The Week That Was

 
May is always a super busy month. I mean, every month is busy but May is especially hectic. There are the band, gymnastics and dance obligations for the children but also the end of the year celebrations, award ceremonies, doctors appointments and parties. My calendar is upsetting. This upcoming week should be the last REALLY bad week and then I should get a little bit of a reprieve.
Me at the start of the month vs. me at the end of the month:

Our youngest scored a 23 on the science portion of her ACT so she was eligible for Duke Tip which is a academic talent search program. She got an invitation to go to the state ceremony at Furman University which is a little over 3 hours away. It was during the school day and we went back and forth about it. We decided to go. In your life, there are few times that you get celebrated. They are few and far between. We could do it so why not?

We were going to take our oldest too but she had a spring concert. SHIT! We looked at the timeline. The ceremony was a 2. If we left by 3:30, we could make it back in time for her 7 pm Spring Concert if traffic cooperated. That's what we were going to do.

It was nice to have a special day with our youngest. We drove up and we all took turns picking songs. One of her songs was "Sex Bomb" by Tom Jones. She knew all the words to it. Weird choice for a 7th grader living in this decade but whatever.

                                      
We went to my favorite Thai restaurant in Greenville, which she was so excited about. She ordered a dish with squid in it. Again, weird choice for a 7th grader but okay. The child has expensive tastes. I think she liked having her mom and her dad all to herself.

We got to the venue and when we walked in, staff was setting out cookies and lemonade for the reception after the ceremony. "I'm getting a cookie," I told my husband. "We're not going to have time," he replied. "Yes, we will," I insisted. Our daughter was ushered down to the floor and we took our seats. We looked around. We were definitely the youngest parents by like, 10 years. That happens to us a lot, which is fine - we did it to ourselves. But sometimes it gets kind of old.

I hate when my kid's friends parents ask how old I am because when I tell them, I feel like they look at me like I'm an actual infant:
                                           
                                          Hey! I'm a mom too. Our kids are in the same class.

They started the ceremony a few minutes late. A speaker came up and spoke to the children about academics and their future. They were saying things like, "These are the future doctors and lawyers. These are the bright minds of the future that will solve the world's problems. These children will one day be our leaders." Wow. No pressure. Meanwhile, my child is like, "I want to join the Air Force and learn how to shoot a gun."

My child is the quintessential GT kid. Super bright, straight As without even trying but it's a blessing
and a curse at the same time. I think kids that are very smart sometimes feel different and they have very high expectations of themselves. They are told that they are "special" from a young age and there is a lot of pressure associated with that. It's been an adventure.

                        
After the speech, they called the kids up to give them their medals. We watched them all line up and they called names. It was kind of like graduation. We watched our kid go up and we were so happy for her. The time started creeping to 3:00 pm, then 3:05  and now I'm starting to get anxious because we need to leave and also, I wanted my cookie.

They are calling these kids names and they are slowly sauntering up to get their medals. I'm like, C'MON Oliver and Laura, let's have a sense of urgency!!!! It ends at 3:18. My husband turns to me and says, "We don't have time for refreshments." What the hell did you just say to me? "I paid $80, so I'm getting my damn cookie," I replied. There was an Indian guy sitting next to my husband who gave me a look like I was white trash. Jokes on him, I am white trash and do not care AT ALL.

We met up with our youngest to congratulate her and she was happy. We go out to the lobby and it was packed. I looked at my husband, "You grab the cookies, I'll grab the lemonade and I'll meet you outside." I got the lemonades and waited outside for my husband.

He shows up and hands me an oatmeal raisin cookie.
                 
I was enraged. I'm sorry but only old people and serial killers like oatmeal raisin cookies. We've been together for more than 18 years, COME ON. You know I hate oatmeal raisin. I said, "I'm going back in." He looked at me like I was crazy. "We don't have time," he said.

"Go to the car, I'll meet you there," I replied. I went back in and there was a hoard of people. I'm small, tiny, child-size. I was going to use it to my advantage. It's gotta be good for something. I bobbed and weaved through the other, much larger adults and grabbed a sugar cookie and then ran out of there. It only took me 3.5 seconds. I was proud.

We got to the car and we drove straight home. We weren't going to stop, we were going to make the concert just in time. When we got into town, we were hitting every red light. My husband was stressing out. "It'll be fine. The director will talk for 5 minutes before anyhow, so we have a buffer." The concert started at 7:00 pm and we parked at 6:58 and RAN in.

I walked into the auditorium, which was already dark. I could see my daughter on stage. She looked anxious and she was scanning the room looking for us. I held out my arm and waved it, hoping she could see me. She did. She gave me a small smile and immediately exhaled and relaxed in her chair. We had made it. On time.

Some parents don't come to any of their kids events. She has friends whose parents show up to NOTHING but if we are late or God forbid, missed an event, we would not hear the end of it. The band played beautifully and I was so proud.

We got home late. I was tired. I worked, I cleaned. I got ready for the next few days. The next morning my youngest had a doctors appointment and then we had the band banquet and dance recital rehearsal. Saturday my oldest had an audition in the morning and her dance recital in the afternoon.

I loved seeing her on stage. She did a beautiful job. My youngest started gymnastics when she was 7 and loved it. That has been her sport and she has dedicated her years to it. My oldest was not that way. We tried every activity. Karate, recreational gymnastics, cheerleading, a very short softball stint. I will let the kids explore anything they want. If they came to me and said, "I think I want to try basket weaving," I'll be on the Google looking for a basket weaving class. LOL. My oldest tried a lot of things but she never found her place.

She came to me in the spring at the end of 5th grade with a dance flyer. "I want to try dance," she said. So, like everything else, I signed her up and she tried dance. It's hard to go into something like dance as an older kid. Many of the other children had been dancing their whole lives. I was worried about it. But she loved it. She stayed with it and she's good.

Band and music is her #1 but there is a special place in her heart for dance. She enjoys it and it is fun for her. She only dances half the year now because she has really dedicated herself to marching band. That's okay. Every year at recital time, it reminds me of how far she has come as a person and I am proud of her.

I'm exhausted, my kids drive me CRAZY but honestly, I know I will look back on these busy years as a great time in my life. That keeps me going. I love them.

                                     

A Tree Without Roots

                                      
Today is Mother's Day. It has never been an easy day for me. I always feel on edge on Mother's Day and my birthday. Not sad or upset - more like someone came in and rearranged all my furniture. Everything is here but something just doesn't seem quite right.

I do not know my biological mother. I've only laid eyes on her 5 times in over 30 years. I don't know very much about her at all. Only that she was 17 when I was born, that she was beautiful, that she was very smart, that she loved the Grateful Dead, and that she volunteered at the Special Olympics once. I only have a few pictures of her. A handful of us together - all of them when I was an infant. I really have no memories of her at all.

I was raised by my father and step-mother. They were always very careful not to say anything bad about her when I was young. They really didn't mention her very much at all and if they did it was, "She loves you, she wanted you, she just can't take care of you." There were no cards or phone calls. I took their word for it. She was almost like a mythical creature, my mother. Like the Loch Ness monster- there had been sightings but was she even real at all? Did she exist?

My father re-married when I was 6 years old and my step-mother raised me as her own. She is the only mom I have ever known. I have a deep respect for her and I owe her tremendously. It must not be easy to love children that are not your own. My parents did the very best they could to forge some semblance of a family for us. There were three children brought into that marriage. My brother and I, motherless and my step-sister, fatherless. They had one child together.

Looking back, I never remember missing my mother. How can you miss something that you never had? I did not mourn for her but for as long as I can remember, I have felt completely alone in the world. I learned at a very young age that people leave and never come back. I don't think there is anything that anyone could have done to make that reality better. There is nothing that my parents could have done or said to dull the sting. All the love in the entire world could not take that truth away from me.

There is a special pain that comes from having an absent parent. It is a pain that you cannot possibly understand unless you have lived it. You hear about deadbeat dads all the time, but rarely mothers. Mothers love their children differently. They usher life into the world. Their children's hearts beat inside of their body. Mothers are supposed to stay.

The idea of family is complicated for me. My brother looks just like my father. They are a father and son. My sisters look like my step-mother, and people would remark at that. They are tall and pretty and a reflection of her. I would always get comments about why I didn't look like them, or jokes about being switched at birth or being the runt of the litter. It was pretty clear that one of these things is not like the others. And although my family did not make me feel this way, I always felt like I was second-hand, like I didn't belong, like I didn't quite fit. I would see friends with their mothers, and my mom with her own children and I wondered what that was like- to be connected with someone that closely.

I stopped being sad when I was 12 years old. I just accepted that it was what it was. What else could I do? I learned to let go then.  I learned to accept the things I could not change. It was an important lesson and it's served me well in life. I let go of things and people very easily.

I became pregnant when I was 19. My husband was so excited but I was conflicted. The entire idea of motherhood was concerning for me, I had so much baggage attached to word. When I found out I was having a girl, I was so overwhelmed. I had to be a mother to a daughter. How could I do that? I wasn't raised by my own mother, her mother didn't raise her, and HER mother didn't raise her. I come from a long line of women with very complicated relationships with their mothers.

I remember feeling her move inside of me for the first time, and rubbing my belly as it grew. I loved her already. I talked to her, and I sang, and I dreamed all the dreams for her, and I prayed HARD.

She made me a mother on a steamy July afternoon. They placed her on my chest and she cried the tiniest, sweetest cry I'd ever heard.  I PROMISED that I would never leave. I promised her that I would give her everything that I had, I promised her that I would try to make her life beautiful and that she would always feel safe and loved. Always.

She was a part of me. I never put her down, would never leave her. Like NEVER. I needed her just as much as she needed me. Then, my youngest was born. Another girl. That baby made me so happy and complete. I also NEVER left her. The child was on my hip until she was 7 years old.

Because I did not grow up with my mother, I make sure not to take anything for granted. I want to be with them, to know them, to be close to them. I will be there in all their endeavors because in some ways I am making up for lost time. I feel like it is a HUGE honor to be with my children and I will never take it for granted. Just look at me, having custody of my kids and sh*t, I'm really killing it in the mothering department.
                    

My children have brought me so much joy. We've had so many wonderful times together. I have so many great memories of rocking them to sleep at night, bubble baths, reading books in bed, blowing bubbles and pushing them on the swings. We've taken trips, had picnics, laid in the grass and watched falling stars. I've watched them grow up and I haven't missed a thing.

I look at my family- me, my husband, my daughters, and I can see myself reflected when I look into their faces and I know that we belong together. It has healed me tremendously.

There are still times though when it will hit me out of the blue. Like when I tell stories to my children. Even now they LOVE to hear me recall their births and what they were like when they were young. I tell them about the first time they moved inside of me, the way that they smelled when I held them close to me, and the things that made them smile, how we spent our days together. You know, the minute details that only mothers remember. The moments we burn into our memories because we know that our time together is fleeting. There are no stories like that for me.

Or the time I was volunteering in my daughter's third grade class. I volunteered every Monday. I would make copies for her teacher and I would quiz all the kids on their vocab words. One day, as I was packing up, the teacher put on an audio book and the kids followed along at their desks. In the story, there was a little girl whose mother left and she was musing about how she would know if her mother came back because she was afraid she wouldn't even recognize her. I had to excuse myself and I went to my car and cried like a little bitch. It triggered me.

When my grandfather was dying, I desperately wanted to go to him but I could not bear to leave the children. My husband was trying to convince me to go- that it would be okay, that he would take care of everything. "I just don't want them to think I'm leaving them," I said. He was so tender to me. "Honey, they don't know that mothers leave and don't come back."

I admire my husband. I don't think that I'm particularly easy to love. You have to find something to do with those feelings. Some people drown them in drugs, alcohol, food or sex. Others, detach. That's how I cope. I don't let other people get close to me. I am a little disconnected emotionally from other human beings. I don't trust other people or their intentions. When anyone tries to love me or get close to me I am like:
                               
I am a girl with a brick wall built up all around me and he has spent nearly two decades to get to me- taking it down brick by brick. I am grateful for that. When we were young, I think he thought he could fix me. But I am not some broken thing. He is patient with me, he tries to understand. He walks beside me. He reminds me that I'm not alone in the world (I smile, but never agree).  He's made life easy. I am fortunate to have him.

 This "thing" is part of who I am, but it does not define me. I would never want anyone to feel sorry for me because I do not feel sorry for myself. I am not damaged. I am not a mistake. I am here for a reason. I would not change a thing about my life. Everything has happened the way that it should have. My life is good, it has been a beautiful and wonderful adventure. This is my story, my reality and I have accepted it and made peace with it.

I am not angry at my mother. What purpose would that even serve? Surely, she has suffered enough already. A mother without her children is a miserable thing. I imagine her pain is very real. She was young, she had her own struggles, she has her own story and her own reasons. People make mistakes, the world is an imperfect place. I am certain that she wanted me, that she loved me. In some ways, by staying away, it was easier. It allowed me stability when I was growing up. That was a gift. She gave me life and for that, I am grateful.

I would hope that she would find solace in the fact that I am happy. I am okay. My life is better than I ever imagined it would be. I have been loved. Isn't that what we want most for our children? I know that is what I would want for my own daughters.

I asked my oldest daughter a while ago what it's like to be with her parents her whole life. That seems like an foreign concept- for your mother and father to be with you the entire time. Every birthday, every holiday, every mundane day. She looked at me like it was the strangest question in the word. Then she shrugged and said, "I don't know. Normal, I guess."

Hmmmm. Normal. I asked her to come to me and hug me. She did. Then she laid down next to me and started telling me about something. I wasn't really paying attention. I just laid my head in her hair and breathed her in. She smelled like vanilla. She belongs to me.

I picked up my youngest from gym last week and as I was signing her out, her coach said, "You're such a cool mom." I was suspicious. I didn't do anything cool. "Why is that?" I asked. "You host New Years Eve party's for your kids friends. My mom would never do that." I laughed, "Well, they want to be with their friends and I want to be with them so that makes everyone happy."

I walked out with my daughter and we chatted about our days. "I think it's hilarious that your coach things I'm a cool mom," I said. She looked up and smiled at me and said, "You're a great mom." That was music to my ears. She belongs to me.

I wish all the mothers a Happy Mother's Day. Not just moms like me but mothers who are missing their children, and stepmothers who are doing the best they can to love children who do not belong to them, and mothers who have complicated relationships with their children, and mothers whose own mothers have passed away. May you feel loved, appreciated and most of all, strong.

First Job

My 14 year old is a busy girl. She's been wanting to get a job. She applied at Publix in December but they were hiring closers. She tried to get a babysitting gig with no success. I don't understand why she is so gung-ho about it. I don't think she needs to work. She's young and has a full plate already but I support her 100%.

She was invited to participate in All-County Orchestra and last month she had a rehearsal on the other side of the county. It was a crazy day and we were pressed for time, so we stopped at Chikfila for dinner. We ordered our food and then sat down to eat and chat. After a few minutes, she just got up and walked off. I thought she went to the bathroom. She came back with an application. "You're applying for a job?" I asked. She shrugged, "Yeah, I just got this feeling like I'm supposed to work here. At THIS Chikfila."
                           
"It would be the perfect job for you since you already know the entire menu," I told her. Seriously, she is obsessed with Chikfila. She does study group at Chikfila, she hangs out with her youth group friends at Chikfila, anytime she wants a treat - she wants to go to Chikfila.

I didn't want her to get her hopes up because she is only 14, plus she'd have to tell them about her crazy band schedule. But, you never know. She handed in the application and off we went.

A few days later, she got an email for a group interview. She was so excited. Then they called her back for a one-on-one interview, and then another one-on-one interview. It was an intense 2 weeks because the waiting inbetween was excruciating. It was like Survivor - will she make it or be voted off the island?

Then they called her and offered her the job and she was OVER THE MOON! I was super happy for her. The next day she came to me and asked if I could help her fill out her new-hire paperwork. She whipped out her social security card. "Where did you get that?" I asked. "I know where we keep all that kind of stuff." Who knew? I'm impressed. I'm not sure my husband knows where that stuff is.

We sat together and filled out the tax forms. It's a weird thing to do with your child. "Well, it's official - you are a tax paying citizen."

She went to orientation and then had her first shift. She looked so cute in her uniform behind the counter. My baby is a big girl, with a big girl job.

She got her first pay check last week. It was $56. She was so happy. She wanted to get a gel manicure with her first check, so she did that. It was her splurge. Later in the week, she asked if we could stop at McDonald's in the morning for coffee. "Why McDonalds? Don't you love Starbucks?" I asked. "Well, McDonald's is only like a dollar and I'm not trying to spend all my money," she said. Interesting how that works. If I was paying, she would have asked for Starbucks.

I'm really proud of her. She is a get-up-and-go kind of kid. I really don't have to be on her very much at all. She is very responsible, very organized. She has her Cozi App and calendar on her phone and she has a calendar on her wall next to her bed. She likes to SEE things right in front of her.

She has her shit together more than some adults I know. That is not to say that she isn't a typical teenager. She is. She procrastinates which drives me INSANE. She pushes me a bit. We got into it the other week because she wanted to sleep over her friend's house on a school night. Ummmm.....NO. In general though, she is a good kid. Very responsible, AB student, nice person. I love her but I also really LIKE her. I enjoy her company. 

Now her plate is VERY full, but that's okay. It will be a good experience for her. She is highly capable and she will do great. Admittedly, it is a little bittersweet for me. She is my baby but she is not a little girl anymore, she is a young woman. 

I picked her up from work yesterday and she was chatting excitedly inbetween bites of chicken nuggets and my heart was full. This is a beautiful time in our lives.

I Like My Lipstick as Black as my Heart

                 

My youngest daughter will be thirteen in 3 months. And believe me, she acts like it. She is experimenting with makeup and different clothing styles. It's really hard to pinpoint her style. Girls at this age dress pick a style- athletic, preppy, emo, slutty...she doesn't fit into any category. I call her style "edgy lesbian chic." One day she might wear jeans and a sweatshirt, then the next day a pair of Adidas track pants and a tee shirt, then the day after that a pair of leggings and one of her father's button up shirts, then the next day a dress with sunflowers on it. There is no rhyme or reason. I don't have a problem with it at all. I'm entertained by it.

Last week, she came in my room wearing a pair of tight, black and white plaid polyester paints, combat boots, a black blouse and my long black blazer. I was sitting at my computer and she asked, "Hey, can I wear black lipstick?"

First of all, where did you even get black lipstick? Second of all, no. I let my kids wear mascara and a little lip gloss in 6th grade and makeup in 7th grade but they have to wear natural makeup to school. No crazy blue eye shadow, no dark lipstick. I just think there is a time and place. If you want to wear black lipstick to a party or the mall to be shocking- have fun. School is not the place for you to be walking around looking like Ziggy Stardust or Marilyn Manson.

So I said to her, "No. Not to school."
"But, mom....." she protested.
"You know you can't wear black lipstick to school. That's why you asked me in the first place."
"You don't understand!" she said.

I had to laugh. I was the girl in seventh grade who would show up at school, change in the bathroom and put on black lipstick. I had the anarchy symbol written in white-out all over my book bag. Because I thought I was so bad ass. I know it was in the last millennium but the more things change the more they stay the same.

She stomped off and my husband took her to school as usual. I went about my day. In the afternoon, I drove to pick her up. As I rounded the corner, I spotted her waiting in her usual spot. Her lips were black as night. She is bold as hell. Seventh grade me would have AT THE VERY LEAST wiped off the black lipstick before school pick up. Not her. It was a power move. I was pissed.

As she is walking to the car, the assistant principal (who I know) looks at her and then looks at me like, "What the hell is going on?" and I'm just looking at her like,
             
She gets in the car and I am just reaming her out. "I told you that you couldn't wear black lipstick to school!"
Do you want to know what this child said to me? She said, "It's not black, it's just really dark plum."
I was heated. I really had to take some deep breaths and ask God for strength in that moment. I had been here before.

When I got home, I was in the kitchen making dinner and my oldest wandered in for a banana and a glass of gingerale. "You wanna know what your sister did today?" I relayed the black lipstick story to her. She smiled to herself and sighed. "She learned from the best. Do you remember the time-"
"Yes, I remember," I interjected.

When SHE was in the 7th grade, she went to the mall with a group of friends. There was 6 of them, boys and girls. She convinced this dumb ass boy to buy her this DARK red lipstick from Sephora. It was like $32. She came home and I straight up told her she could not wear it to school.

Well, sometime that week I had to go to the school randomly to do something. I am walking down the hall and who rounds the corner, but my child who was wearing that damn dark red lipstick. Her face when she saw me was priceless. She was like:
                                     
I said, "What do you think you're doing?"
"I was actually going to the bathroom to wipe off this lipstick," she said. DAMN RIGHT.

I followed her into the bathroom and I whispered threats in her ear. That child really put me through the damn ringer in seventh grade. She pierced her own ears with 8 million holes, she changed clothes when she got to school, she was in a whole struggle. I required so much therapy. I need a tee-shirt that says "I survived 7th grade....AGAIN." We can laugh about it now but it was the worst.

So, here I am again. My youngest has about 7 weeks of seventh grade left. They tell you not to wish the time away but I don't give one shit. Seventh grade is the worst, I am ready for it to be gone. So is she.

Seventh grade is a transitional year. The kids change and that is hard. Socially it's hard. She rants to me all the time. She'll say things like, "I don't know why girls act like that. Maybe that's how you get guys but I'm not trying to get guys, so I don't understand it." She generally is low drama but is surrounded by a lot of drama and she hates it. My favorite words of wisdom from her lately is, "I don't care how you live your life, just don't be an asshole all the time." I can agree with that.

She has a lot of friends that are boys. But the boys are....well, teenage boys now (most of them) and they say things that bother her sometimes. She hates the way that they talk about girls and she hates the way girls talk about each other. She basically thinks being a girl is unfair.

She hates school. She's smart, straight A student but doesn't enjoy it. She dislikes adults who are disingenuous and that talk down to her. She went on a whole rant the other day about teachers and administrators who are passive aggressive. She said, "And then she said to me. 'Wow, there's a lot of holes in those pants...' If it's against dress code, then just tell me it's against dress code. If it's not, then don't say anything at all. What am I supposed to say to that?" She's going through her rage-against- authority-stage of life, but it's funny because she is a rule follower so her rants are AMAZING. She's smart and she's cynical and she is trying to make sense of the world around her and figure out who SHE is. I think she's going to be just fine.

She's really into Heathers right now. The 80's movie - and the musical. I didn't even know there was a musical. "What made you get into Heathers?" I asked, I thought it was a random thing. "You and dad said it was a good movie so I watched it," she said. So, at least I know she trusts our judgement about some things. That's kind of frightening.

The kids are so busy but I've noticed the past few months that in the evening, when I'm exhausted and laying in bed- they will come in and join us in our room. We talk and we laugh and we "spill the tea" as the children would say. We get so few family dinners now a days that it's nice for us to all have that time together.

I'm rambling, none of this makes sense. I feel like my brain is going into a million different directions lately. Anyway, seventh grade is almost over. Then I can count all the years left on one hand. I don't think about that though. I keep those thoughts in a box with all the other unpleasant things that I don't like to think about or deal with.

Marriage After Children

                                      
I got married and had children young. Some may argue too young, but it is what it is. All of my friends are in their 40s and 50s. I have a sprinkling of friends in their late 30s. Most of my peers have babies, toddlers and very young children. I love to see their pictures and their musings on social media. I also see posts about how hard it is. Lack of sleep, the baby weight, how sometimes it generally sucks. The other day I was in the grocery store. I noticed this young couple with a toddler and a baby. They decided that grocery shopping would be a fun family outing for some reason. The toddler decided that he wanted to be in the dairy section, not the frozen section. The baby fussed as babies do. The mom was in athleisure wear and her hair in a messy ponytail.

She was annoyed at the dad who was there but not exactly taking charge of the situation. By the time they got to the checkout line, they were both irritated with each other and they definitely were not having a good time. I said a prayer for them on my way home. Having young children can take a major toll on a marriage. It is so incredibly difficult. I have so been there.

I often talk about how we don't tell the truth about the reality of motherhood and how difficult it is. I joke that I LOVE my kids but I hate being a mom. I'm not a fan of the WORK part of it. I stayed home with my children until my oldest was 4. We had very little help, we did not live around family for the first 3 years. My oldest was born on a Monday, we were discharged from the hospital on Wednesday and my husband went back to work on Thursday. I was 20 years old. My youngest was born at home on a Saturday and my husband went back to work on Monday.

When women become mothers, everything changes for us. Our bodies are stretched and unrecognizable to ourselves. By default, we are the primary care givers for our children. Whether we like it or not, our biology has designed it to be this way. We give up friends (or sometimes they give us up), careers, hobbies and often, romance. Not because we want to but because giving care to young children requires nearly 100 percent of your time and energy.

But the world for men doesn't seem to be affected very much. They carry on with their life like business as usual, or so it seems. There is a sense of unfairness about the whole thing. When you are a stay at home mother of young children - that is your job. Keeping the house and tending to the children. Your husband's job is getting up and going to work everyday and bringing home the bacon. Seems fair, right?

I remember waking up with my youngest at 4 am to breastfeed her for what felt like the 6th time that night, looking over at the clock and thinking about how tired I was and how my 2 year old would be up in less than 3 hours and how busy the day would be. I gazed over at my husband who was sleeping peacefully. He would get up and go to work. He'd drink coffee with his co-workers, he'd sit at his desk and do his work for 8 hours. Then, he would come home to dinner cooked by me and get to relax.

I hated him in that moment. My husband, the father of my children. I resented him. It wasn't just that though. He didn't help enough. I always had to nag him to help me clean up, the house could be a wreck, the children would be fussing and still he seemed unbothered by it all. Couldn't he see that I was struggling? He'd rile up the kids right before bed which used to make me so angry, he'd stop for food with co-workers after work when I needed a break and some relief. He'd try to touch me and I'd shy away because I was touched out.

He would come home from work and complain about how tired he was. How tired HE was. Ha! Was he up half the night, EVERY night with the baby? Was he planning outings with a 2 year old? Did he have to take a shit everyday with a baby on his lap while reading a book to the toddler? No. How dare he complain to ME?!?!?! It became this weird contest of who worked harder, who was more tired, who was the more attentive parent. When really, it was just that being a parent of young children is HARD. For everyone. We were making it harder by not working together.

Because MY life had changed so drastically and because I bore most of the responsibility for the children and the house, I had left my husband behind. So here I was at 22 with this baby and toddler and I could feel my marriage coming apart at the seams. I had a wake-up call and I decided that I was tired of bitching. I was tired of being angry and trying to change him. I decided that if he wasn't going to change, I was going to change MYSELF.

I stopped bitching at him. If he didn't want to help me, then that was on him. Not on me. I decided I was not going to be angry anymore. I spent more time and energy bitching at him than it took to me to just do the thing I was nagging him to do. I was in the kitchen one evening, cooking dinner. The baby was on my back, my oldest was playing with blocks in the living room and my husband was playing a video game. I asked him to take out the trash. "Okay," he said.

Then, he never got up and did it. Typical. So, I just took out the trash myself. I didn't berate him about him. I wasn't angry about it. I bundled the trash up and took it out. He looked up at me as I was leaving the house, "What are you doing? I told you I would take out the trash."
"Well, you never got around to it, so I have time now. No big deal," I said.

When he wanted to wrestle and rile up my 2 year old before bed, I didn't snap at him. I read her 3 books and laid down with her after. "Why'd she take so long to get to bed?" he asked. "She was just a little excited to play with you, it's all good."

When he offered to take the kids for a few hours on a Sunday morning while I slept, I didn't bitch when I got out of bed and saw that the baby was still in pajamas and there were Cheerios all over the floor. "Thanks for letting me sleep," I said.

Then, something happened. Once I stopped being an actual bitch and emasculating my husband every day, he stepped the hell up. When I asked him to take out the trash for me, he just did it. He stopped rough housing with the kids before bed and did when he got home while I cooked dinner. He took the kids more often. He would even offer to hang with them while I went shopping or had a coffee and read magazines. He stopped going out with co-workers after work. I was happier and more rested. When he touched me, I welcomed it. He became the husband and father I had always imagined he would be. We became a team and life was so much easier after that.

That's when I realized that when I became a mother, I left my husband behind. I was so wrapped up in how difficult it was and how much MY life changed that I did not acknowledge how much his life has changed. I became a stranger to him. My focus was entirely on the children and I know he resented that. He missed me, the girl he had fallen in love with. He was working so hard to support our family and the stress of being the sole bread winner was hard for him. When he tried to help with the children, I would correct him and it really made him feel like a bad father. I didn't realize that he riled up the children before bed because he only got to be with them 2 hours a day and it was a special time for him. He missed them, he felt that is was unfair that I had a bond with them that he didn't have. He wasn't trying to make my life harder. He wanted to help me but didn't know HOW.

I decided that I would be a wife first. That doesn't mean that I feel like my husband is more important than my children but it does mean that I make him a priority in my life. Because I do this, he reciprocates. He is an amazing father. As the children have gotten older, it is easier. That is one of the reasons why we only have 2 children. We struggled so much in those early years that we decided that our marriage could not survive any more children.

We pull no punches about this with our children. They know that our marriage comes first. We are insanely involved, we rarely leave them to go out, we are GOOD parents but out marriage is a priority. Sometimes they will come to me about something that their father did that they disagree with-a punishment that is too punitive, an event they want to go to, ect. I am the more laid back parent and he is more strict and so sometimes we can have some differences. "I'll talk to him but if he says "no", the answer is "no"." They protest, "But, MOM!" I remind them, "You will leave me but he will still be here with me when you go off to live your own life. I must be on good terms with him." Usually, I can come up with a comprise that works with all parties. I'm the mediator of the household.

 When we see couples with young kids, we laugh and look and each other and think, "How did we even survive it?" It was insanely difficult. Having older kids is hard and stressful but I'll take teenagers over toddlers any day of the week.

Last week, I was in the car with my 14 year old, driving her to school. We were chatting as usual. "I have to tell you something that happened last night that was very disturbing," she said.
My interest was piqued. "What is it?"
"Well," she continued, "I was in your bathroom looking for something and I saw a bottle in your bottom drawer and I thought it was fancy face wash. Well, I picked it up and I saw it was butterscotch flavored heating lotion. I threw it and screamed."
"Sounds like maybe you shouldn't be digging around in my bathroom," I said.
"MOM. That is so gross. Why do you have that?!?!" she said accusatory.
I laughed, "I mean, I feel like you are old enough to know why."
She make a puke sound, "You need to get rid of it. You are a mother."
"I am a WIFE," I reminded her. "Why did you have to tell about it? Why didn't you just shut the drawer and pretend like you never saw it."
"I wanted you to know and to feel bad about it," she said, joking.
"Feel bad about living my best life? Not a chance," I laughed.
"I literally hate you," she said.
"You LOVE me," I said.

We listened to music for a moment and I looked at her and said, "You know there are much worse things in life. I kind of think you are lucky that your parents still like each other."
She nodded, "I am." She knows.

If you have young kids, and you are tired, and you feel like life is unfair, and your marriage is circling the toilet - take a step back, re-evaluate and know that this is normal. Transitioning into parenthood is extremely difficult and takes YEARS. Heck, my kids are almost raised and many times I feel like I am still transitioning. It is easier to get through it with a partner than it is an enemy. It's not too late to try again. Hold on to hope that is gets easier. Maybe not today or tomorrow but take a deep breath and tell yourself that "this too shall pass." Because it will.

18 Years Flew By

                   
Just like that, 18 years with my man have gone by. My husband was in Hawaii for it, so there was no celebrating. Just a quick phone call. Which is fine. After 18 years there is little urgency. We'll celebrate when he gets back. Or we won't, whatever. It's all good.

I laugh that we are so interdependent now. We really are melded together. My husband got back from a work trip a few weeks ago and he was crawling into bed that first night home and he said, "I'm finally going to sleep good tonight. I hate sleeping alone." He always complains that he can never sleep well if I'm not next to him. He doesn't like to be awake if I'm not awake. We have this joke in our house about how, if he wakes up before me, he always finds an excuse to wake me up. The kids roast him about it. The Sunday that he came back, he let me sleep. I actually heard him putting on coffee downstairs, but I laid in bed for a few minutes relaxing.

A moment after I stood up out of bed, I heard my husband coming up the stairs. He stood in the doorway and smiled. "You're up," he said. He'd heard me get out of bed. He was waiting. He knows that I like peace and quiet in the morning. Don't talk to me before I have my coffee. I fixed myself oatmeal and coffee and sat on the couch. He sat down next to me. I was sipping my coffee and reading the news, enjoying the peace and quiet. He looked at me for a minute, then down at his phone, then back at me and finally said, "I'm going to need you to chug your coffee, because I really want to talk to you." I laughed so hard. He knows me too well.

He actually wound up getting sick that afternoon. He had a fever of 102 and was laid up in bed. This is the area where I shine. If you are sick- I will take care of you. I whipped up some chicken noodle soup from scratch. I'll give you your meds. I'll put a cold compress on your head and attend to your every need. My girlfriend was coming over for tea and cheesecake that evening. I had to straighten up and cook dinner. I gave him his medicine and some cold orange juice. I went to leave and he said, "Where are you going?"
"Downstairs. I have a lot to do."
He looked up at me with the most pitiful eyes, "Will you lay with me?"
I rolled my eyes so hard.
                                         
"Are you serious?" I asked.
He nodded. "Okay, for like, 5 minutes."
I crawled into bed with him and rubbed his back. Poor guy.

I quarantined him upstairs and cleaned my house and was hanging out with my girlfriend and was telling her everything you have just read. At that moment, I heard someone come down the stairs. My husband just stood in the doorway. He just stood there, looking at me in a daze. He didn't say anything. "Yes, dear?" I asked. "I wanted to let you know that I'm feeling better and I'm going to eat some soup now," he said.
"Would you like me to fix it for you?" I asked.
"No. I just was letting you know."
My girlfriend chuckled. "My husband is the same way!" She's been with her husband since she was 14-15 and they have been together longer than we have.

He makes me laugh so hard. A few weeks ago, we were laying in bed and he turned to me and said, "Why don't you put on some music to set the mood?" *Don't worry, you can keep reading, this story is PG*
Me, being the asshole that I am, said, "I have just the thing," I grabbed my phone and played The Oldest Melody in the World.

He looked at me sideways, "What is this?!?!" 

"Shhhhhhhhhh. Close your eyes," I said. "Now imagine that it's 1,300 BC. We are in some beautiful villa in Crete. We are on the coast and we look out and see the clear blue ocean. There is a minotaur roaming around outside......"

"Minotaur's are frightening," he interjected.

"Shhhhhhhh," I continued. "You've just gotten home from selling bread at the market. I'm here waiting for you in a white, flowy dress with nothing underneath-"

"Wait, wait, wait," he said. "I was selling bread at the market?"

"Yes."

"I'm the BREAD man? Of all the things you made me be the bread man? Can't I be something cooler?" he said.

I laughed, "Sure. I guess. I mean, I'm just making this up on the fly. You wanna be a blacksmith or something?

"Ok."

"Ok. You come home from your long day as a blacksmith. I'm in a white flowy dress and I've been waiting for you all day. We can hear the waves and the music playing-" 

He interrupts again, "Where is the music coming from? It's 1,300 BC."

"I don't know, there's a guy in the corner playing music," I said. 

"There's a GUY in the corner WATCHING us and playing music?!?!?!" he said. "I gotta be honest, this is not doing anything for me."

We laughed so hard that we were wiping tears out of the corner of our eyes. We are both weirdos, we are meant to be together. 

My husband is a very quiet and private man. In some ways I feel like I have this wonderful secret that no one knows about. It's like I have a treasure chest of gold and only I have the map. He has always fascinated me. He is not like everybody else. When I first met him, he was this punk-ass Puerto Rican boy who played Dungeons and Dragons and listened to electronica. He was eccentric and serious. He refused to chase me. I wanted to peel back his layers and live off of his kisses. I still do. 

We have been lucky. We have been mostly happy. I feel truly honored to be his wife. If I could do things over again, I would not change a thing. If you are are reading this, dear - even though you are 4,755 miles away- I love you to the moon and all the way back home. Thank you for making my life beautiful. Happy 18. 

The Struggle

It's been a month since I updated this blog. A lot of things can happen in a month. If I knew then what I know now......

We went to Mexico City, which was amazing and wonderful. The people were so kind and welcoming, the food was delicious, the city was beautiful. It was like being in a movie, a dream. I feel like every place we travel to, I leave a piece of my heart and I definitely left a piece of my heart in Mexico City. It was a 10 out of 10 experience. If you get the opportunity to go in your lifetime, you should.

By the end of our trip, my husband and children were ready to go home. Not me. I'm never ready to go home. I love being on vacation. I don't have to cook, or do laundry, or keep a schedule and to-do list in my head. I just get to be with my children. They are with me the whole time, I can see them. I can see that they are happy. I am content.

Despite having an amazing trip and being super careful about what I ate and drank (besides the crickets I had with dinner), I got sick the day we flew home. Seriously bad, like I think I had dysentery.
                   
I didn't eat a meal for TEN days after I got back. I existed on broth, toast, bananas, apple sauce and peppermint tea. My husband was convinced I was dying. "Dude, you need to go to the hospital." I shrugged him off. "Nah, I just need oral re hydration. If my mucus membranes start getting dry, I'll go in and get some IV fluids." He under-estimates my willingness to suffer. After 10 days, things were better. I started to eat again. I was very weak but I survived it. I can laugh about it now. All is well.

Since we returned from our trip, life has been a whirlwind. Every single person in my house is going through "something." Our own separate issues and situations. It has been exceedingly difficult. When the children are having a hard time, I feel uneasy.

Last week was bad. I was still feeling weak from being sick and not eating for so long, PMS was hitting me hard, I'm dealing with some personal things, my husband and I were both stressed and overwhelmed and the girls were not feeling their best and were projecting it on us. I dropped my oldest off at youth group and she was having a bad attitude. It was not like her. She is going through something. She said something that hurt my feelings. I generally don't take it personally but lately, I have been fragile. I stopped at the grocery store on the way home to get eggs and creamer.

I had purchased eggs and creamer the night before but had left them on the counter and when I woke up in the morning they were ruined. I brought the replacements and as I drove home I thought about the children and the things they are struggling with and I thought about some of the things that were burdening me. I felt empty and heavy all at the same time. I pulled into the driveway and popped the trunk and dragged my exhausted body out of the car to retrieve my groceries. It was a beautiful night, unseasonably warm. I looked up at the sky and the stars were twinkling.

I just started talking to God. Outloud. In my driveway. "Listen, If you want to test my faith, I can accept that but if there is any strength inside of me, I need you to help me find it. I need you to help me dig down deep. I need you to show me that I'm strong because I am struggling." My neighbors probably think I am insane. They wouldn't be wrong. In that moment, I needed to say it out loud, to hear my own voice.

When I worked at the hospital, I would come in early in the morning and I would always get sent in to the new mothers who were in crisis. It was always the same situation. Different room, different mother, same situation every time. I would walk in and the mother would be attempting to nurse a screaming newborn who was not cooperating, dad was asleep on that terrible window bench.

I'd smile and introduce myself and ask to look at the baby. I'd take the crying baby and check the diaper and do my assessment and then wrap the baby up and calm him/her. Then I would turn to the mother and ask how things were going and she would tell me the story of how the first day everything was great, and how all of a sudden the baby wanted to do nothing but scream, could not be put down, just wanted to be on her all.night.long. Then the tears would come. "I don't know if I can do this," "I'm so tired," "How am I going to go back to work in 6 weeks?" "What am I doing wrong?"

It was always the same, pick your adventure. Then I would get the baby on the breast and I gave the same speech every time. "Your baby is transitioning into the world and is used to the warmth and comfort of the womb. All he/she knows is you. Your voice, your smell, your heartbeat. You are the safe place. I don't want you to think about 6 weeks from now, or even tomorrow. Let's just get through this feeding and then talk about what we need to do to get through today. Let's make a plan."

That somehow would make things better for them, to remind them that even though things were hard in the moment, they wouldn't be hard forever. Sometimes, when you break things down it's better, it seems more manageable. I give the same speech to my children (at least part of it).

When they are struggling with something, I am their safe place. They come to me and let it all out. They may be in total crisis mode and having a full on teenage/tweenage meltdown about whatever- being overwhelmed at school, friend problems, stress about the future....and they come to me in a panic. I tell them to be calm. "Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth, and when you are calm, talk to me." And they do. And I listen. Then I reassure and then a plan is made. "So what are you planning to do about this situation?" or "What are you going to do different?" or "What do you need to do to get through today?" or "How can I help?"

Then they tell me what their plan of action is, I offer encouragement and tell them that everything will be okay (which it will be) and then we work on making it through the day.

The other week, my kid and her friends were in the car and we were having a conversation like this and her friend says, "Wow, you are like a wise old owl." NO. I don't want to be a wise old owl.
                     
                                I want to be a f*cking fabulous peacock
                    

After we talk, they always feel better. They might not be 100% but they are calm and have a plan and go on with their day. But then I'm not okay. On the outside, I am calm and I am rational. But on the inside, it hurts me. I take on their emotions. I actually do this with everyone. That's why I'm a shitty family member and friend. I have to be emotionally disconnected from other people because otherwise it takes too much out of me. I can't be there for other people because literally it takes everything I have just to show up and be there for myself and my children. I will not apologize for this ever but it does make me feel guilty sometimes.

When I'm struggling, I try to keep it to myself. Although I'm terrible at hiding it from my husband. He ALWAYS knows. "What's wrong?" he'll ask. "What do you mean? Nothing is wrong," I'll reply. I don't like to burden other people with my problems. Even my husband. Let's face it - my problems are not that big. I have a good life, my kids are beautiful and healthy, I have everything I need. Whenever I talk about my problems, I hate it. Like, someone please get the world's smallest violin and play it. Rationally, I KNOW that.

I can't keep anything from my husband. He can sense it in me. He was so annoyed, "Honestly, I know something is wrong. I've been with you my whole life. Is it something terrible?" I sighed. "No, not really. It's just when the kids are going through something it really upsets me."
"But the kids are ALWAYS going through something," he replied.
"I know," I said softly. "That's my point. It's hard."

My husband was like, "It's not going to get any better. When they are grown up it will probably be worse." Oh, my hubby, he is a realist.

They aren't struggling with anything crazy. It's typical adolescent stuff. They will certainly be okay. I try to tell myself that, "This is normal and necessary, this is normal and necessary, this is normal and necessary....." Like a mantra. I KNOW that it is normal and necessary but that doesn't make it better or easier.

It is not my job to remove obstacles from their way. They are not going to be happy all the time. They are going to make mistakes and learn hard lessons. Some will be self imposed and some will be totally out of their control. There are some roads they will have to walk alone. I can walk next to them but I can not carry them. I will not make things harder than they need to be but I cannot fix their problems. I can only support and love them.

In so many ways, I feel like a new mother again. These years are like the newborn days reflected. The children are transitioning into this world that suddenly is strange, new and confusing. Newborns scream but teenagers cry and have random nervous breakdowns or bouts of bad attitudes and rebellious behavior. I am their safe place but I am completely unsure of myself, convinced that I am doing it all wrong, wondering how long this feeling will last....

A few weeks ago my oldest was not acting like herself. She was in a terrible mood and she told me to leave her alone. So I did. A little while later she asked why I wasn't talking to her. "You told me to leave you alone, so I was giving you some space." She was so upset. "I don't want space. I never want space!" I was confused, "But you told me to leave you alone." She sighed, "But I didn't actually mean that I wanted you to leave me alone. I need you." She teared up and I felt horrible. In case you were wondering what it's like to have a teen/tween daughter, now you know.

I don't have a close relationship with my own parents and I never recall seeking them out for comfort and so this is new territory for me. I feel completely ill-equipped and floundering, to be completely honest. I just do what I've always done in this mom gig, fake it til I make it. I always just wanted my kids to feel safe and secure and know that they are loved and so I try to focus on that and not sweat the small stuff so much.

Yes, we are all going through something right now. But life is like that sometimes. We are learning lessons. That is our job as parents, to raise up the children and teach them how to become independent. We teach them to walk, to use the toilet, to read, to dress themselves...but as the children become bigger the things they must learn are so much more complicated, so much harder to master. Things we are working on right now:

-time management skills
-dealing with difficult people
-accepting the things that we cannot change
-the importance of self care
-how to recover from a broken heart
-how to manage anxiety
-how to accept that people change
-how to be okay when it seems like everything sucks
-how to take responsibility for your actions
-how to recover from disappointments

I'm 35 years old and these are things I am STILL working on myself. I think I need to learn to accept that doing the best that I can is enough. I need to take my own advice and take things one day at a time. The things that we go through are normal and necessary. You can't have rainbows without a little rain.