Broken Up…

My son went through some heartache today. His girlfriend of 3 and a half years just broke up with him.

He is very much a manly man, so he wasn’t in tears when I saw him. But I could see the pain on his face just as plainly as if he tears were running down his face. He looked tired. And shell-shocked. And… this was his first love.

I had no idea what to say to him.

I am his mom, and what I wanted to do was to hold him in my arms and stroke his hair and tell him that she was missing out by moving on without him.  What I did was eat a won-ton.  Because I was at lunch with my husband and bro. in law.

I thought to myself, “What comfort could these men possibly have for my son?” And, they did just the right thing.  They were quiet. they ate their Chinese food just as quickly as they did if they didn’t see that this guy was hurting. They talked about hunting, and target practice, and then quietly slipped in questions about what she said, or did, or didn’t do.

And he responded well to that.  It took everything I had to not jump into the conversation.  I ate my Tomato Beef dish and listened to every word. And it worked.

I was not the fixer in this situation. I was not the one that had the answer, and I was so grateful that these men could, in their manly way, open him up. I was clueless about how men, in their grunting, scratching, and crude jokes way, could comfort a man when what I wanted was to hug him.

A phenomenon.

So I was not needed today, And I was let into a secret man situation where, frankly, women have no business being.  Not because we don’t deserve to be there.  But because we would screw it up, just by being the comforting, attentive women we are.  And I trust the system, now.

I will stay away from their joking and story telling while they work on the cars. And I will not wait up when they watch questionable movies late at night.  And I will not step in when they have a problem and are eating instead of talking it out.

I will trust the system.

 

A Little Sun In Between Storms…

I almost feel new to this place. It has been so long since I have written, there is moss on the north side of my comfy chair.  The birds are warbling hesitantly outside my window as one winter storm passes, and a new one forms over the Rockies.  They sing just a little, on the branches of my crab-apple tree, then cock their heads as if listening for the ominous snowflakes that herald another foot-and-a-half-er.

I listen, too.

Then back to my iPad and on to the thought that has built up in me.  Why haven’t I written, I ask me. Well, says me, I haven’t had time.  I have been so busy. I have…. and the list builds up. The real answer is, however, just because I haven’t. Who cares, really? The writing is for me, and now here I am. The sun comes out, and I think that this time deserves my laptop time so I can really type fast. I realize I have things to say today. And out comes the laptop from its hiding place. I wipe off the dust, and boot it up, knowing I have neglected it, and issue a quick apology for it.

Sorry.

I haven’t written for a while because I have not felt like it, if the truth be known.  I have reminders set on my phone every day that let me know it is time to write for 15 minutes a day. I have ignored them for at least 2 months now. I have felt I don’t have anything to say. Which is silly because there is a lot to say.

Like The Thing. The sad thing. Someone close to me has Cancer. I’ve been in shock for a few days, as this is the first I have heard of the C word, but I have known something was wrong for about 2 months. They live far away, and I feel very far away now. You know how sometimes you can just pick up a phone and chat with someone and it is just like you are right there with them? Well, this is not that time. I feel sad, and I yearn to do …. something… to fix it, and I know I can’t.

I still call them, don’t get me wrong, and the conversation is good. A long, sincere talk. But I simply cannot take his hand and hold it now. I can’t see him smile when he talks about the good part of life. And I cannot see his face when he doesn’t hold it together for my sake. And I don’t think he should have to hold it together because he is on the phone with me.

In fact everything about the distance between us ticks me off. I have to use a phone or Skype to see him, well, it just blows. Mostly because I can’t touch his shoulder or hug him spontaneously. I hate that I get my news through a 3rd party, even well-meaning, because he is too tired to keep me up to date daily. I hate that I cannot just go pick up his mail, or vacuum his floor, or dust, or … any of a million chores that he is having a hard time with now. And my excuse is simply that I am far away.

I know that others do it for him, and that makes me sad, too. Even though I have leaky eyes when I write this, it is a relief to put it out there on the screen. It is a relief to say it out loud.

There is good news, as well, though.  Like…

 

My son Hayden wants to be a marine just as soon as he gets out of high school.  And no matter how I have ignored, patted him on the head, or tried to redirect him away from this decision, he has stayed true on this course. Nothing has made him waver.

So I started supporting him.

My son Hayden is now in Young Marines, and has turned into a recruit to be proud of. In spite of being in Boot Camp, with all the mud-crawling, miles-running, and yessir-ing he does, he holds his head high when he speaks. (His high and tight head, I might add. That is a mighty short hair cut, the military standards have…) Although he comes home from these trainings covered in mud and dirt, sweaty and exhausted, Hayden is happy, coming to the car with a smile on his face. He keeps his word in school and at home. He has a great attitude and is driven by the goals that the Young Marines have sparked in him. And he has bloomed. His teen-age grumpiness seems to have gone the way of the Dodo Bird. He smiles. He laughs. He looks adults in the eye when they talk with him. I am proud of him. So that is something to write about.

(A squirrel moves past my window at eye level.  He looks right into my eyes as he nibbles on a branch. I instinctively to the shoo-ing motion at it, then stop as I see that he doesn’t care one whit. I just turn back to my computer…)

Lastly, I have the Boston Marathon Bombing to write about. I have feelings of heartache right along feelings of pride for both the citizens of Boston and police officers that put themselves in harm’s way to aid those that couldn’t help themselves.  I also am exhausted from staying up late night after night, watching the news and hoping for some resolution. I could have read or heard about it in the next morning’s news episode, but to me, it would feel a bit of a betrayal to go to sleep in my bed, all comfy and stress-free, when so many others could not do so.

Again, I feel far away, with no ability to help.  I hate that feeling.

The feeling of elation that happened last night, when the police were tipped off that the last suspect was hiding out in a boat in someones yard, all wounded and desperate…well, that finally seemed to burst a bubble in me, and I could let things go from there. The police apprehended the boy without me. The anchor man on TV reported it all just fine without me. The citizens in the town cheered and waved and loved the police… all without my help. I was able to turn off the TV, and the iPad, and let it go last night.

So now I finish my thoughts at noon, all snuggled down in my favorite spot for writing, and look out the window at my yard. It gives me mixed signals, based on the mixed signals of the weather. There is snow, drifted in all the corners of my yard, on the patio, and covering all my plants. We just finished a large storm that kept us inside for 30 hours. But today, the sun gives us better news. The grass is green and free of snow. The sun is out, and it is about 50 degrees, reaching its sunny hands into all the places that shadow doesn’t hold. Water is pouring off the roof and down the gutters, and it is a gurgling, happy sound.

I guess I have my mixed signals as well.  While I am saddened about some things that go on around and in my life, I have happiness to go with it, and I am grateful.  While I haven’t written and expressed my feelings and thoughts on here for a while, I have the ability and drive to do so today. Again, I am grateful.  Being back in the saddle is a good feeling. I have no idea how long it will last, but it is a good day.

 

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Did I Win That Battle?…

I just had the fight of my life. It knocked me down, bruised me, and left me breathless. I was scraped and I scraped in return. It was exhausting. And not a finger was lifted.

I was in an argument with my daughter. My 11-year-old daughter.

I remember in vivid detail how she felt and smelled and sounded as I brought her home from the hospital, just 2 days after she was born. I remember when she smiled for the first time. I remember her walking, and riding a bike and …. you get the picture.  I DO NOT REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME SHE SNEERED AT ME.

It has come on so gradual. What the heck? Most times she is loving and caring. She comes home from school bubbly and warm, barely containing the good news that comes with … whatever school has to bring her that day. It is just those few times that I feel I have been through the wringer with her.

This time, I woke her up too soon to go to church. Granted, it was at 9:00 A.M., and that was even early for me. But nevertheless, it was time

to go, and I started waking her up gently. “Hi hon. It’s time to get up for church. Can you get up for me? Should I start the shower for you? (usually this gets a good response. no such luck this time.)”

What I heard in return was a groan, a comment that she was sick, and a grunt as she pulled the covers over her head.  From there, it got a bit ugly. Not all at once, you see. It just gradually turned into a battle of wills. She pushed my buttons, and in turn, I pushed hers. I didn’t even know I was acting like her! Like a child. Like a tween. And, I lost the battle.

It ended with a slap.

It ended with crying, and stony silence. It ended up in catastrophe.. Needless to say, church was a mess. Nothing was taken in, and nothing spiritual was to be let in our hard hearts. Even prayer was fruitless.  What did work was saying I Am Sorry.

Yes, it was me that uttered the apology. Yes, it was me that was supposed to. Yes, I had no idea whether she would accept it or not.

She did.

She broke down crying, and so did I.  Right there in the chapel. People thought we were caught up in the spirit of the Lord. We weren’t.  But we were caught up in the spirit of loving each other. Our bonds of love overcame the battle of wills, and I was so thankful. Sniffling, with tears running down my face, and my nose and eyes red, I came to know that my sweet girl was being just fine. She was doing exactly what she was supposed to do. She was being 11.

She rocked.

So now here I am, listening to her laugh as she runs up the stairs, the morning forgotten, and I wonder at the sweet child she is, and at the hormones that run through her body.  I wait for the next trigger and realize that it is me that needs to grow up. It is me that needs to have patience with her. It is me that needs more tenderness.

The battle that we had, was such a good lesson for me because I will remember the slap. I will remember the harsh words, and I will remember that she is my daughter. She is my labor of love. She is worth it.

 

Trying out a new story…

So here I am, writing for my 15 minutes. I really don’t know what to say today.

I have put in my time starting a story. It’s about a girl who is almost out of Julliard as a Cello player, has a wealthy boyfriend, and some good prospects. All she and her parents have trained her for are about to come to fruition. She is a small town girl who works hard to fit in with the New York crowd. She never wants to go back to small town life, in fact, and it doesn’t look like she has to. However her life takes a turn when all but 1 auditions fall through, and that audition takes her to Italy, where she knows no one, doesn’t know the language, or the atmosphere. She loses even that prospect and has to face that she may not be as good as she thinks she is.

Dejected, she starts the short journey to the airport when her wallet and identity are stolen. She is stuck and has to rely on others to survive in Italy. Through a kind man, she ends up playing in a small group for a traveling opera around the smaller regions of the country. She learns to rely on small town people to keep her going, and she finds a love of the country and a man.  She also finds out what it is to let go of fortune and fame, and embrace service and love.

I like it, but we will see how it really takes off, when I start fleshing it out.

 

That Worst/Best Memory…

 

 

 

I was asked to write about my strongest memory of heart-pounding, belly-twisting nervousness. The memory that pops up is one that still makes me cringe. It was something that made my stomach hurt, and my legs twitch. It felt surreal to me. I can’t remember who helped me get dressed that day or what was said, but before this happened, I was so sick inside that I couldn’t eat or drink. When the event came up I had a dry mouth and bad breath.

 

Not a good way to walk down the aisle to get married, eh?

 

Now, I know now that the man I married is my perfect companion, but it has taken every bit of the 21 years we have lived together to find that out. I love this man with all of my heart. He makes me happy, and I work every day to help him remember that he loves me, too.

 

We just had to grow up together to find that out.

 

When we started the journey, I was 19 years old and had decided that he was NOT the man for me. So imagine my surprise when he wiggled on in to my heart, in spite of circumstance and opinion. Before I knew what happened, I was in an enormous veil (the moms-in-law had made it together as a token of their … support…), an off white, 2-piece wool suit-dress (It was to be something I was to wear later, over and over again), and a baby bump. Now don’t get me wrong. The man I was marrying was an amazing man. He was strong and confidant. He was attractive and charismatic. He was….18.

 

The nervousness came simply because I was walking down the aisle. The aisle that represented a few things:

 

1. The vows that say “Till Death Do You Part”? In my part of town, it meant, “FOREVER, Whether You Are Dead Or Not, There IS No Getting Out Of This.”

 

2.Once we were married, we would be OLD.

 

3. We have no plan as far as having a job, or an apartment, or a life plan. AAAAAHHHH!

 

Man, that was a long aisle.

 

So there I was, in my hideous veil and dress, feeling like this was a pretend day. Maybe a practice day. I knew that some friends and class-mates were there. I knew there was a bishop to officiate the occasion. Even Mr. Butcher, the music teacher, was there to offer the music. And I knew that I had a 2 tier cake from Soelberg’s, the small-town grocery store (they did a beautiful job.).

 

I had all these things lined up, and I still felt that this was pretend. In the room upstairs where I was to wait for “The Music” to bring me down the stairs and down the aisle, my pits wouldn’t stop sweating. My makeup was running at the corners of my eyes, and my heart kept pounding.

 

What was wrong with me? I had already decided to go through with it, right? I had made my list of pro’s and con’s (mom taught me to do that for every hard decision in life. It was a close list, but my loving the man at the end of the aisle kind of bumped it over). I was even told, “You made your bed, now lie in it.” (That was my Aunt Marlene. Man, I didn’t like her at the time…). This was a day I should have been happy, right? Nope. I was terrified.

 

 

It didn’t occur to me that anyone else could have cold feet. I didn’t know there was a term, “Cold Feet“. Why should I? I wouldn’t normally be thinking of marriage at 19! Nevertheless, I had them big time. It just didn’t occur to me that any other woman, or man for that matter, could have questions like mine.  I just assumed I was the only one that couldn’t see the carpet under her feet, or the sunshine pouring in on this special day.

 

Thus the terrified look as I almost slunk down those stairs, then pushed my back straight, and walked down that path that brought me to him. To This. To Now.

 

I am so glad I went through my most terrifying moment. I am so glad I pushed through, instead of backing away. For me, I have spent my 20′s and 30′s with my best friend. We have gotten to see life as a couple. We have had some really scary, really hard, and really sucky times, but we have pushed through them. I think we got to push through them because we made the leap in the first place, to push through.

 

My man didn’t tell me until many years later that he had cold feet so bad he almost left me at the altar. Good for him.

 

 

 

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Being Happy…

 

 

 

Today is a good day. It is a bright day outside and the sun shines into my bedroom and on my pillow. I wake slowly and blink a few times, seeing it is time to get up. I know my goals for today are only one.

 

Be Happy.

 

I am coming out of a down time, and it is good news. It is good news because I am starting to notice my downs and ups by myself. I am starting to know what triggers downs and ups. And this time, I was right. I didn’t need to panic, or change what I was doing. I just got to trust that I would come out of it, and I did. That’s the good news.

 

I get showered and dressed, get breakfast and get my daughter up. I realize that I did all of that, and in doing it at all, I am winning. Just another sign that I’m on the up and up. Later in the day, I am up and around my kitchen, puttering and sweeping. Then off to the store and back again. Yep, I’m winning. I’m happy to be living life again.

 

It’s funny that sometimes doing the mundane can bring a smile to my face as easy as watching a comedy, or something else that is made to be funny. Sometimes just being in life is fun, and Happy.

 

 

Hmmm. So some other happy things that happened today are that my son and his fiance came over. They came to visit when they could be off doing other things. They are still visiting, and it’s been 4 hours. In that time, the women-folk tie-dyed t-shirts, made some nacho’s for all of us, and watched TV. The men-folk worked in the wood shop, fixing a table and raising up my sofa’s. (They were just too low. I hated it.)

 

It’s been a busy-ish, social, and mundane day.  And I loved it all. As it is winding down I realize that I achieved my goal: Be Happy. Thank goodness that I could be happy today. Thank goodness I had the strength and attitude to get up out of bed. It’s how I know I am done with my down-ness.

 

Woot.

 

 

How Bout A Little Old With The New?

I just spoke with a friend. She discussed with me some traditions she was keeping alive. Namely, baking cookies, just like her mom used to make. This brought to me a memory of my mom making doughnuts. OH MAN! Her doughnuts still make my mouth water. And I think half of the reason for it is because of the memory that goes with it.

She had a huge kitchen. The kind that held a big ol table, with the appliances all around it, just waiting for hoards of people to visit in it and help out with whatever meal or treat was on the counter. It was expected that if you are in the kitchen, you wash your hands and dig in to prepare it. That meant rolling out dough, and mixing ingredients in bowls, and stirring just-so on the stove.

I loved it.

Now, here I am with kids and a big kitchen of my own. My kids are older, and I have only had them help out a few times. To my eternal shame. I thought I was doing myself a favor because I could cook or bake faster with them out-of-the-way, but I have robbed myself and them of the memories to be made from the chaos that goes on in the kitchen.

Well, no more!

This is a new year. It is time for resolutions and new habits and whatnot.  For me, I will bring some of the past into the present and make my own memories with the kids, and my husband, who already cooks more than me. I will be baking with the kids at first (I enjoy that more than cooking), and then move on to meals.

Wish me luck as I bring sugar cookies and doughnuts into my home, and let the kids into the memories!

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