Confession

"It is the confession,

not the priest,

that gives us

absolution."

Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) Irish poet and dramatist.

They say confession is good for the soul. It cleans the inner vessel and prepares us to meet our maker. If this is the case, then all of us at the Rancho are well on our way to sainthood.

It all began when one of the kids blurted out that she had been paid $10 to do a friend's homework. The poor child just couldn't handle the guilt any longer. This tearful confession left such an impression on the rest of the Rancho that suddenly confessions where coming out of nowhere:

Do The Math

As we get older we start to contemplate some of life's more serious questions:

What is the purpose of life?

What brings true happiness?

Do I really have a houseful of kids and a

mortgage payment?

Would it be possible to make Bill and Melinda Gates the legal guardians of my children should I meet an early demise?

Last night, as I lay pondering these things, I realized that one unanswered question still weighs heavily on my mind.

How many diapers have I changed in my lifetime?

Choices

A Step Past The Crossroad

A step past the crossroad I stop and turn
To reflect upon paths not taken.
A slight yearning within
Stirs the clouds of regret
And darkens my road up ahead.

Yet, just past the crossroad I cannot turn back
And I question if indeed I would.
If given this path again to trod
Would my steps follow course?
Would I have change of heart?

Of such things I cannot say
But reflection grants me this,
In dwelling upon paths not taken
My eyes might easily miss
The light on the road up ahead.

In life there are always choices.

Mrs. V

If you would have asked me twenty years ago, I would have told you that I'd rather have all my teeth pulled without anesthesia than ever teach elementary school. At the time the only Elementary Education majors I knew were people who absolutely LOVED children and wore matching everything (according to the current holiday). They were the "sweet spirits" who dedicated their all to their chosen course of study as there wasn't much else happening in their lives.

That just wasn't me. I was the only girl in my neighborhood that hated babysitting. It may have had something to do with Mrs. LeBaron paying me only .75 after watching her six terrible kids for eight hours. Or it might have been the fact that I absolutely detested sticky hands, boogery noses, and endless questions.

I just couldn't fathom the idea of willingly spending my days with a room full of little kids. My career dreams played more like an Indiana Jones movie. I would be the first to discover the Lost Temple of Altahualupe deep in the jungles of Guatemala. Or maybe I would travel the world to faraway exotic places and spend my time writing wonderfully romantic adventure novels. At the least, my life would be full of travel and adventure, and would certainly have meaning.

Well, all I can say is be careful what you wish for... My dreams happened, but for reasons other than the ones I had imagined.

Life's First Lessons

As parents we are always excited about the progress of our children. We celebrate their first tooth, their first step, their first word, and their first day of school. We faithfully take pictures and record times and dates to remember -- hoping to catch all those memories before they disappear. Well, a few days ago my baby had a great 'first', and as an ethusiastic new convert to blogging I rushed to record the news.

You see, my youngest learned something that his older brothers learned long ago -- If you don't sit still for Larry the Barber (no matter scary it seems), then dad will have to cut your hair himself.

My poor baby now looks like one of the little goblin monsters from the movie Labrinth. I have already been asked if he is "enfermito". That is the Spanish way of politely asking, "What in the world happened to your kid?!"

Nurture vs. Nature

Scientists have long debated whether it is nurture or nature that makes us who we are. Do we come to this earth as a clean slate to be shaped into the person we are by our environment? Or are there parts of us that have always been and cannot be changed no matter what we face?

Lately, at the Rancho, we have had this very conversation. Our debate has focused around the question of: Are you born Mexican or do you have to learn to be Mexican?

An Introduction Of Sorts

For some time I have contemplated starting a blog, but somehow in my mind the idea of "Blogger Mom" seemed to be right up there with "Minivan Mom", "Soccer Mom" , and "Home Room Mom"... not that there is anything wrong with these titles, but I just wasn't ready to go there yet.

Well, after the events of today (which, by the way, was like most days here at the Rancho), I discovered a secret long held by Blogger Moms. Blogging is great therapy! If you are tempted to inflict bodily harm upon any of your offspring -- just blog! If you need to remember how wonderful your husband is and why you fell in love with him in the first place-- just blog! If you need to be in denial that your house is a disaster and there is no possible hope short of a miracle of ever catching up on laundry -- just blog!

So, in these times of economic hardship I have decided that blogging is much less expensive than paying a therapist. And, while my little boys are running around in their underwear at 10:30 p.m. and the living room has already been filled with water once today -- I will just blissfully blog.