What I learned this week: The momentum has shifted

When my youngest daughter, Andrea, was in high school, she joined the soccer team. She'd never played before, not in earlier grades in school, not on club or park & rec teams. But in true Andie fashion, she chose the soccer team over the track team because her sisters ran track, and she was determined to do her own thing. Plus, she figured there'd be less running in soccer than in track.

Andrea was wrong about the running, but she was right about choosing soccer anyway, as that girl rocked the soccer field. She even chose to be goal keeper when no other girls on the team wanted the position, a position that eventually garnered her a spot — and a scholarship — on her college soccer team.

During her high-school stint on the soccer field, Andie's coach for the first few years was a young male teacher, not long out of college. His youth and enthusiasm for his job, for his team, for the game were a boon for the girls he coached. They absolutely adored Coach D. (His good looks had a wee bit to do with that, too, I assure you.)

Now, Andrea's high-school soccer team was not the best in the district. In fact, they were pretty far from it. But they had grit, they had dedication, and they had Coach D cheering them on.

Jim and I were fortunate to be able to attend the majority of Andrea's high-school soccer games. Many times, her team struggled to keep up with their opponents, often ending up on the losing end of the match. Sometimes, though, they'd manage to pull ahead.

It was during those initial moments of pulling ahead that Coach D's enthusiasm spilled over. "THE MOMENTUM HAS SHIFTED!" he'd shout to the sky, to those around him, but most importantly, to the girls. To which the girls would then run harder, faster, as they heard the sound of hope ringing across the field.

In every game, no matter how bad the beating seemed it might be, there would be at least one point where the exclamation would be made.

"THE MOMENTUM HAS SHIFTED!"

Every once in a while, the momentum would shift fully in the girls' favor, and Andie's team would come out the victors. Always a sweet victory indeed.

Ever since those days of watching high-school soccer games, hearing Coach D exclaim the moment of change indicating hope on the horizon, I've often heard his words ring out in my head — sometimes even spoken the phrase aloud or chuckled when Jim would say it at just the moment I thought it. I've heard it in my head at Andie's college games, while watching live or televised sporting events, when my daughters have overcome a challenge, when most anything in my life warrants the exclamation.

Well, this week, I learned this: The momentum has shifted... in my favor!

You see, the years since I lost my full-time job at the newspaper have been a heart-crushing struggle in a variety of ways, from trying to get books published — with my agent quitting the business midstream — to trying to keep my bank account filled with at least enough money to turn around and send it right back out again to pay the bills.

Many people have similar stories to tell, all beginning about the same time my financial woes began. The year 2008 and most since have sucked for a lot of us. I'm not unique in the challenges I've faced, I know. That hasn't really made it any easier, and I've wondered again and again when things would start trending up instead of continuing the downward slide.

Finally, though, it seems the downward slide has ended. In one small but significant way, the momentum has indeed shifted. Thanks to the copy-editing position I recently started — with much thanks to my online friend Carol — I'm finally able to see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, finally see hope on the horizon.

I must admit that this new position is not a high-profile one by any means, and it doesn't pay huge amounts. But it's enough to make a difference.

It's enough to give me hope.

It's enough to make me feel things are on their way up.

It's enough to make me say, with all the conviction of Coach D:

THE MOMENTUM HAS SHIFTED!

photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What have you learned this week?

Don't speak: When silence refreshes relationship between Mom and Grandma

My daughter recently emailed me the ticket confirmation for my next visit to the desert. The trip is set for the latter part of April.

I, of course, must work to contain my excitement and anticipation as I look forward to soon spending ten days with my grandsons.

I also look forward — sans the fanfare and excitement, I admit — to the days after the trip, the days when I’ve returned home and my daughter won’t be speaking to me.

Yes, when I get back from that trip, I’m sure my daughter won’t speak to me. Which will be okay, though, for I surely won’t speak to her, either.

That may seem odd, considering I have no doubt we’ll have a delightful time in April. The first few days of the visit will be spent with my daughter, son-in-law and my precious grandsons. Then I’ll have nearly a week of serving as sole caretaker of Bubby and Mac, as Megan accompanies Preston for an out-of-state conference. Then Megan and Preston will return home, and we’ll have even more time together.

That time together is precisely why my daughter and I won’t be speaking afterward.

You see, somewhere along the line of my daughter becoming “Mommy” and me becoming “Gramma,” we fell into the habit of not calling, texting, e-mailing or connecting in pretty much any way whatsoever for a few days after extended visits with one other.

We didn’t plan such a tack; it happened naturally. It’s a natural progression of the ways our roles and connection to one another have changed. And it’s been a boon to our relationship.

My daughter and I thrive on the times the miles that typically separate us geographically are erased, and we strengthen our connection with hours upon hours of real face time. We come together with much to share about our jobs, hobbies, anxieties, accomplishments, family updates and hopes for the future. And, of course, there’s always much to discuss about her children, my grandchildren — how to care for them, grow them, love them best.

We share it all, accompanied by hugs, laughs, tears, good times. Intense times that can be exhausting — in fulfilling ways. Eventually, we've filled up the nooks and crannies of our hearts and souls, the spots that often feel empty when loved ones live far away.

Then, as luck would have it, that’s usually about the time the visit is over. So we separate. And we stop talking.

The mother/daughter relationship is one of those tangled webs we unwittingly weave. The web only grows tighter, more tangled, the more time we spend together, especially when we’re used to having our own space, our own place. It takes time to untangle, to return to our separate realities.

After a few days, we'll little by little start conversing again. By text, by phone, maybe through email. Now that I have FaceTime on my iPhone, it may just even happen in a pseudo face-to-face this time.

However it happens, it happens naturally. More importantly, it happens to work — for us and for our relationship.

Today's question:

How often do you communicate with your children — in person, by text, by phone, etcetera?

My daughter the marathoner, plus the GRAND Social

Please indulge me as I enjoy a moment of motherly boasting. You see, my daughter Megan is awesome. Well, all three of my daughters are awesome, but in light of Megan's participation in yesterday's LA Marathon, today she tops Mom's List of Awesome.

In yesterday's post, I shared as Megan and my grandsons (and Preston, too) set out on Megan's marathon adventure. Today I share with you the results. Of the more than 22,000 participants, here is how my middle daughter did in her first full (26.2 mile) marathon:

Like I said, Megan is awesome. I am so, so proud of her.

Bubby had some awesome fun of his own while in California, finding sport of a different sort on the beach during this — only his second ever — ocean-side experience:

Awesomeness awaits the rest of us, courtesy this week's GRAND Social. Thank you for joining me!

How it works:

• All grandparent bloggers are invited to add a link. You don't have to blog specifically about grandparenting, but you must be a grandparent who blogs.

• To link up, copy the direct URL to the specific post — new or old — that you want to share, not the link to your blog's home page. Then click the blue "Click here to enter" text below and follow the directions to add your post and graphic to the list.

• You can add up to three posts, but no duplicates, please, and none you have promoted on a previous GRAND Social linky. And no contests, giveaways, or Etsy sites, please.

• Adding a mention at the bottom of your linked posts, such as This post has been linked to the GRAND Social linky, is appreciated. Or, you can post the GRAND Social button anywhere on your page using the following code:

<a href="/" target="_blank"><img src="http://grandmasbriefs.squarespace.com/storage/GRANDsocialbutton.jpg " alt="Grandma’sBriefs.com" width="125" height="125" /></a>

• The GRAND Social linky is open for new posts through Wednesday evening, so please come back to see those added after your first visit.

• If you're not a blogger, you have the pleasure of being a reader. All bloggers who link up would be honored to have you all — bloggers and readers — visit, read and comment, even if it's just "Hey, stopping by from the GRAND Social."

• Looking for another grandparent linky? Be sure to visit Connie's Grandparent's Say It Saturday Link Party each Saturday.

Thank you for participating in the GRAND Social!

Photo replay: Going to California

Mac and Bubby hit the road Friday, headed to California, where Mommy Megan will run her first-ever full marathon.

Good luck to Megan, for whom my heart swells with pride as I consider her conquering 26.2 miles. On foot.

May the luck o' the Irish be with her — and with everyone else today.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Like mother, like daughter?

How are your kids like you?

My friend Lisa from Grown and Flown wrote an excellent piece on exactly that question this past week. Long after reading Lisa's thought-provoking post, I pondered again and again just how my daughters might be like me. I considered just how different they are from me, too.

Brianna, my eldest, is quite similar to me in many ways. From the time she was quite young, my younger daughters — and sometimes Jim, too — called Brianna "Mom 2" because she was a bossy little thing and always stepped in to control her sisters and unsavory situations if I didn't. Occasionally even when I did, to be honest. Brianna enjoys the same books and movies as I do. She has many other similar likes and dislikes, and many of my same mannerisms, too.

Megan, my middle daughter, is the least like me of all my girls. We're quite opposite in the most fundamental of likes and dislikes. She likes to shop; I don't. She likes to talk on the phone; I don't. She runs marathons, and I feel like I'm doing pretty well if I manage to walk the dogs around the neighborhood. The one area she is very much like me, though — which she may or may not willingly agree — is in our approach to motherhood and the parenting principles we hold dear. Since being a mom has been my most important role so far, I guess that in the end, Megan may be the daughter most like me after all.

Andrea, my youngest ... well, Andrea is a nut. The biggest nut of all my daughters. And the one that is probably most like me in many ways. Many ways that make us butt heads yet still consider the other among our most loved and loyal fans. We're both born under the astrological sign of Cancer, so perhaps that's part of it. Of my favorite resemblences: Andrea and I enjoy the same kind of music. The mix CDs she would send me from college are some of my most treasured possessions — and not just because I loved the music.

That's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to our similarities and differences. I'm continually impressed by the ways my daughters are different from me, always pleased by the ways they mimic me — even when they balk at the thought they, heaven forbid, do and say things just like their mother at times.

In their words and their actions, it's fairly easy to see how my daughters take after me. Physically, though, is a different story. I'll leave it to you to decide which daughter looks most like her mother. If you ask me, there's not a bit of resemblance between any of us.

Like mother like daughter? From the top: Brianna, Megan, Andrea

Today's question:

In what ways do your kids resemble you, physically or otherwise?