It's September, which means it's hurricane time in South Carolina. This is the 5th year we have been waiting on a storm. I'm not worrying so much about it, I just want to know what's going to happen. I'm a planner and I need to know. They always evacuate us, we are so close to the coast. If it even looks like there is a POSSIBILITY that it is coming anywhere near us, they issue an order. They have already started distributing sandbags.
We will evacuate if they issue an order to do so. I have a few potential cabins picked out in the mountains. I kind of like the idea of sitting in a hot tub in the mountains mid-week but my bank account really has been pummeled the past few months with back-to-school and birthdays and car repairs and Christmas is coming up. I'm not super keen on it but it will be what it will be.
I'm not worried about the house. People are always like, be careful for looters. I would feel bad if looters showed up at my house. They would be pissed, they would walk in and be like:
I have a TV I brought for $250 four years ago. There's a bunch of Dollar Store shit. I have some costume jewelry. Let's face it - I don't have nice things. Also, I'm a minimalist so I don't really have things at all. I like the idea of having nice things but I don't like spending money on anything so......
This week was kind of wacky. My kids had the back-to-school crud. My husband picked my youngest up from school sick on Monday and she was home on Tuesday with a stomach ache and low-grade fever.
On Wednesday, she went back to school and I thought our routine would go back to normal. Then, I get a call from the school that there was a threat at the high school and school was delayed. There were cops all over the school, a helicopter flying overhead - it was a full response. They delayed school by 2 hours so I wound up with a bunch of kids at my house in the morning just hanging out.
Then this boy showed up to take my daughter to school. I knew he was going to come pick her up but I didn't realize that he was going to come into my house. It was 10 am and I was sitting in my bathrobe on the couch, eating a whole plate of bread pudding (I'm not sure if I'm living my best life or if I've given up on life).
He came in and sat down - huge child, like 6'3. I asked a million questions. He seemed nice enough. I don't know the whole back story of their friendship yet. Working on that. After a while,they left for school. I hugged my daughter, "Be safe, okay?" I told her. She nodded, "Okay." Then she got into the truck and left, with the man-boy. *sigh*
The rest of the week was a blur. She got sick on Thursday, they both performed at the football game on Friday. It's that time of year again. On Saturday morning my husband was being super extra and was like, "I'm going to take down the canopy in the back yard and pack up all the lawn furniture." I hated it. I just wanted to lay on the couch, so that's what I did.
Now, we wait. I don't know what it is, but I feel uneasy. It's not the storm necessarily, but everything. Maybe it's the fact that things are moving too quickly for me, that things are changing so much, or that I'm feeling a little panicked that I don't know what I want to be when I grow up, or that my existential crisis is becoming a little more crisis-y. I've been waking up at 4:40 every morning the past few weeks feeling weird. I feel UNCOMFORTABLE. I need to shift, something needs to change but I can't put my finger on what exactly. I'm in a bit of a funk. I think a few days away would be good for me. I think I need to be still and listen.
On August 26th, my grandfather will be dead for 10 years. An entire decade. I still miss him so much.
My grandfather was one of my favorite people. I lived with him the first part of my life. My parents divorced when I was very young and my father lived with my grandparents during my early years. They helped him a lot, he was very young. I still remember that time with them in that house. My father telling us silly bedtime stories, the blue elephant slide in the backyard, the smell of coffee in the morning and Phil Donahue playing on TV. I remember my grandfather being caring and energetic and taking us for Happy Meals, probably more than he should have.
My grandmother died of cancer right before I turned 5 years old. She was only 56 years old. It was the great tragedy that defined our family. My father re-married and we moved away but still my grandfather remained close. He came to many of our school performances and we saw him often, especially in the summer.
He had a house on the bay in Stone Harbor and there was a little apartment above the garage where we stayed. We would spend weekends there often. I remember going to the beach with him. Usually, it was just our immediate family but sometimes he came for a bit. He would sit with a book, but occasionally he would get up and just walk into the ocean and dive in. He would swim out and then ride the waves back into the shore. I thought he was so strong, swimming through the ocean like that - especially for an old man. He was only in his early sixties then, but that was old to me.
I always would just follow him around and he never seemed annoyed. I'd walk out to the deck with him to check the crab and minnow traps. Sometimes he would steam them and I would just watch - he'd pour a whole can of beer and Old Bay on them, which I thought was so funny. I watched him a lot. I always wanted to be around him, he was a safe place for me. He had this flag pole at the edge of the water. There were 3 flags - a big American flag at the top and the Italian and Irish flags on either side-a nod to the heritage of my grandparents. I used to love when he asked for my help to take down the flags. We walked out to the flag pole and he took down the smaller flags first and handed them to me. Then he took down the big American flag, which he carried. We walked back to the garage and I was careful to make sure the flags didn't touch the ground.
The garage was dimly lit and there was a work table in there. I watched as he spread out the flags and folded them neatly-one by one. There was this picture hanging on the wall nearby, that was yellowed with age. It had a drawing of a little boy's face with a crinkled up nose and underneath was a caption that said, "Don't don't make no junk!" I don't know why this memory sticks out, but there was something about that moment that felt special to me.
When I turned 16, I got a job at a Wawa at the beach town nearby. He was so tickled. He would come in to see me every once in a while. He always grinned while he watched me work. I was in charge of making the breakfast sandwiches and he called me the "Sizzler Queen." It was really "Sizzli" but I didn't have the heart to correct him. We made arrangements for me to stay at his house quite a few weekends that summer.
He'd pick me up on Saturday afternoons from work, I'd spend Saturday night and Sunday with him, he'd take me to work on Monday and then I'd take the bus home Monday afternoons. This was my favorite time with him. Before, visits always included all my siblings and parents....but I had him all to myself.
He told me all kinds of stories. About working at Sears and the Campbell Soup Factory in Camden when he was young. He spoke of his time in Korea and stories from his childhood. He asked me a bunch of questions. We had little chats. I really enjoyed our car rides together. On these visits, I got to stay in the house - not just the apartment above the garage.
Sometimes I would shower after work and walk over the bridge and into town. I was making a little bit of my own money and I would get a chocolate water ice from the 5 and Dime and walk around and window show and watch workers make fudge in the candy shop. I enjoyed being downtown and alone in my thoughts.
He often had guests and it wouldn't be unusual for me to join them for dinner. There was always dessert! I enjoyed his "old people" friends. I found them interesting and funny. They were amused by me. My grandfather always made me tell this story that I relayed to him the first day I worked the cash register at Wawa. It was a busy day and the store was packed. This young man came in and asked for Lifestyles and I thought they were cigarettes and I couldn't find them. I yelled across the store to my manager, "Hey- where do we keep the Lifestyles?!?!" She came over and whispered, "They're condoms and they are under the counter." The poor kid was mortified. I'd never seen a face so red. My grandfather thought that was the funniest and he laughed until he cried. He'd always say, "Tell them the condom story!" He thought it was hysterical.
Sometimes he would drive me to the beach on Sunday and a few times he joined me with his wife. I liked the busier beach but I did agree to the "nun-beach" with them a few times.
He told me once during one of those visits that I reminded him of my grandmother. I didn't really get to know her but that made me happy because everyone loved her.
The following summer, I was dating my husband who had a car. I wasn't working down the shore anymore but he would invite us together for dinner- quite often. We had 4th of July there that year even. We had great times with him.
The last time I was at his beach house was right before I got married. He had me over for dinner and told me he had something for me. He pulled out a box of Christmas ornaments from the attic. They were for my Christmas tree, for my new life I was starting. I still have all of those ornaments.
I moved away and life became busy but we spoke every Sunday, like clock work. Not long conversations but just to check in. I realize now that it was because he worried about me. When my husband was in the hospital with meningitis, he called me everyday. He was someone in my life you genuinely cared. I enjoyed our Sunday talks. I told him about what was going on with life and the children and he updated me on all the going-ons in his life. On our Sunday calls he always spoke the children too, once they could speak. I am not close to anyone really, but I was close to him.
He had cancer many years prior but it had come back - I can't remember when. That year before he died, I tried to come visit as often as I could. We went up in June, I spent Thanksgiving there - my father and my girls were with me. I took the girls up there again in the spring. He loved seeing them, I think he really got a kick out of them. It made me happy that they got to get to know him a bit. My youngest has a very faint memory but my oldest remembers. He took them out to the back yard and showed them his birdhouses, he made sure they had cookies and soda. He watched them run wild.
With each visit, he was getting thinner and weaker. It broke my heart but we never talked about. We just tried to enjoy our time together.
That summer, his health had deteriorated significantly. "We have to go up there," my father said. I agreed. I left the children this time. My father and I got in the car and drove to Virginia to pick up my brother who had just gotten back from a deployment to Africa. It was just the three of us, like it had been in the very beginning.
He was bed bound by then and it took my breath away to see him. He was dying. My heart was so heavy but he was in good spirits during that visit. He told me that the priest visited every week to give him communion. I asked if he still had to do confession and he replied, "Just look at me. What do I need to confess? How much trouble can I get into?"
We went to say goodbye the last day there and I couldn't bear it. I sobbed while I hugged him. I knew it would be the last time I would see him alive. "Why are you crying?" he asked. Why I am crying? Because I need you, because I can't bear to imagine a world without you in it, because you are my favorite and I'm never going to see you again. Because one lifetime isn't enough.... I didn't need to say it. He knew. He rested his hand on mine and he looked up at me and "It's been a good life."
I didn't understand what he was trying to tell me then but I do now and I say that often- "it's been a good life" I spoke to him every Sunday until he slipped into a coma. I went up in those final days. I had to be with him. The waiting was excruciating. My husband was so great, he booked me a next day ticket and told me to just go and that he would take care of everything.
It was in the middle of the night on the 26th and my aunt woke me to tell me he was gone. I was relieved at that time. He had suffered. I don't remember much about that night. I felt like I was underwater, like everything was in slow motion. I remember taking turns with other family members to see him. I sat in the room with his body for just a few minutes and I touched his hand and I cried. The room was empty, his presence was gone from me. My buddy, my Pop-pop, was gone.
The funeral felt like a blur and I was glad to get home to my children. The children really saved me in the months that followed. There is little time to be sad when you are caring for young children. I had just gotten a promotion at work and I threw myself into that. But there were times it hit me out of the blue - Sundays were hard because I was still expecting his call. Or sometimes I would have a dream and he would be there with me, even the sound of seagulls made me sad.
I still feel him all around me. I have memories, pictures and cards that I treasure. A few years after he died, my parents divorced. I visited with my father a lot then. I was at his house and he declared that he was getting rid of everything in the garage that was left behind. He was a broken man at that time. I understood his need to purge everything and start over. I didn't blame him.
I went out to the garage and I sat on the floor. There were bins and bins of papers- pictures, drawings from my siblings, old report cards. Things that parents keep. The custody papers from when I was a little girl were in there. I flipped through them and there was a piece of paper that was neatly typed up. It was the summary of an interview with my grandfather. It was right after my grandmother died when it was just him, my father, and me and my brother in the house. In this document he talks about my father and the division of duties of our care, and how he missed our grandmother and how we "the children" we well, and amazing and that we would be okay. I sat on that dusty garage floor and I wept. You would have thought I found a hidden treasure. It is my favorite thing of my grandfather's. I saved it for myself.
I miss him terribly...but life goes on. I still think of him often but I'm not so sad anymore. He had a good life and I have so many happy memories because of him. I don't think one can ask for much else. On the 10th anniversary of his death, I felt the need to "do" something. To commemorate it somehow. I can't go visit his grave and leave flowers.
I'm having dinner instead. An Irish feast to honor my favorite Irishman. Corn beef, cabbage, potatoes and Irish bread pudding with a caramel whisky sauce. My father and brother will attend. We will eat off of my grandmother's china and we will sit at the table that he once sat at with his own children. We will enjoy each other's company and after, we will watch home movies. We will remember him.
So Pop, I miss you old man but one day we will meet again. Thanks for everything. It's been a good life.
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
Well, the kids go back to school tomorrow. Again. I don't even know what happened this summer. I really didn't do anything fun. I'm a little triggered about it. We have a vacation planned for NEXT summer so hopefully that will make up for it.
Life has changed a little in our house. My youngest quit gymnastics. I could kind of see it coming but I was still a little surprised. Her body is starting to fall apart and she is just done. I told her that is fine for her to quit but she can't quit gymnastics and do NOTHING. I told her she needed to pick another activity -her pick. She sent me a list that included:
-fashion
-dancing
-writing
-baking
-photography
-tattoos
-weapon making
-model building
-hunting/fishing
-calligraphy
-mechanics
-lock-picking
-darts
-billiards
-auto racing
-bowling
-boxing
-embroidery
-crystals/tarot cards
-furniture making
-antique book collecting
I looked it over. "Weapon making?" I asked. She was defensive, "Yeah, like making swords over a fire." "Like a blacksmith?" She was like, "Yeah." I mean some of the things on her list had me dying. I support it- if I could find a blacksmith class, or a lock-picking seminar, or an antique book collecting group for teenagers, I would totally drive her there and support it. I said, "Let's narrow this down."
Her sister, who is the flute section leader for marching band said, "Why don't you just join marching band? I have a hole." She said, "But I don't play the flute." "You can be a fake flute." She said, "Okay." So, she joined the marching band. It is the funniest thing ever. We went to an event where they played and she is so good at pretending to play. Please give this child an Oscar. It's kind of nice having them in one place, the schedule is better for me. She likes all the kids there so I think it will be good for her. A distraction.
She wants to join the Youth Bowling League after marching band season. So, we'll do that. I think I'm going to send her to the Governor's School of Math and Science for a week next summer and she is interested in ROTC for high school.
I'm sad that I won't see her compete anymore but I'm glad that she gets to explore other things. She is in a good place. When we went back to school shopping she didn't want to step foot in Hot Topic. Her middle school emo stage is over, I think, and I'm super happy about it. She will have a good year.
My oldest is doing well. We picked her up from Governor's School in July and she was changed somehow. She is really on that grind. She got laid off from her job and she went straight to another store and got a new job right away. She worked an 8 hour shift yesterday and was running the front of the house by herself. She was so proud of herself. She likes it there and they are scheduling her 10 hours a week vs 3 at the other store and that is perfect. She enjoys making her own money and loves the free chicken nuggets. I am very impressed with her.
She originally made plans to go out after work last night but decided against it and just hung out with her one good friend. She is getting very good at surrounding herself with positive people and just doing what she needs to do and I pray that it stays that way. She is a typical teenage girl and she makes me CRAZY sometimes but she is a good kid.
She got her permit the other day. She was so excited. She went the week after her birthday and failed the test TWICE by 1 question. She asked me to take her again Friday. I had a rough week and I was praying that she passed because I could not deal with her having a nervous breakdown. We waited for what seemed like years. She took the test on paper and handed it in to the lady. The wait was excruciating. "You passed," she announced to her. My daughter jumped up and gave me the biggest hug, she was beaming. I could tell she was relieved.
I've been making her drive the past few days. Not far but to her friends house. We let her drive to work and home yesterday, this morning she drove to the gas station and I taught her how to pump gas. It's so weird being in the passenger's seat and having my child drive. She does a good job so far, I haven't feared for my life yet. I'm sure I will, but so far so good.
She is so funny, because while she drives, I talk and teach her. She said, "Driving is kind of like playing the flute and sight reading.- because you always have to look ahead and be prepared and be aware of what is going on." She is so cute, I freaking love her.
Tomorrow my kids start 8th and 10th grade and life is good.
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.
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.
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.
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.
