I rarely remember my dreams, but the other day I woke up remembering my dream – that I had gone to the hospital to deliver a surprise baby and then was running for safety with said infant from a bear chasing us. Now, those of you who know me may know that I am terrified of bears. Like I have an irrational fear of bears. So me waking from a dream about bear danger is not that surprising to me. But the mysterious baby? One that needed protection from a rampaging bear? Now, that was a new one.
The thing is, I know that dreaming about bears can be interpreted as a personal struggle with a personal challenge. And most women who dream about babies may be wishing for a baby in their lives. I certainly did back before Mister Soandso and I had kids. But these days, I very much do not want any more babies. Also, I most certainly have some more challenging “challenges” going on in my life these days.
So, am I longing for a baby? Am I being chased by some problem that seems bigger than me?
Well, yes and no. Or to use proper parallel structure, no and yes.
When you are a parent, there is this hazy time when you can’t remember much about parenting your infant. But, at least for me, I do remember that there was a certain level of comfort in knowing that if my baby was crying, I had a definite list of things to try fixing. And chances were pretty good that a diaper change, a burp, or a feeding would cure whatever ailed my baby. If nothing else, just cuddling my baby was enough to sooth him/her into a happier state.
I have no babies these days. Truthfully, I’m ecstatic to no longer have sippy cups multiplying in my cupboards at night. But I also miss those days where if my child was upset, I knew how to fix it.
Littlest is struggling these days. He’s got a lot on his plate and there are no dividers keeping the jello from melting into the mashed potatoes of life. Because life doesn’t really have dividers like that. Instead, life is messy and as confusing as a smidgeon of strawberry flavor mixing in with the chicken gravy.
This is a Lego motorcycle that Littlest received this weekend from his uncle. Legos are a big deal in our family with pretty much every kid playing with them crazy amounts. Except that Littlest hasn’t really been the Lego kid the other kids are. Sure, he likes them, but he’s never been obsessed like his brother and cousins. And yet, since he received this Lego set, it hasn’t left his hand for much time at all. Around and around the living room/kitchen/dining room he drives it, up and over the back of the chair, across the coffee table, along the wall, and down the banister, and across the counter, again and again. With each rotation of those wheels, I have to hope that he’s working through the stuff that’s troubling him. That this Lego motorcycle is the tangible thing he needs to get up and over his obstacles.
I’m 99% sure he’s going to be okay and luckily, we are able to connect him with lots of folks who can help give him additional support. But that doesn’t change the fact that here I am on a Monday morning, worrying about how he’ll do today. Will he cry at recess again? Will his homework end in tears and yelling? Will his smile be the version that doesn’t make his eyes light up?
These days he’s too big to really snuggle, but we make do. I pull him onto my lap and every day more and more of him spills over the chair’s arm. Now when I pull him against my heart, his head is next to mine. And his hand isn’t much smaller than the one I hold him with.
And the truth is, as much as I long for the days when he was a baby and I could make things better for him, I cherish these days. Because these days I may not be able to make things truly better, but now he tells me how scared he is of the “monsters” he knows exist. These days he comforts me as much as I comfort him. I cherish this little boy who reminds me of his baby self but whose wisdom whispers of the man he’ll someday be.
I cherish him and the gift it is to be his mother.
Mostly, I cherish him.
So my sweet Littlest, remember this: You are the greatest gift I ever received that I never knew to ask for. Thank you.
I moved into my new house on December 23rd. Today, a mere two weeks and three days later, I stood in my brand new shower and scrubbed at the spots already setting up house on my glass shower doors.
Two weeks and I already have soap scum/water spots? WTH universe. I thought I had a little more time before the evidence of use took hold.
That’s what I get for thinking.
There are so many times when I put off doing something because I think I have more time before it become critical to do it, or I balk at the amount of elbow grease the task requires.
As a writer, I’m doing the same thing.
Yesterday, as I drove my kids home from their schools, I asked them for their thoughts on plot points that would make sense in my novel. Nothing like soliciting advice from a captive audience ranging in age from 8-14. Now, don’t get me wrong, kids are damn smart and my kids are great writing buddies. But let’s just say, some of their suggestions will require elbow grease in amounts and varieties I may be too old to make happen.
I wish I could note here that I have a plan and lots of excitement for implementing it. But that would be a fib. However, I have good people in my life and I know that I will make sense out of things. And I know it will take a hell of a lot of elbow grease to make this novel as clear and sparkly as my shower doors.
I opened up Facebook this morning and within 3 stories I was giggling. Well, maybe not giggling as that gives the connotation of light-heartedness. I suppose I was snorting in a sort of mildly irritated, derisive way but that sounds so not-so-attractive that I want to purport to having giggled instead.
Oh dear, I had a moment there. Forgive me.
The fact is, story 1 was extolling the virtues of the 52-Week Money Challenge. Story 2 was a birthday wish on a friend’s page. And story 3 was telling me to not do the 52-Week Money Challenge. Whaaaa? I feel so confused. Read more…
My Oldest was born in early May and we had summer together before I went back to work that fall, teaching high schoolers how to write. I’d been vetting daycares since hitting my second trimester and felt very comfortable sending him to daycare, inasmuch as a new mom is ever comfortable letting her baby leave her side.
The plan was to fully immerse myself in mothering from May until August 28th when I’d report for duty at work. Oldest and I “practiced” being apart for a few days the week before so it was all to be easy-peasy by the time the real deal rolled around.
Let the snickering begin by all the folks who’ve parented and worked full time. I was as much of an emotional wreck as you can imagine. Read more…
Over in my drafts folder, I have so many posts in various levels of completion that I’m beginning to look like a cyber-hoarder. But it isn’t some hoarding tendency that has led to all these started but unfinished posts. It’s fear.
Back in the dark ages when I first started blogging, the world seemed a bit more safe than it does today. Well, not the world, per se, but the little world of blogging and sharing ideas via the internet. Obviously I know that is just my little myopic view of things and that for a bunch of folks, the internet has never really felt safe, but now lots of us are hitting “publish” with a bit of a squint and holding of breath. Read more…
I hope I don’t need to preface this with some blanket statement along the lines of “I’m not a weirdo.” After all, I’m the parent of quickly aging kiddos, so this should make sense. I hope.
The other day, I’m doing the grocery store juggle – the one where you are picking up all the bags in one hand not because you can’t put them in the vehicle one at a time, but to ensure all the handles are working correctly for when you carry each and every one of them up to the apartment at the same time. Because 1 trip, yo.
Anyway, I notice a minor hullabaloo to my right in the cart corral. It’s a mom and a wee one, maybe 18 months or so. Anyhoo, the mom is trying to get her son out of the cart and he isn’t having any of it. So she does the tried and true distraction technique. She blew a raspberry on his tummy where the skin was showing between his Seahawks tee-shirt and where his jeans and diaper were slung below his little belly. Crisis forgotten as he cracked up in that giggle fit every parent knows means all is alright in a little person’s world. Read more…
There are four people in my life that mean the world to me. So much that they get me to go camping with them (I’m terrified of bears), to dive in the swimming pool (I can’t swim), and to make four separate elements to a meal just so I know each one has something they like (picky, picky, picky – a bit of an overstatement, but true enough for some of them).
Those four people in my little world? I love them enough to go full-on Mama Bear as needed.
Which is why these days, I’m scared folks. So many things that make me scared for them. Scary stuff like
- rising water levels,
- lowering water tables,
- guns in schools, movie theaters, public places,
- Ebola and dysentery and cancer,
- Ferguson, Missouri and LA and New Orleans and it seems like everywhere!
- Iraq, ISIS, Gaza,
- Drug abuse,
- And about a million other things that make me nervous for my kids and husband.
No matter what news agency I check, something horrific is happening. Frankly, it gets hard to live with hope when the news is filled with so many bad, bad things.
So today, I’m just going to Google up some cute gifs of kittens and puppies, of unicorns of all varieties. I’m going to search out all the cupcakes with sprinkles and cans of whipped cream and make S’mores in the microwave and build a blanket fort with my kids.
Because I only get one life and one life with these people who matter so much to me. I don’t know just how many days any of us have together, but I sure as hell want them to be filled with as much goodness as I can find.