This is Life

                                
The end of the year is a busy time for us. There are school events, concerts, recitals, my children's social lives (they have social lives now, apparently).... We are leaving for vacation next Saturday and surely I won't have enough time to write anything before them. There is still packing, school, a business trip for my husband, and various other things between now and then.

Saturday morning- we will go. We planned this trip two years ago (and started saving then too) and it's finally here. We will visit the Colosseum, explore the Vatican, pay homage to Michelangelo in Florence, swim in the South of France, eat tapas in Barcelona.... It really is our dream vacation.

Early this week, I was in the kitchen making lunches and my husband was helping put together breakfast and we were talking about some last minute things that needed to be done for the trip and I began to cry.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked.
"It's just that I didn't know life would be this good," I replied.

It is true. The sense of gratitude that I have for my life runs so deep that I cannot even put it into words. People go to Europe all the time....but not people like us. I got married 2 weeks out of high school, I had two kids while I was college, we have gone through times where we literally barely scraped by - we used loose change to pay to put gas in our cars- never in my wildest dreams did I think we would ever get to Italy. Our lives have not been some kind of fairy tale, but we have been lucky.

This school year has been a challenging one. It has taught us so many lessons. I have watched my children suffer through some hard things and a lot of disappointment. The wonderful thing about youth is that there is a lot of joy too. I have to remind myself of that sometimes. They've had a lot of good times.

This year my youngest separated from me. This is it for me- my days of having young children are behind me. I may never lay in bed with my daughter until she falls asleep ever again, I will not kiss their boo-boos, they will never sit on my lap and throw their hands around my neck and fall asleep on my shoulder.

They are like little women now. I mourn this transition silently - the way a mother should. I celebrate this new stage with them. But inside, it feels like my heart is breaking sometimes. I have to remind myself that this is how it should be and how lucky we are. I have gorgeous daughters. They are so smart, kind and talented. They are strong willed and independent girls, while that makes it a challenge for me - it will serve them well in life.

We have much more time behind us than we do ahead of us. I have 5 more summers with my oldest. Five- I can count them all on one hand. My youngest is not far behind. It really does give me pause.

I hold newborn babies at my job. I held half a dozen today. Every time, I pick up a baby and hold them in my arms, I feel like I am transported back in time. It was only yesterday that my own children were brand new but now they stand as tall as me. It has gone by so fast. Everyone tells you that it does but you can't really grasp the true meaning until it happens to you.

The silver lining is that I do still have my husband. Now that the children are older, we have a lot more time together without the kids. It's actually kind of nice. I missed him a lot during those nose-wiping, finger-painting, tantrum-wrangling years where we spent every waking minute trying to survive the day.

Sometimes I just look at him in awe. This boy that I married that turned into this man with a beard and kind eyes. I love him so much. I love him infinitely more than when we first married, more than when we celebrated our 10 year anniversary. He is more than my best friend now- we are extensions of each other. We have made it to the good part of marriage. No one ever talks about this part. Everyone talks about how hard marriage is, how much compromise it is, how boring it gets.....

No one talks about the part when you just accept what is and you grow together. Yes, we are lucky.

In less than a week, I will be in Italy with my other half and the people that we've made and raised together. It doesn't get any better than that. I will count my blessings. I will be grateful for this imperfect but beautiful life.

Kissing Boys

   
I have spoken many times about the various boys that show up at my house to see my daughter. It started in 6th grade. These little boys that are taller than me with voices that crack and nervous eyes. Sometimes, she goes out and talks to them on the front porch, I sit in the living room and glance out the window every now and then. Sometimes they come in and sit on the couch next to her and I sit on the love seat across the room but not before declaring, "Elbows and below." My daughter grins at me and the boys turn red. I'm not stupid. I was in 7th grade once too.

I had my first kiss in 7th grade, my first real kiss. I remember it so clearly that I could replay it like a movie in my head. I was staying at a friend's house (everything always happens at a friend's house). It was a warm spring afternoon. We called the boy that I liked and invited him to meet us at the park. There were 3 of us girls, and this boy. I thought he was beautiful. He had these crystal blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. He always wore flannels, wide leg jeans and Airwalks. He was so 90's.

We walked with this boy and talked about the things that seventh graders talk about. We wound up behind the local high school at the edge of a pond. My two friend's dared us to kiss. We laughed and said no but they kept it up. The boy turned to me and asked, "Do you want to?"
 Inside I was like:
                           
I tried to act cool about it, so I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "Okay."

It was like slow motion. I wasn't sure which way to turn my head, I was freaked out, it was totally awkward. The world stopped then and it was like just the two of us were there. I could hear my heart beating in my ears and I felt his lips pressed against mine and he stuck his tongue into my mouth. I was like, Do I stick my tongue out too? It was the strangest thing.

When it was over, we didn't make eye contact with each other. He went home and we walked back to my friend's house. "What was it like?" she asked.
"I don't know...kind of slimy."

My mother picked me up later and I was sure that she knew, that I was different somehow. She brought a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store and a 2-liter of Coca-Cola. I remember thinking, This is the best day ever. Chicken, soda AND I kissed grunge-boy. It was a good day.

I remember my second kiss too. Same boy, a few weeks later. We went to Wheaton Village. Somehow we got both of our parents to drop us off there alone. What the hell were they thinking? We were awkward. We walked through the park, watched the ducks, sat in the old school house. Then, we left Wheaton Village, crossed the parking lot, and I followed him through a patch of pine trees. On the other side was a field. It was so sunny that day and there were wild flowers everywhere. We sat in the grass and talked for a while.

Then, he looked into my eyes and I looked into his and we leaned in and kissed each other. This time it wasn't awkward at all. The earth still stopped and I could still hear my heart beating in my ears, but this time, when he stuck his tongue into my mouth, I didn't think it was slimy at all. I actually enjoyed it. It was like the movies. A beautiful, tender kiss.

Afterwards, we got up and went to sit on the bench out front for our parents to pick us up. I wasn't sure what this new feeling was but I knew that I wanted his tongue in my mouth all the time. That was my new goal in life. I was in the seventh grade.

I don't even know what happened to that boy, I feel like I never saw him ever again. Haha. My memory seems to get fuzzier as the years go by.

Anyway, I bring up this story because I have a daughter in the seventh grade and when boys show up at my house I can't help but think about the way I felt when grunge-boy stuck his tongue in my mouth 20 years ago. I understand now why my parents were so strict, because they knew. Because they were in the seventh grade once, and they had secrets too.

My daughter kisses boys. I've never seen her do it in real life but I am certain. She is my daughter, after all. I'm not really sure how I feel about that. It's different when it's your child. I'm resigned, I guess. I do everything I know to do. I watch, I sit, I joke about "elbows and below."

One day, she is going to have a beautiful daughter and boys will show up at her house with nervous eyes. Then, she'll understand my fears and reservations. In a just a few weeks, my daughters will be 6th and 8th graders. They are growing up and it's really, really hard.

Keeping Secrets

My husband is in Las Vegas this week so I am on full time kid/mom/house duty. This evening my oldest daughter had a jazz band concert. I was so proud of her, she sounded so good. She was in good spirits on the way home. We talked about having ice cream and listened to the radio. I LOVE this kid.

When we got home, she went upstairs to take a shower and I went to the kitchen to do the dishes and fix my youngest a plate. Twenty minutes later, she appeared before me. She looked serious.

"Mom, can I talk to you?"
I stopped what I was doing and leaned against the counter top. "Sure. What's up?"
"I really need to tell you something but you have to promise me you won't freak out and kill me...."

Nothing good ever comes when that statement precedes it. I knew something had happened and she was coming to me so I took a deep breath. "I promise I won't freak out or kill you."

She didn't tell me her secret right away. Instead, she started rambling. "You always tell me that I can tell you everything, but I don't want you to be mad at me. I can't stand keeping secrets from you. I feel so guilty, I know I shouldn't have done it....." Her eyes were getting teary.

Now I was having a full-blown f**king panic attack. This was me inside:
                                  
I did not know what she was about to tell me but I went over ALL the possibilities in my head and it wasn't good. I was about to hyperventilate but was trying to be calm on the outside. I couldn't even handle it. Whatever this thing was, it was HORRIBLE.

"What is it?" I asked.
She raised her hands to her hair and pulled it back revealing 2 additional piercings on each ear.

I was actually relieved.
                    
I mean, there were a million other horrible possibilities. I can deal with holes in ears.

"When did this happen?" I asked, getting closer and looking at them.
"About 3 weeks ago," she replied.
"How?"
"I pierced them myself when you were at work."
"Was dad here?"
"Yes."

Good. This shit is on his watch.

"How did you do it? Don't you know you can get a terrible infection?"

She went on to detail how she researched it, how she did it, how she sterilized the needle, how she has been doing the aftercare every day for the past 3 weeks .... as if it were no big deal.

I was impressed by the level of diligence that went into it. They don't look bad, and if she asked me to get a second piercing, I would have let it. She could have just asked.

I did keep my promise, I didn't freak out. I did give her the, I'm so disappointed lecture, and the risk taking lecture, and the infection lecture....

More than be mad at her, I HATED myself. I am obviously a shitty, shitty mother. How did I not know for 3 WEEKS that my child had 4 additional holes in her ears? She has been wearing her hair down alot....but I should have discovered it on my own. I suck. Worst mom ever.

This daughter of mine will be a teenager in 9 short weeks and she wants to grown already. I know my parents are laughing right now at me because she is MY daughter, through and through. I'm getting it back SO BAD. Pray for me to get through these next 5 years.

I looked her straight in the eyes, "This is it. No more holes in your body until you turn 18 and if you ever think of getting a tattoo, I will kick you out of my house."

      

Recovery

   

The other night, my husband and I were laying in bed, looking at our devices and generally ignoring each other. I know- Marriage Goals. I was scrolling through Facebook when an article that a friend posted caught my eye, "Women Need A Year To Recover from Childbirth, Study Finds." I read the headline to my husband. He chuckled and without skipping a beat replied, "Or in your case, you need 12 years."

I was a little bit triggered.
                  
Then I thought about it and I realized that he is right. Which, I will never admit because that is just something that I don't do. But think about it - a year to recover physically, mentally and emotionally? That's it.

The definition of recovery is as follows:
    1. return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.
      2. find or regain possession of (something stolen or lost)

Have I returned a normal state of health, mind and strength? No. I haven't. Not that I ever claimed to have ever possessed a normal state of anything at any point in my life, but you catch my drift. You certainly never regain possession of your life.

As a society, we are getting it all wrong. Why do we have this expectation that we will "recover" at all? What does that even mean? Why do we even set up the expectation that life will ever go back to what is "normal"?

Let's face it, soon my youngest daughter will be 11 years old and I would say that I am physically "recovered" from childbirth but it's not the same. I have stretch marks on my calves (and thighs and tummy), my boobs are kind of sad and deflated, my body shape is different, no matter how many kegels I do, things will always be more.....accommodating.

I have not slept well in 13 years. My kids didn't sleep through the night until well over a year, my youngest had night terrors, my oldest was sleep walking for a while, at least once a month someone in the house was sick and required care in the middle of the night, as of late I wake up from worry. I am up at 6 am on weekends to usher my children to various events and activities. I have a sleep deficit so large and so immense, I fear it might never be repaid.

Your marriage changes. There are no leisurely afternoons of piano playing, your attention that was once 100% on each other shifts to another human being and that is HARD. The spontaneity in your relationship becomes replaced with practically and your lover is now somebody's mom or dad. It's just different.

Your money is no longer yours. Disposable income shifts from dinners out and things that you want to diapers, strollers, co-pays....and later cell phones, Converse shoes, band fees. You go without to make sure your little person has everything they need. Your bank account certainly does not recover.

I'm not meaning to sound negative about the whole thing. Sometimes people tell me, "I read your blog and now I don't want to have kids." That is not my intention, to make parenthood seem horrible. It's not horrible but it is HARD. Sometimes I wonder what it would like to have a great body or not spend all of my money on kids or get a good night's sleep consistently or have alone time with my husband. I'm sure it would be great.

BUT, I truly enjoy my children. They sometimes can make life very difficult and they are at a tough age but I genuinely like them as people. They are fun, funny and insightful. I like to hang out with them. I made my own people to hang out with - that's pretty badass. Sure, the PARENTING part of being a parent sucks but the KIDS are fantastic.

Because my kids are older people ask me when it gets easier (surely my life looks easy to a mother chasing toddlers all day). I hate to lie. "It doesn't. This is your life now." It does get better in some aspects, but not easier. If you hold onto this fantasy that one day your life will go back to how it was before you had children then you are destined to always be dissatisfied and unhappy in your role as a parent. Being a parent is all-encompassing. Your life belongs to somebody else....forever.

My point is that there is no "recovering" from having a baby really. You just find a new normal. Then when you settle into a routine, your child changes and then you find a new normal again. My children are starting to transition into the teen years and we are currently discovering a new normal.

Instead of trying to go back and "recover" we should celebrate what is. The clear ending of one chapter and the clear beginning of another. My husband was right, but that's okay. He's still recovering too.