Sparkles and Such...

Somedays are ultra sparkly.
Days of pageants and dance routines and tiaras and bobby pins.
When we are living in them, the stress can dull the sparkle.
The Momma Knot in the pit of your stomach and the un-asked-for chills up your spine and down your arms as you wait to watch your child take the stage is blinding.
More blinding than the thousands of rhinestones under stage lights.
That, my friends, is ultra- blinding.

I am very happy that I made one binding choice many years ago.  As a Dance Studio Director, I decided and declared (loudly and repeatedly) to my clientele that, when my daughter was on stage, I was NOT Director.  I WAS her mother.

I did not answer tugs on my sleeve or pause mid-run-to-catch-her-perform  to discuss another child's hair or costume trauma.  I did not reply to anxious whispered questions or irritating texts.

I focused on my Momma Knot.  I embraced it.  I enjoyed it.  I bathed in it and I engraved it on my heart and in my brain.

Madi will be 18 this week.  Eighteen years filled with sequins and tap shoes.  With hand held microphones and squeaky speaker systems.  Eighteen years topped off with me sitting in the Clayton Opera House last night as she represented her platform and her ideals and her undeniable beauty in the Miss Thousand Islands Pageant.

The knot was HUGE.  The tears were welling.  My heart was pounding.  Not for The Sparkle. Madi doesn't need a crown on her head or a sequin studded gown to glow.  It was just the Momma thing.  That's My Girl. 
She walked like a model, she showed her spunk and intelligence.  She sang with fervor and beauty.  She was undeniably wonderful.
So, after... when she did not take home the crown nor the sash nor even a certificate-- I reevaluated that Momma Knot.  The one I have felt inside so prominently for almost eighteen years.  I examined its twists and turns and strong, unyielding bond.  I realized something momentous.  Perhaps, just perhaps, that knot wasn't fear for her.  It has never been about my fear or my fear for her.  It has always been this growing mass of pride.  Pride for her strength and talent.  Not pride that comes before a fall.  Not pride that blinds... pride that makes me see.  See that my daughter is more than I could have ever imagined.  She sparkles so bright... And, in that moment, the knot lessened just the teeniest bit.
Just enough for me to exhale. 

Empty Nest- The Poem

Empty Nest

It isn't Empty Nest Syndrome

It isn't tears on somewhat sunken cheek bones or looking in the mirror to see a tired stranger

It isn't holding my breath when she shakes hands with Principal and grabs diploma with other and I can't hear for the roaring in my ears

The pride chanting in my head

The love bursting my veins

The hollow hole growing in my solo soul

She says every time I cry I owe her $5

I am already poor

She is my wealth

I am the single mother of a special needs daughter

I have walked away from everything and everyone else in this world

To run to her

I have sat vigil in cold hospital rooms

Stroking her face

Side swiping stray hairs

Caressing her tiny hand

I have slept in the curve of her feet at the bottom of her hospital bed

I have brought her home after 39 surgeries and fought with myself not to hold her hostage in the safety of our home

I have watched her fight to walk 

To walk on

To walk away

I have hung on to let her go

And here we are

High school over

Success heaped on success

Smile painted on my thinning lips like a too bright lipstick

My hand aches for her little girl fingers to wrap around mine

But I see my hands now

Veins exposed

Wrinkles forming

Nails ignored

Unadorned left ring finger

I have not been His Wife

I have only been Her Mom

Open palm to fist and Palm again

I cannot question 

I try to accept

Fly little bird

Mama's nest sits empty 

It's the Little Things

It is the Little Things on a journey.
The nurse who gives me $1.25 for the vending machine because I am a "good mama who needs chocolate".
It is the janitorial staff member who sings to your daughter every morning... Because he loves to see That Smile.
The amount of kindness a surgeon musters to dance a jig to relieve her pain cannot be underestimated... All 6'4" of stern manliness a-jumble at her bedside.
Thirteen years and thirty-nine surgeries. Amazingly, despite the pain and beyond the tears, the multitude of kindnesses shown us are what makes my heart flutter.
And... There was always Emma. Emma first met us when Madi was four. She was an LPN and Madi was a toddler who had already Had Enough. I was an exhausted single mom. IV meds were the worst. No one seemed very sympathetic when my daughter screamed in pain. They shrugged off her tears and smirked a bit at all The Drama. Not Emma. She believed Madi and sought a solution. She brought in a stock of hand warmers for Madi's bedside stand. Just a heat pack... Such relief.  Emma began "The Book of Madi" for the nurses station and insisted evey nurse treating her look it over. Meds were to be pumped on "turtle speed" and heat packs applied. Madi's baby blanket should always cover her IV sight--- she didn't like to see it. Her trusted Ellie the Elephant must always prop her arm for comfort.
Simple tasks brought about by a woman whose kindness and compassion amaze me to this day.
When Madi was nine she was finally correctly diagnosed. Her rare condition included restricted blood vessels that were very thin. Meds administered through an IV felt like ice water roaring through her system. The Doctor told us that this pain was, indeed, "unbearable". Thank you, Emma, for believing my little spit fire when no one else would!
Today, Emma is an amazing nurse. Madi is a high school graduate. They are best of friends, sharing life via snap chat and meeting for lunch or dinner when we return to Children's  Hospital... 7 hours away.
Madi has chosen to attend college close to her hospital. I am anxious and worried, but will certainly sleep better knowing her favorite nurse will always be on duty and on the lookout for my kiddo.
A lunch out, an extra hug... And certainly, a heat pack if it is needed.
Thanks, Emma. Your kindness makes this world such a better place!!!!

Needy Need Not Apply

I recall being independent at a very young age.  I was an only child for ten years, then "the oldest".  My parents simply expected I would do a vast array of chores.  I never wondered if other girls did.  I was expected to handle everything from dusting the bannister to mowing the lawn.  I weeded gardens, painted sheds, cooked dinner, cleaned house and watched The Baby Brother.  I recall hot summer days spent pushing the lawn mower and cold winter mornings shoveling snow.  I just did it.  I did not get an allowance.  I got love.  Seemed enough.
Here's the rub.  My parents raised me to be able to Do It All.  Clean house, do manly chores, take care of babies, work at a job, get good/great grades, and be a social butterfly.
Would seem I am a catch, eh?  Well.  Perhaps not.  I am almost 52 and decidedly single.  I have had a vast array of failed relationships in my life, and I think they all fall in to two distinct groups:
1.  The guy who couldn't stand it because I could do it all alone
2.  The guy who didn't do much or nada because I could do it all alone

#1.  Pissed me off
#2.  Wore me out

Hasta LaVista, baby.
I am now almost one year Manless.  Partnerless.  Alone.... but not lonely.  I have been approached by some men, but I have something to say:
Needy Need Not Apply.
I don't want to hear about your past failed relationships, and I assume you do not wish to hear about mine.
I don't want to hear about how LONELY you are.  Buy a pet or get a past time.  Pleeeease.  You are a Grown-Ass-Man.
I don't want to be called "Sweetie" or "Honey".  I'm not our "Sweetie" or "Honey".  I am a Grown-Ass-Woman.
I don't want you to SAY "You shouldn't have to do so much".  I want you to show me you will do it for me by... DOING IT FOR ME.
That's the bottom line, I guess.  A lifetime of independence leaves me in a place where something truly romantic and HOT would be the guy who mows my lawn while I'm at the studio.  The one who makes me dinner after work.  That guy.
Let's be clear.  Don't need the guy.  Many days, don't want the guy.  But, I'd LOVE to have my lawn mowed.  Today. No, really, the lawn... out back... on the hill.  No undertones or suggestive word play here, folks.
I have always loved my quiet time.  Reading, writing, day dreaming, gardening.  I want to get up and head out to an estate sale if I wish.  I want to sleep til 9 am if I want to.  I am content with what I have.  I have a wonderful daughter, an adoring dog, and extended friends and family.  I'm cool with all that.  So, if you are aware of all the above and Never Need To Be Needy, then there may be a puzzle piece missing here.  If not... I can get by without that small, missing piece. 
Too old for games and too young at heart for boredom.  No NEED for the Needy.  Seems about right.

Celebrations and Salutations

Graduation season always hits my heart and knocks my senses sideways.  I took it hard when it was my own rite of passage, I have struggled and embraced all that it has held for my friends, my relatives, my students... and now, for my only daughter.

I screen shot large portions of life in my head. Snap memories into the puzzle of my life like I am a jigsaw Queen; relive rolling video in my brain as I fall to sleep at night; wake early and look at the day ahead with trepidation mixed with elation.

I thought I would be a bigger mess.  I thought I would walk around in a river of tears every day.  I expected sobs at dance recital and gulps of air like some washed ashore fish as I witnessed "lasts"... last concert, last this, last that.

Tears.  I have them.  Somewhat silent, slippery little devils, who roll down my waiting cheeks and cause me to wipe with backside of hands as secretly as possible.  Sniffles.  Blame that on allergies.
But... full on tsunami cry?  Not yet.

This is a celebration, folks.  This amazing human whom I created has become SOMEONE.  I have always known she is special... as every mother knows every child is... but in this time, in this moment, she is SOMEONE.  Someone who has achieved so many goals throughout her first twelve years of school... academically, musically, socially, physically, emotionally.  Someone who has made plans for an amazing future and has taken solid steps to see those plans through.  Someone whom I am immensely, and justifiably, proud of.

It is a month of salutations.  Congratulations.  Farewells.  SeeYaLaters.  Hugs that linger longer.  Foot steps that pause as backward glances are made before plunging forward.  Yesterdays growing foggy as today beams and tomorrow beckons.  Shake hands with confidence, smile broader, laugh when you can.  This is the way this life goes.  It just goes.  On and on; somehow... everyday closer to the salutation--- Good bye.

Forgive my sentimentality.  I am just another mom watching another child walk across the stage which represents life.  I am just another empty nester choosing bedding for college dorm room and counting pennies to pay tuition.  I am just another mom laying in bed at night, silent tears rolling down cheeks, salty rivers onto pillowcase. 

Yes, I am celebrating.  Mostly.  But, sometimes, the celebration pauses and reality hits.  Forgive me for praying... Forget Me Not.

Standing up or Backing down?

It is something I have struggled with all my life.  Daily.
Standing up... or backing down?
If I stand up for my beliefs, if I state an honest opinion, inevitably, I meet with someone else's beliefs.
If they choose to state them, I am faced with conflict.
I despise conflict.
I have been known to cross three states to avoid it.
No, really.
Within the need to avoid conflict, lies another of my qualities with duel attributes.
I can always see some aspects of truth in someone else's beliefs.
Wrapped in that self attribute is the fact that others see my ability to accept degrees of their position as me Backing Down.
This, quite often, leads to me running away.  From the person; the discussion; the argument.
I am certain there is a complete thesis available on my disorder in the halls of literary and academic homes.
This would not help me.
Why?  Because I would be able to see and understand all sides of the arguments held therein.
Go ahead, have a giggle at my expense.  Really, it's okay.  I understand the comedy of errors here.
All of my life, I have avoided argument and conflict and, more often than not, have chosen to not state my opinion and have held it all in until... Boom.  I explode.
Today, I am filled with opinions.... and emotions.  Rage and anger and pent up disbelief at how the small and extremely large injustices go unanswered, unaddressed, unstopped and undone.
We have come to live in a world where the gray is so massive that the black and white-- the right and wrong-- cannot be seen.
Everyone has a right... to their opinion, to their lifestyle, to do as they wish.
And MY OPINION STATED HERE is that I agree... unless their opinion is so hurtful it causes another person pain.  Unless their lifestyle involves impinging on the rights of others.  Until their lifestyle means that others may not enjoy life.
And, therein lies the rub.  The conflict that I avoid.  That I despise.
Let me say this.  I have always been aware of my personality trait.  I did not become an attorney (once high on my list of possible careers), because I knew that this distinct part of ME would not allow me to do that job to the best of my ability and to serve others best.
I fear that those now in authority may also suffer from my trait.... but have chosen to plow in to politics and positions where being decisive and sometimes NOT accepting of others is a necessity.
I believe they need opinions.  Strong ones.  They need to stick to those opinions.  Listen to others, yes.  Bend to them? No.
So... I've gone and done it.  Stated my opinion at the risk of hearing yours.  Here is another thing I know about myself, though... once I put it in writing, my opinion is strong and unyielding.  I know beyond doubt this is how I feel.  It is my opinion that some people need to have an opinion.
There.  That's done.

Parening is NOT an obligation

When, oh when, did Parenting become an Obligation to some? 

When did we become a society where child support was needed, demanded, withheld?  When did walking away from your marriage mean you could walk away from the child?  When did this become our reality?

Stark.  Harsh.  True.  I find myself living in a place where the non-custodial parent equates time with money and believes that a minimum donation makes them a Parent.

They withhold financial assistance, they do not parent, they show up when it is convenient for them.  They tell the world they are a parent.  They show their child that they are not really part of their world.  They live in contradictory allegiance with their own dark places and lack of soul.  And, they somehow convince themselves, that they are right.

I see men and women who live on a shoe string to take care of children from past relationships.  I see them finding ways to be inserted positively into their child's life.  I do.  But these are the rare ones.  They are the dot in the sea, the needle in the haystack.  This makes me insatiably sad.

Sad for the custodial parent who takes on that extra burden to parent for two.  Sad for the child, who never understands how they did not choose to play a role in this staged version of parenting , and yet it is their reality.  I even, on some degree, am sad for the non-custodial parent who never knows the joy of a deep relationship with someone who they brought in to this world.  For the person who gazes, from afar, with jaded eyes, on the relationship that the custodial parent builds bit by bit, minute by minute, touch by touch with their child.

Parenting is the most special thing I have ever been able to do.  It is not an obligation.  It is an honor, a joy, a life process that I am happy to allow consume me.  I have this Amazing Kid.  It is pretty cool.  It is My Best Thing Accomplished In Life... this Mama Biz.  Glad I am not missing one moment of it.