Breaking Up Is Hard to Do

We've been together for so long that I can't imagine not spending a day together.  You are the one I reach for first thing in the morning and many other times throughout the day.  You wake me up, you make me smile, and I like you a whole lot.

But lately I've made some new resolutions in my life, and you are a stumbling block if I want to succeed in my goals.  I've gotten emails and articles to read from friends outlining multiple reasons why we shouldn't be together and why you aren't good for me.  It's time I start listening.

I'm sorry, old friend, but we need to take a break.  I need to try to replace you with another less satisfying and less fulfilling.

I will miss you so very much, and hope to someday be happy with your replacement.

Ready or Not

I had asked for advance notice and thought I had 2 weeks before Jake and Mercedes and their 2 dogs moved out.  I made lists of things I wanted to buy to contribute to their new place.  I bought the ingredients to make their favorite meals for their last weeks at home.  I was readying myself for his departure, much in the same way I had readied myself for his arrival 21 years earlier, although with far less enthusiasm and anticipation.  Then Wednesday night, I got a text "We're actually going to move on Friday."  Lump in the throat.  I guess I didn't respond quickly enough because then came the next text "Sorry for the short notice, but Andy can get the box truck that day so we're just going to move everything then."  The lump began to make me feel like I couldn't breathe or would choke.  Then he walked through the door and looked at me... pathetic me with my lower lip trembling, my eyes filling up and unable to speak.  The next text said "Are you mad?"  I finally replied, "Not mad just very sad."  And then I got the text that released the tears I had been trying so very hard to hold back "I'm sad too.  Just know you'll always be my best girl." And with tears rolling down my face, I texted back "And you'll always be the first boy I ever loved."

The tears were tears of sadness, tears of pride and tears of love.  I have spent 21 years readying my boy for the time he would be out on his own, trying to teach him responsibility, kindness, love and a sense of right and wrong.  And in those years, there have been tears of happiness, sadness, frustration, anger but always love and pride. I have always believed in my boy and have always known he had it in him to make it on his own and to be successful, but sometimes I felt he didn't believe in himself.  I have said more than once "I show you and tell you the easy way and the straight road to get there, and why do you insist on always taking the detour?"  Yes, my boy likes to take the hard road, over the bumps and around the curves, usually at top speed, and there have been accidents along the way.  But now he's a little older and a little smarter, and maybe sees that Mom's way is a little easier road to travel.

Today I visited the new place.  He and his girlfriend of a year and a half have a loft in their friends' house.  The bedroom is small, but the loft area is big and will make a nice living room for them.  I watched him as he unloaded the bags of groceries and other things from the back of my car.  I watched him as he helped Mercedes put them away.  I watched as he proudly gave us the tour and showed us the things they had gotten for the new place.  I watched as he played with his dogs and took them outside.  And the lump returned. 

This lump was a different lump.  This lump was holding back the tears of pride, the tears of happiness because I wanted to jump up and down and say "We did it!" with much of the same feeling I had as he crossed the stage and received his high school diploma.  Gone was the boy who had been known to drive me crazy, the boy who used to say "Why can't I?  I'm old enough."  And gone was the answer I had always given to that question "You may be ready, but I'm not."  I was ready.  I was ready for him to take the next step in his adult life, ready for him to get his own place.  I was ready for him to take the next step in his relationship and share that place with Mercedes.  And I was ready to dry my tears, smile and hug him as we said goodbye and drove to our home and left him in his.

Confessions of a Hover Mother

Hi, my name is Beth, and I am a hover mother. Hey, admitting it is the first step, right?  I wasn't familiar with the term "hover mother" when my sister first labeled me one.  Urban dictionary defines it as an obnoxiously overprotective mother.  I'm only obnoxious sometimes, overprotective all the time. 

I have always, and I mean always wanted to be a mother.  I used to beg my parents to have another child, even though I already had 5 siblings.  But every time the baby became a toddler, I thought it was time to bring another baby home.  I loved babysitting, loved being the mother, even if it was just for an hour.  In my senior year, when I sat down with my guidance counselor, and he asked, "What do you want to be?", I answered "A mother."  He rephrased his question, "I mean, what do you want to do with your life?"  And I repeated, "I want to be a mother." He then showed me my good grades and my class rank, brought out various Ivy League school brochures and booklets and tried to convince me that I needed to choose a career and a good school to assure that I would do something with my life.  After I wasn't swayed, he suggested that I be a teacher so that I could "mother" lots of children, while still having a real job (his words).  I decided that would work and pursued that avenue. 

I never became a teacher.  Instead I achieved my own dream at the age of 21 when I became a mother.  I was a single mother, and my son was my life.  I felt guilty leaving him at daycare while I worked and would devote every minute between getting out of work and his bedtime to him. We ate what he wanted for supper, we played whatever game he wanted to play, we watched what he wanted to watch on TV. He was my baby, my best friend, my life, my love.

As a young child, he told me one day that he was going to live with me forever. He said he'd build a candy store in the backyard and sell candy for his job.  I held onto that promise and the joy that my boy never wanted to leave me. Hover mother...

Before long, he became a teenager, and his friends were his life.  He wanted to ride his bike miles to go hang out.  All right, maybe 3 miles, but it seemed like 10.  I had to know what he was wearing when he left just in case he was kidnapped, I had to have him call me when he arrived at his destination so I knew he had made it safely.  I had to know where he was, who he was with, what he was doing.  Separation anxiety was HUGE, and it was all me.  He was excited for the freedom and raced off with a quick "I love you" to go meet his friends, and I was left behind to worry until he got back home.  Hover mother...

Then he became an older teenager, and the bike was replaced by a car.  Now there were more worries: Who are you with?  Did you all wear seatbelts? Where did you go?  Did you get a ticket?  Don't drive fast, don't drink and drive, don't miss your curfew.  All these things I asked and said every time he left the house, and the "I love you" goodbyes became aggravated "I know's" and "You treat me like I'm 5."  Hover mother...

When he was out, I would call to ask what he was doing and when he would be home. He would answer and then tell me to text because he was with his friends and didn't want to talk.  What he didn't know was that I just wanted to hear his voice, that I missed him, that I was saddened that we were like passing ships, pretty much only saying good morning and good night.  I missed my baby.  Hover mother...

Now he's 21 and ready to move out.  I know that this is the natural progression.  Children are supposed to grow up and move out right?  And in my head I know this. I know that my kids aren't going to live with me forever no matter how much I want them to.  I know that he could have gone away to college or the military after high school and that I've already had 3 more years with him than some of his friends' parents have had with their children.  But in my heart, I wonder what he'll be doing every day.  Will he eat good?  Will he take care of himself?  Will he brush his teeth?   Will he have enough money?  Who will text me every day and ask "What's for din din, Mommy?"

I remember something my Dad told me years after he dropped me off at college when he said that as happy as he was when I went running off to make new friends and to embrace the new adventure in my life, that after he kissed me goodbye, he cried as he drove away.

And so this Hover Mother will try to hold back the tears, to be happy for him on his new adventure, but I will always have enough "din din" just in case he wants to come back, even if it's just for supper. 

Buzzkill Barb

Buzzkill Barb is a name my friend and I made up as a substitute for the old phrase Debbie Downer used to describe a person who puts a damper on your excitement, or a dream smasher.

I am a planner, I make lists, I research things, and I plan them out...maybe too much.  Don't get me wrong, I can be spontaneous and fly by the seat of my pants if I choose to, but I don't often choose to.  A prime example of this would be the first time I went to a Catholic church. It was for a wedding, and all was good, I could handle the times where we repeated things or the kneeling.  But then came the announcement "Turn to those around you and offer the standard greeting" or something similar to that.  Well, this Baptist girl did what any other Baptist girl would do in greeting time and turned to her neighbor with a smile and a "How are you doing?"  Well, apparently that can't be answered with the normal Catholic greeting response of "And also with you", but since I didn't say the normal greeting of "Peace be with you", my neighbor and I were at a dead silence to which I followed up with "I like your dress."  Yeah, I can fly by the seat of my pants with the best of 'em!

So fast forward to now...I am planning for our vacation to Disney World. We haven't been there in 5 years, and this year my mom and Jake's girlfriend are joining us. I researched almost daily for the best airfares, scanned the "last call resorts" for the best resort for the least money, and then scanned for the best deal on Disney tickets.   I did good. 

We always get a resort with a full kitchen.  I love to cook, and I love to save money even more, and feeding a family of 6 can get expensive.  So in order to make it fun, in my obsessive-compulsive way, I let each person choose their favorite meal for supper.  Then comes the list of meals and what needs to be brought with us and what needs to be bought at the grocery store there.  I mean, if someone's special meal involves a 1/2 tsp. of garlic powder, am I really going to buy a whole container in Florida when I can just throw the spice bottle in a suitcase with my coffee filters and electric skillet?  Ok, stop laughing, have you cooked pancakes and bacon for a family of 6 in a single frying pan?

On to the next list...the checking of the weather, the closest grocery store, the directions from the airport to the resort and from the resort to the parks.

Then there's the list of what to pack.  Again, it's not just throwing shorts and flip flops into a suitcase when you are packing for the family, or in particular, a very stylish 10 year old girl.

Today I felt good, the lists were done, things were getting checked off, I'm staying on top of the laundry so everyone has their favorite clothes clean and ready to be packed.  I excitedly got the Disney DVD out of the mailbox today and practically ran into the house to ask Nathan and Allie to watch it with me, only to be told, "Naaaa, I'm gonna go upstairs" and "I don't want to watch it.  I want to be surprised."  I must have looked sad because the last comment was followed up with "Sorry, but don't you want to be surprised about SOMETHING?"

Apparently, my careful planning, my excessive lists, my knowing exactly what the resort looks like and what they have for amenities and activities, and the exact car we are renting, and the seats we are sitting in on the plane, and what we will eat for every meal doesn't leave much of a surprise.

For the first time ever, I am a Buzzkill Barb, and I don't like it.

Pushing that Rewind Button

The "Rewind" button - used to go back to a previous time, whether used to hear a song again, go back to a favorite part of a movie, or simply to go back because you missed or didn't hear something and wanted to replay what you missed.

Today I want to push the rewind button, to some favorite parts of my life, to parts that I would like to relive, to times that I miss and would like to replay.

1.  Vacations ~ when all I had to do was make a pile of the clothes I wanted, and my mother would pack them in a suitcase, and I'd hop in the car, full of excitement for an adventure with my family.  I didn't pay for the vacation, I didn't have to find caretakers for our pets, and I didn't even pack for myself, much less make sure the whole family was packed and had all kinds of fun times awaiting them for the next week of their lives.

2.  Pregnancy tests ~ I remember sitting there counting down the minutes until I could look and see the answer.  It was much like sitting in the rollercoaster seat, going up the hill, filled with nervous excitement.  Then you near the top, the peak of the hill, you look at the test and see the + sign and then it's down the hill, arms raised high, cheering and filled with excitement for the rest of the ride and the uphills and downhills, twists and turns, and sometimes being completely upside down that await you.

3.  Wedding day ~ Everything was perfect, well-planned out to be perfect.  The bride and groom stare at each other with the stars in their eyes and nothing but love and happiness in their hearts.  I remember thinking "I will never be mad at this man, we will always be happy and agree on everything and never argue.  We will never experience hard times, and everything is now perfect."  Naive and hopeful was I, and 14 1/2 yrs later, we're still here together, being mad, not always agreeing, in hard and easy times, but the stars and love are still there.

4.  Mothering ~ when I was a young mother, it was just me and my son.  My world revolved around him.  After work, we did what he wanted to do, ate what he wanted to eat, and he had my undivided attention until he went to bed.  Then came a husband, more kids, more errands, sports practices and games, and life became a whole lot crazier.  There was a bigger house to clean, more time spent on errands, a bigger commute to work, and more people to care for and who needed my attention.  And as much as I love crazy and love how our family grew, some days I'd give anything for some time spent with each of my children, one on one, just enjoying each other.

5.  Footloose and fancy free ~ I remember when my time was my time, when I got out of school or work and had all the time in the world to do what I wanted to do and to fill with fun.  Sometimes that meant doing nothing but cruising around with friends to our favorite hangouts, sometimes it meant going shopping, sometimes concerts, but almost all of those times involved my friends.  I have had many crazy adventures that I never thought were crazy at the time, but now in my mature grown-up state of mind, I realize some were quite dangerous and are now the things that keep me up at night while my son is not yet home.

6.  Lessened knowledge ~ I definitely would like to rewind to a time when I knew NOTHING about cancer or pancreatitis, to a time when I didn't know anyone who had cancer, or when the only people I knew who were sick or were dying were elderly people, and not relatives or children.

7.  Fat clothes ~ How about a rewind to the time when the "fat clothes" in my closet were size 8?!?!

8.  Disagreements ~ I'd also like to rewind to a time when no one was mad at me or at least if anyone was, I was unaware of it and didn't feel the sense of loss of a friendship that was once a very big part of my life.

9.  Feeling Needed ~  I loved when my children were less independent.  I know that sounds odd, but I liked to feel needed, to feel that they needed me for rides, for company, for someone to talk to and for hugs and pick-me-ups when they felt down.  I enjoyed being the one they came to, the one whose advice they sought and the one they felt could make it all better.  Feeling needed is much better than feeling like a nuisance.

So can I push the rewind button every so often?  Can I have a wild night out with the girls, dancing and laughing, and staying out late?  Can ShBooms open again just for that one night?  Can I go back to the days when my babies were little?  Can I have my dad and Melanie back? Can Jake's pancreatitis and Grayson's leukemia go away?  Can I go back to my honeymoon in Aruba?  Can I go back to a size 8 and feel fat wearing it?  Can I have my friend back?  And can someone else pack for vacation? We leave Friday.

Voting and Labeling

Every time I log onto Facebook I'm asked what I'm thinking, and more times than not, I think to myself "I better not be honest here."  Lately I have had so many different thoughts running through my head, so many strong opinions and then times when I question myself as to whether I have an opinion on a subject at all, or I reflect on how my opinions have changed over time.

I have always considered myself to be stubborn and opinionated, and if I believe that I am right, I will argue my belief to the end.  But recently I've found myself questioning beliefs I have had for so many years, and I wonder if I'm softening over the years, or not being true to myself, or maybe just changing with the times.  Maybe things aren't as black and white as I once believed them to be.

I steer away from political discussions whenever they arise.  I dread voting.  There never seems to be a candidate who believes everything I believe, and then I am left relying on my Dad's advice to just choose the things that are most important to me, and try to choose the candidate who best supports the same beliefs.  Well, that is becoming more and more difficult for me in recent elections.  Maybe it's  because my beliefs aren't as black and white as they once were. Maybe it's because issues that once didn't personally impact me now do, but one thing is certain, I dread voting.  I wish the questions on the ballot weren't "yes" or "no" answers because my beliefs have conditions.  I wish the candidates didn't take positions on 10 different things, 4 of which you support and 6 of which you don't.  How do you pick which oval to color in?  And no, contrary to my sister's belief, you don't pick the more handsome candidate, although in thinking about it, the ovals I choose do seem to be the better-looking ones.

Another thing that has been troubling me lately, and if I'm being honest with myself, angers me is labeling.  We teach our children to be accepting of everyone, regardless of race, sexual preference or religious beliefs.  We teach our children to respect others and not to judge and not to bully.  Yet I see adults, some in positions of power, who do this all the time.  I believe people can change and that people make mistakes that shouldn't label them and define who they are for the rest of time. And sometimes these people are trying, really trying to break out of that label, to change sometimes from all that they've ever known, and to become better people.  They are trying, and for many it isn't easy.  They deserve a chance to rid themselves of that label, to learn from their mistakes and become the person they desire to be.  They do not deserve to be constantly reminded of their mistakes or to be told they are nothing more than that label.  Give them a chance and rejoice in their successes; praise and lift them up instead of stepping on them and pushing them right back down.

And finally, be true to you.  At the end of the day you have to defend your actions, your beliefs and your opinions.  Believe in yourself, believe that you are more than that label, believe that you can peel that label off and give yourself a new one, whatever you want it to be. 

Boston Strong

Other than the first year of my life being spent in Illinois and a year in South Carolina, I have lived in Massachusetts my whole life.  I have lived in small towns, and I have lived in a city, but Boston was never more than 90 minutes from my home.  To me, Boston meant a place to go when you wanted a good concert, a good sporting event, an exciting museum or aquarium or an airport to take you to fabulous vacation spots.  It was also a place of culture, of fancy restaurants and of some great people-watching. Never have I thought of it as a scary spot...until Monday.

During one of our state's biggest annual celebrations, and maybe THE biggest, there were two explosions.  As runners completed the 26-mile Boston marathon, some of them were not greeted by the smiling faces of their loved ones at the finish line but instead were confronted with a smoky barrier and police officers rerouting them and preventing them from going to the family members they knew were on the other side of that smoke.  A co-worker of my friend Maureen was at the Boston Marathon finish line with her two daughters waiting with excitement, anticipation and pride for her husband to cross that line and complete his first run of the historic event.  Instead, she soon found herself scared to death, grabbing her children in fear, disbelief and shock as the explosions went off, and they were shuffled away from the finish line.  They passed people lying on the ground, some bloody, some badly injured and everyone in absolute chaos.  These sights are what she and her daughters see even today, days later, every time they close their eyes.  Her husband writes about the experience in his blog. andsoitburns.blogspot.com

Yesterday morning on the way to work, Maureen and I were talking about how scary that experience was for Michelle and her family. Our talk led to how sad it is that a fun family event was now marred by fear and destruction and how so many people and children are going to be afraid to go to a crowded place or a big event anymore. We then talked about how scary it is to even be parents in this world and how overprotective we seem at times when our children want to sleep over a new friend's house or want to ride their bikes off the street, and how we try not to push our fears and distrust in this world onto our children because there are still good people and we don't want them to be afraid to live.

Yesterday afternoon that fear was tested. Through Facebook, I saw a newspaper status yesterday that indicated there was a missing 10 year old boy in Clinton. As I read on, I learned that boy was Maureen's son who was visiting family there on his school vacation.  I cannot begin to describe the fear that engulfed me.  I tried to call Maureen but got her voice mail.  After leaving her a hysterical message, I paced back and forth, "What do I do?  Do I drive to Clinton?  Can I make the 20 minute drive?", all while my heart was beating out of my chest, and I was overcome with hysterical sobbing.  I got a hold of Maureen's niece who assured me that Ross had been found and was safe.  As the afternoon progressed, I learned that he had been going for a run with his aunt, and after getting a head start, he took a wrong turn. Not knowing which way to go, he kept walking, hoping to see a familiar site.  Finally he came to an area that he knew was a way to get to another aunt's house and began walking there, only to find upon his arrival that they weren't home.  His parents, the local police, the state police, family and friends combed the neighborhood for hours before they decided to check familiar places where he might have gone, and there they found him resting outside his aunt's house, sunburned, thirsty and tired but SAFE.  He had traveled 12 miles trying to find his way, and I thank God that he had the strength and the determination to persevere until he found his way to safety and to be reunited with his family.  Plain and simply put, he is Boston Strong.

Terrifying events this week, and I pray that those involved in the horrific events at the Boston Marathon will also find their peace and their safe haven in the arms of those they love.