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I always call my mom on my sister’s birthday. She would’ve been 32 this August.

As the years have passed, it has not been the anniversary of her death (eleven days before her 7^th birthday), but the anniversary of my sister’s birth that has given my mom the most trouble.

I never truly comprehended the sharpness of her sadness until I had my own children.

Now, with a clarity that came in the instant I first laid eyes on my children, I call to make sure Mom is doing okay. See if she needs an empathetic shoulder to lean on, this day she thought she would forever be celebrating the third wonderful addition to her family.

In this chapter of my life as a mother, when I try for a moment to turn the page and imagine walking in the footsteps of my mom’s journey, I can not do it. A wave of aching loss and horror forces me to retreat before I can even lift a toe to slip into her perennial shoes of grief and sorrow.

It causes me to check on my sleeping children without fail, every night, gazing at their angelic faces, memorizing every darling feature in case I, too, suddenly was denied the privilege.

It gave me nightmares and anxiety attacks when my own son was about to turn seven, fearful of a predestined expiration date, and what if seven year was all I got with him?

It makes me suddenly grab my seven year old daughter and hug her, kiss her, smell her, feel her and be grateful that she is still here with me by the grace of God.

It keeps me turning to God every night, thanking him for this day with my family in tact and for giving me, if not the promise, then the hope of tomorrow with us all still together.

It reminds me to call my own mother, especially on my sister’s birthday, to hold her hand as she walks her fated journey, one child less, but with two remaining children still grateful for her decision to continue living for them.

It also compels me to share my story (An August to Remember) and wish that no mother should have to experience such heartache to be reminded that tomorrow is not promised. Kiss your children today.

♥ ♥ ♥

I’ve been in training for the Mommy Olympics for nearly a decade. That is if you count my pregnancy where I started competing in Stretch-Marks for Distance.

I really think this is my year to shine – that I’m peaking at the right time. All the hard work, dedication, and sacrifice I’ve put into motherhood is worth it if I can stand atop that podium as the Mothers All Around champion, Hannah Montana’s Best of Both Worlds being played for me, and my family’s deep adoration and respect finally shining in their eyes as they say, “Wow! She really is the best in the world!”

Plus, as the gold medalist, I’m really hoping to snag some endorsement deals from Target, General Mills, and Shout stain remover.

So here’s what I’ll be competing in:

The Clean and Press. I can get up to 10 loads a day with pool towels thrown in. Pretty impressive with only two kids.

Floor Exercise. A true exercise in patience making a fifth lap around the house to pick up more signs of children discarded on the floor.

50 Meter Sprint. I’m a little rusty on this event since I haven’t had to chase down a naked toddler for a tub in awhile.

House Chores Decathlon. A pick up the house start. A fast lap of dusting before moving to vacuum, sweep and then mop. All during is the triple-wash: sort and wash, fold, then put-away. There’s the prep for dinner and with the execution of a meal. Next is the kitchen clean-up that includes unloading the dishwasher and reloading. Finally, the most challenging events, the bathroom scrub and shine. I like to start with the harder full bath and finish with the easier half-bath.

(Blatant endorsement pitch alert) Since I switched to Clorox wipes, I’ve really lowered my time in the bathroom cleaning events.  

Bedtime Triathlon. Get the kids bathed, in their pajamas with brushed teeth, drinks and potty completed, and in bed and asleep before your favorite prime time show starts. Again, one of my weaker events.

Grocery Shopping Marathon. A test of endurance. Both what the family will endure in left-overs and suspect meals vs. seeing how far you can stretch your food supplies before enduring going to the store with kids in tow.

The father’s version of this event is sending him to the store with kids and very little training and seeing how many groceries he will get on the list before giving up and coming home.

Table Tennis. Get one child to set the table. Get one child to clear the table. Get them to do it without volleying complaints, moans and groans back and forth.

Mother/Wife Balance Beam. Be the mother the kids need and the wife your husband needs all while looking good and making it look easy. Deductions for faking a headache or buying hot lunch instead of making a lunch.

It sure is a good thing these Mommy Olympics comes around every four years because I just can’t be expected to perform these events at peak performance every year.

I think I am going to have to start my training now though for the Teenager Tight Rope Walk, and the Put the Hammer Down in the next Mommy Olympics. The kids have already started helping to stretch my patience with annoyed sighs, exaggerated eye-rolls and huffs of, “Geez Mom, why do I have to do it?”

I plan on sweeping those events.

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When we last left our heroine, she was coming down the home stretch of an action packed summer with the kids. She could see the finish line – the first day of school – in her sights. Could she come out the reigning champion of these summer games?

But she was faltering. The kids were fighting, the house was filthy, she hadn’t unpacked from the last trip to the lake and she was flirting with spraying some Fabreeze on it all and calling it good for the next family outing. To top it off, she hadn’t bought a single back-to-school supply.

Yet, she promised herself she would make it. Come Monday, she could crawl back in bed after delivering her kids to school and sleep the day away. On Tuesday she could get a pedicure. On Wednesday she could see a movie. On Thursday she could traipse through the mall. On Friday she could be a lady who lunches. It was the least she could do for herself for a summer well done.

Now, if she could just get through this last event of an overbooked summer, she would accomplish something few stay-at-home moms ever achieved…not a single sigh of boredom for an entire summer vacation.

As the buzzer goes off at 7 a.m. this morning of the first day of school, we now know she made it! Most Smartest Mommy ITW (In the World) made it to the finish and has achieved golden glory of these summer games.

We’d get an inspirational quote from her, but she is indicating not to wake her until Thanksgiving vacation.

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Just call me the Michael Phelps of Summer Vacation 2008.

Today, I will stand atop the podium, victorious in my quest to conquer my grueling recreational schedule, and listen to my SAHM national anthem -- the sweet sound of silence and solitude courtesy of the San Juan Unified School District.

I came out the gates strong. My first event, a trip to Disneyland, was a cruise to the finish line.

With little recovery time, a week of British soccer camp was expertly orchestrated.

I hit a snag with a deflated air mattress for weekend guests, but surged ahead to success with a fun weekend of rafting and celebration.

The biggest test of the summer games, a 4^th of July/birthday party extravaganza, tired me, but did not beat me.

We had disaster strike – the loss of a teammate, Hammy the Hamster – but we vowed to forge ahead in her memory as she would have wanted us to.

And forge ahead we did with my daughter’s Buzzardball team, the Phoenix Mercury, coming from last seed to win the Buzzardball basketball camp championship.

And despite injury, a sprained ankle by my son in his Buzzardball camp, we still limped through the next week of Sac State soccer camp to score.

Then came the last and most grueling relay event – the four lake medley. Four different lakes. Four long weekends. The furthest 3 ½ hours away. All needing packing and unpacking. And yet, despite exhaustion, the magnitude of the undertaking, and the logistics involved – there was triumph.

Now, as I stand before you, basking in the glow of achieving such an insurmountable and unprecedented feat – over eight weeks of non-stop summer vacation recreational overload – I have just one thing to say.

Do I have no friends? Why did nobody stop me from such a ridiculously overbooked summer? Is there anyone I can blame this on and sue for emotional stress and permanent physical and psychological damages? Seriously.

I have been blessed with children, who besides having a high tolerance for left-overs, are pride bursting athletes.

First my son, then my daughter learned to ride a bike with no training wheels at three.

First my son, then my daughter happily rode their little legs off for miles next to a jogging mommy on the bike trail.

First my son, then my daughter showed early skills for everything soccer.

First my son, then my daughter took to baseball/softball like a duck to water.

First my son, then right on his heels, my daughter whooshed down ski slopes without fear.

First my son, then my daughter rode and jumped anything with wheels – bikes, scooters, roller skates/blades, electric scooters and motorcycles.

So, until recently, quick learner Whitney was content to follow in Logan’s extremely coordinated footsteps. She seemed pretty resigned that he was older and bigger and his strength and agility developing first would usually give him first shot at all new athletic opportunities.

But then a funny thing happened. Whitney didn’t have to wait to be big enough and old enough anymore and therefore didn’t have to wait in line behind Logan or just observe.

Add to the equation that she is a stubborn, motivated, fearless girl.

Then just add water.

First my daughter, then my son who was afraid to put his face in the water, swam like dolphins.

First my daughter, then my son who was a little nervous about the deep end, dove like Greg Louganis.

First my daughter, then my son who didn’t like water in his eyes or goggles, dove to the deep end to retrieve pool toys.

First my daughter tried water skiing and then immediately jumped to wake surfing instantly in love with a new sport.

And made even better because her brother could not, would not, nervously refused to try it.

As she rode laps around the lake beaming with accomplishment at something uniquely her own, Logan watching grudgingly impressed from the boat, I realized she was the second fiddle no more in her brother’s symphony.

And her daddy’s assessment of his daughter’s bursting forth in her own right on the water sports scene?

“Couldn’t she have excelled in a sport where she wouldn’t be wearing a bikini?”

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