shoe and one brown shoe.

The third entry was owning up to wearing mismatched earrings or only putting mascara and eyeshadow on one eye, not two.

The fourth was about leaving the water running in the sink while I got distracted. It’s a good thing there’s a built-in overflow feature in the kitchen. Apologies to you, hubby, because the water bill might be a bit higher this month.

Fifth would be about the number of times I’m cooking something on the stove, forget about what’s on there and return to burnt pancakes or ebony-black French toast.

On the sixth day, I owned up to leaving things on the kitchen counter and walking out the door without them – my keys, my lunch, my water bottle. Or leaving for the day with the back door open. Or all the lights on. Or… well, you get it.

On the last day, I owned up about leaving the lens on the camera. What I didn’t expect was the number of people who commented that they’d done the same stupid things I’d done, and they shared smiley faces with their confessions.

We were all in the stupid ship together it seemed, and we weren’t embarrassed or ashamed to admit we were human.

And that’s how I ended the post on the seventh day.

We all make mistakes. We all do things wrong and we all do things right. We beat ourselves up when we do dumb things and we forget to congratulate ourselves for getting through the day.

Give yourself a break and remember – you are an incredible person. You’ll sometimes leave the house without your wallet, your lunch or your homework.

Just don’t forget — there’s one thing you’ll always have with you – a sense of humor.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

I spotted a newspaper cartoon where a grandmother was promoting her book. She told the audience “My book came out in the fall, so I insisted it have a jacket.”

We can laugh at the fuddy-duddy advice, but the guidance from a grandparent is usually right on the money.

My Grandma Marguerite had quite a few sayings, but my favorite was never turn down an opportunity to go out, even if you’re not overly fond of the person asking. You never know who’ll see you when you’re out and they’ll know you’re available.

“Remember to have fun along the way” was how she signed all of her letters and cards, and I am reminded of her wise words when the day ends on a happy note.

My mom has all kinds of subtle advice, and her grandchildren and great-grandchildren soak up what she says and doesn’t say.

Their “Siti” has taught them to always have food in the house, especially cookies, to offer a guest because nobody leaves her house hungry.

She’s taught them to make other people know they’re important without slighting anyone else.

That’s because she pays attention when her grandchildren talk to her and she’s overjoyed when they come to visit.

Grandmothers will usually insist you wear a sweater or socks when it’s cold outside. It doesn’t matter that the house is the same temperature in the winter as it is in the summer – cold weather outside means grandchildren must bundle up.

I think it’s in the grandmother manual.

Grandmothers and grandfathers dispense similar advice and most can do so without aggravating their grandchildren.

Parents can say the same thing, but grandparents have a way of softening the advice yet still getting the grandkids to pay attention.

To young children, some grandparents smell a little funny. Most of the time, it’s Old Spice or Mr. Clean but I like to think that smell is experience and there’s no way to get rid of life’s perfume.

Grandparents will also let their grandchildren stay up late because they know a little leniency goes a long way toward building a strong relationship.

And, like their grandchildren, grandparents sometimes like breaking the rules.

They’ll ask their grandchildren to eat their vegetables, but they don’t insist. Grandparents are honest – chocolate cake does taste better than lima beans.

Grandparents also remember the naughty things their now-grown children did when they were younger.

When they hear their son or daughter carrying on with the grandchildren about mistakes, they gently remind said parent that they did the exact same thing when they were that age and to maybe go a little easy on the kid.

We have a couple of extra dollars when the ice-cream truck is coming down the street or in the check-out line at the grocery store.

Grandparents always have extra hugs and, most of the time, we take our time because we know how fast little ones grow up.

We don’t want to straighten you out, we want to spend time with you, listen to you, talk with you, read to you, walk with you and enjoy every minute we get to spend with you.

We don’t need you to mow the grass, wash your clothes or sweep the floor. We just want you to be you.

So indulge us a bit if we insist you wear a sweater outside. Because of all the people you’ll meet in the world outside of your parents and siblings, you’ll never find anyone who adores you more than your grandparents.

So put on that sweater. It’s a little chilly outside.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

One of my favorite afghans is a red, blue and black Granny Square twin-size spread I’ve had since I was in high school. It was the bedspread in my college dorm room back in the 1970s.

The blanket was a gift from my boyfriend’s mother, Pat Fresina. She loved to crochet, and she made sure I had a blanket to take with me to school.

For over 50 years, she made sure quite a few people had what they needed in life from blankets to meals to a shoulder to cry on.

After a long and tiring battle with congenital heart failure and other ailments, Pat passed away peacefully last week.

But, oh, what a legacy she left.

Her house was a great place to visit. The small brick house on Nimitz Street always had somebody hanging out, usually in the back room that had my favorite thing in the house, a working Wurlitzer jukebox.

The kitchen counters were covered with stacks of books, magazines and other household items that nobody worried about, especially Pat.

She’d much rather play games like Jeopardy and Family Feud with her kids and their friends. Hours were spent in that orange and brown kitchen playing Spoon or Spades, and the games were always loud and lively.

She was a mom of three daughters and one son, and she also held down a full-time job as a teacher.

Pat was a legend in the science departments where she taught. She taught most of my friends as well as my younger brother, Joey. She made science fun because she made the lessons lively and engaging.

Her son, Chuck, told me they never knew what they’d find growing in the refrigerator because his mom was always trying out new experiments and testing theories.

Sundays were my favorite time to visit the Fresina household because it was spaghetti day.

Pat would start cooking the gravy early in the morning, and we’d all sit down in the evening for a bowl of pasta covered with a rich red spaghetti gravy and a boiled egg. Sounds pecuilar, but a boiled egg chopped up in pasta and sauce is delicious, she taught me.

When Pat wasn’t crocheting, conjuring up science plans or playing games, she was reading Harlequin Romance books. She had them stacked up on the table next to the couch, but would always put them away to talk with somebody.

One afternoon, my best friend, Trudi, and I stopped by the Fresina household on our way to work. Pat was showing us her latest crocheting project when her son came in and started yelling about where his sister had parked the car.

Sister started yelling back and then their dad, Dominick, got into the shouting match. Trudi was looking back and forth between the yellers, but Pat didn’t even seem to notice. She kept talking about the blanket she was making.

Trudi said she’d wait in the car, and Pat blinked and asked if anything was wrong. I told her it had gotten a little loud in there.

“Oh I never noticed,” she said with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.

For her, life was loud and noisy and messy and wonderful.

She dressed up in silly hats and outfits, was game for any outing or adventure and never had a mean word to say about anyone. She was a tremendous mother, mother-in-law, Nanny and great-grandmother.

A science teacher to the end, she stated in her will that after her death, she wanted her body to be donated to science to help students learn.

I’m going to sleep underneath that afghan tonight and think happy thoughts about a woman who lived life to the fullest.

Thank you for allowing me into your heart, Pat. You’ll always be in mine.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Our active and delightful grandchildren are visiting for part of the week. My washing machine and dishwasher are groaning as they’re running practically 24 hours a day with grass-stained jeans, bathing suits, towels and T-shirts that somehow got splashed with mud.

Within eyesight of our driveway is a grassy area that provides a perfect circle for our young bikers. The four-year-old learned how to ride without training wheels a few months ago, and he boldly rides around and around the circle, a huge smile on his face the whole time.

His brother and sisters can go a little further, and their dad has them practicing for a children’s triathlon. They’re taking the training routine well, and seeing them ride with unbridled joy reminds me of my childhood afternoons on my bike.

In Louisiana, we lived in a neighborhood where everybody rode their bikes to the pool and each other’s’ houses.

In New York, we lived in a small community and all the kids rode their banana-seat bikes everywhere – the school, the park and to our grandparent’s store for gum and candy.

Of all the places I visited, though, the library was my favorite. At that time, the library in Olean, N.Y. was located in an old three-story stone building, and it looked and smelled the way old-time movies would have you believe.

Because I had my own library card – my most treasured possession – I was free to come and go to the library whenever I wanted. The basket on the front of the bike allowed me to check out four or five books, and I’d read those as fast as possible and head back for more.

For my grandchildren, riding bikes to the library would be a dangerous journey, but reading is still a pleasure. Their dad took them to a bookstore this weekend, and they came home with dozens of comics, most of which they’ve already read.

Usually we head to the library and come home with new tales and a few beloved favorites. In fact, there’s been some books they loved so much, we bought them.

One of their favorites is “Epossumondas Saves the Day” by Colleen Sally. The story takes place in Louisiana, and the book is a delight to read aloud.

I enjoy putting on a Southern accent when I read the story of the little possum that saves his mama, auntie and friends from the “great, huge, ugly Louisiana snapping turtle.”

The grandchildren always drag out two “Martha” books where a little otter has to learn to share her toys and say “sorry.” With siblings, a book about sharing and apologizing hits home.

A series we all enjoy is the “Pout-Pout Fish.” With a continual frown, the poor little fish has to overcome a sad, timid nature to conquer his fears.

The best part of reading to children is when they snuggle up close as we turn the pages, laugh about the adventures of the hero or heroine in the book and, at the end, when they beg us for just one more book.

They know we’ll always read one more before bedtime, and they think they’re pulling a fast one over on us. The truth is – the reader is the one who benefits from the closeness and bond created when stories are shared.

The smell of their freshly shampooed hair, the softness of their well-worn pajamas, and the way our feet intermingle underneath the afghan my grandmother crocheted for me years ago are worth more than gold.

Spring break 2019 is almost over, but I’ll always remember it as a week of readin’ and ridin’ and having little ones snuggled close by as they whisper “read it again.”

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Today is the first day of Lent.

Technically Ash Wednesday marks the beginning because it’s when we make plans for what we’re going to give up or do for the next 40 days.

It’s the bridge between chocolate cake and no chocolate cake.

But as in all things, there are a couple of loopholes in the whole 40 days of fasting and prayer. According to catholiceducation.org., the faithful do not have to fast on Sundays during Lent.

I know this rule is true because my grandmother said so. She reminded us about the dispensation rule when we’d sit down to Sunday dinner.

My sister would practically grind her teeth because she always gave up potatoes during Lent. To think she could be getting a big spoonful of Mom’s home-made mashed potatoes with our Sunday roast-and-potatoes meal but couldn’t because my dad didn’t recognize the rule was almost criminal.

As a life-long Catholic, Lent is the part of the year I always dread. I’m not great at giving things up – except exercise – and I always knew that no matter what I gave up, I’d cave in before the 40 days were up.

One year it was gum, and that didn’t last because I was a teenage girl who was always aware of the pitfalls of being labeled with bad breath.

Another year I tried sweets, but that ended when birthdays rolled around. I found it impossible to give up chocolate birthday cake and ice cream.

When I got older, I found myself rationalizing why one had to give up something one liked in order to prove one was faithful. What did giving up candy do for my spiritual life, I told my brother one year.

It wasn’t the giving up, he reminded me. It was the knowledge of what life was like without something I loved. The hope was people could relate to what it would feel like to not have God in their lives.

I was pretty sure that God and chocolate were two permanent fixtures in my life, so I let that one slide.

Even though the reason for giving up something in order to gain an appreciation has been explained to me numerous times, I’m still not ready to jump on that band wagon with or without a bag of Hershey’s Kisses.

Instead, I think it’s better to add something positive to my life during Lent in the hopes that the practice lasts. A few years ago, my mom suggested I pray a rosary on my way to work in the morning as a Lenten sacrifice since I refused to give up Twix bars.

I took her up on the offer, and I found the reciting of all those Hail Marys and Our Fathers had a calming effect on my soul.

All these years later, a rosary is still what I pray for that morning commute. I still yell about moronic drivers, but it’s hard to roll down the window and yell “you idiot” with a rosary in my hand.

So on this first day of Lent, I’ve got an idea about what I can add to my life that won’t add inches to my hips.

First, say something genuinely nice to one person every day. That should be standard practice but there are days when complaining seems to be the main litany coming out of my mouth.

Second, personally acknowledge people for the affirmative vibes they contribute to the world. Texting or emailing doesn’t always have the same impact, but since the end result is what’s important, text away.

So that’s my Lenten challenge, and I challenge you to do the same.

With 40 days in front of us, that seems to be enough time to make sure you can make a few people feel good about themselves.

And since it’s the first real day of Lent, the time to start is right now.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.