Mother's Day- My Way

Today, I noticed an insane amount of people huddled around the Mother’s Day cards at the store, desperately trying to find “the one” that says exactly what they are feeling. Since I have never been one of the lucky ones who has been able to find someone who can sum up my thoughts in a .99 Hallmark diddy, I am left to come up with an original. So, on the eve of Mother’s Day, I am saving a trip down that aisle of crazy…

Thanks, Mom. 

Thank you for teaching me to cook.  Watching you make meal after meal not only fed your own three constantly hungry kiddos, but also is used to feed my troops today.

Thank you for teaching me to bake.  I feel closer to the women in my life, even those gone long before I ever got here, because of the legacy of love that comes in a worn card with the handwriting of past traditions and favorite birthday cakes.  I feel like I can hear them with me as I hand over their voices to the next generation. 

Thank you for showing me that brains trump beauty.  I never had to doubt I was good enough when I knew that my success and personal achievement were attributed to my own hard work and not a tube of mascara and a fake tan.  I have to admit, it is a bit comforting to know that all “those girls” are wrinkly and middle-aged just like me now, but I still can discuss classical literature at length.

Thank you for not letting me buy into peer pressure.  I grew up around some pretty spoiled kids.  I may have at times been lured off the path by fancy shoes, brand names, or expensive (and ridiculous) fads, but you were always quick to pull me back to reality.  I may not have had the money for fancy hairdos and product back then, but I was the only one who had a high school picture that had hair that fit into the frame.  I am very, very thankful for that now.

Thank you for no video games, and for the ability to imagine.  My favorite summer memories are of climbing trees, riding bikes, and jumping on inner tubes.  I still remember my riding route up to the bank and through all the teller drives.  Sorry if I used that imagination at times for evil and not good.  I should never have told Jarod that there were motorcycle murderers in our woods or that he was "found" because he had blonde hair.  In my defense, though, he did most of the things he told you I did. 

Thank you for wearing “bus stop clothes” instead of heels around my friends, dancing like a chicken, and driving a backfiring pickup truck on our class field trip.   After all, none of the muddy kids could’ve gotten back to school in those Jaguars and BMWs.

Thank you for checking on me when you got home late from work and I was sleeping.  I always felt better when my room smelled like hospital soap.  All was well in the world.  

Thanks for coming to watch me play sports, even when you didn’t know how you would afford to get in to see me.  You tried to hide it, but I knew.  And it made me play harder.

Thank you for telling me to write, even when I didn’t want to write.  I still want to be a surgeon.  I always will.  I guess dissecting sentences will have to do.  If only the pay could be the same…

Thank you for all the times I did not thank you- for not laughing at me when I tried to have a conversation on IV pain medication, or when I got 95 mosquito bites on a camping trip. Thanks for our shopping trips (even the grocery ones) when I am about to have a mental breakdown from solitary confinement.  Thanks for beeping when you drive past my house.  Thanks for calling me on your breaks.  Most days, you are the only adult I talk to, and the only outlet I have into the world outside my door.  I am thankful every day, and I really should say it more. So, starting with today, thank you.  Love you.

Oh, and sorry for the pink flamingo you got for a gift.  The kids thought you would love it.  I didn’t have the heart to say no.

The Reality of Irrationality

So, this morning I woke up to the sound of the school bus stopping in front of our house. I jumped up, ran to the door, frantically wondering if it was humanly possible to distract him long enough for my son to pull his pants on. My heart was thumping wildly as I glanced hesitantly out the window just in time to see the trash collectors throw the last of our bags into their truck and pull on down the road, sounding eerily similar to the school bus moments before.

I glanced at the clock. 4:00am. Yep.

I have realized over the years that motherhood awakens a whole new side of a woman that had never before appeared prior to the first baby squeal that erupts from the first small, squirming bundle that arrives into her life. Sometimes it comes across as pure elation, such as that moment when she does not notice that ten people are surrounding her in the labor room as she holds her baby that first time. Other times it is almost a surreal view of the world, as she stands back and watches life, HER life, swiftly swooshing by. But, in reality, the truth is that at the first moments of motherhood, we slowly but surely begin to lose our minds.

So much of the effort and work that goes into a mother's day is not for her own gain. She can work so hard on laundry, school projects, hair braids, birthday cupcakes, and scouting trip arrangements that she realizes as she heads out the door for a parent/teacher conference that she never got dressed. This is the first step in our slow demise into the reality of irrationality.

Sooner or later, she will begin to talk to imaginary children she thinks are in the kitchen as she is folding clothes in the laundry room. She will begin to have heartfelt discussions with other mothers on such subjects as diaper absorbency and acid reflux. She runs a household, balances a budget, enforces hygiene, manages peace talks, and feeds small nations all in the comfort of pink fuzzy slippers (which she forgot to take off and is now wearing as she pumps gas).

The reality of irrationality causes women who were once highly organized, skilled scholars and sophisticated success stories to forget when Fashion Week is, yet never to forget that it is Bobby Teddy Bear's birthday. The latest films are only cartoon characters or talking animals now. Music is good if it is barely tolerable. And time seems to all run into one very long, very crazy day.

I humbly admit that I am in the most advanced stages of irrationality now. Even my day-planner (aka My LIFE) cannot keep up with me now. I almost ran my child out to the trash truck, after all.

To Whom It May Concern

Lately, I have been more aware of the fact that people love to get involved in other people's business. This is not to be confused with those we want to be involved in decisions we have to make, or advice we are seeking. I am talking about those who are self-invited "involvists". This more than likely affects everyone on occasion, but I have found that after having kids there are involvists looming around every corner. In fact, they have become so prevalent in my own life, that I have begun to file them into categories. As they do their thing, I place them into the pre-labled mental file folder waiting just for them.

In my mind, these folders are now stuffing mental filing cabinets. It is time to spring clean, I suppose, and toss out some of my personal favorites. Please note that this is not to be confused with the wisdom and experience passed on to me from family and friends. That is safely stored in a totally separate cabinet under lock and key. The following are simply words that have floated my way that I like to refer to as my "To Whom It May Concern" pile...

Folder 1 (Environmental Folder)- Funny how there are so many experts who like to preach to moms with lots of kids about carbon footprints. Yes, I AM aware that we probably have more clothes to wash than you, and that our SUV is nothing more than a devil vehicle, but give me a break. You fly to Florida and fill the ocean with oil byproducts on your cruises. That HAS to be worse. Also, last time I checked, all that energy used to wash my dishes trumped all that packaging of your Lean Cuisines.

Folder 2 (Funny Guy Folder)- This folder, unfortunately has many, many pages (an environmental downfall, for sure) that say exactly the same thing. So, here is the answer for all the past and future jokers who think that reproduction jokes are funny- Yes, I HAVE figured out how it happens...

Folder 3 (Well, I Would Folder)- This advice tends to be from all the people who have offspring who should be dropped onto an island that is escape-proof, yet feel that they are quite successful in their parenting techniques and must, therefore, be critical of mine. To these sad, strange mental cases who thrive on denial, I would like to donate the money from recycling your folder to some intensive therapy for your troubled children.

Folder 4 (Trouble Makers)- I am lining my rabbit cage with your folder as we speak...

Folder 5 (Old Wives Tales)- This folder contains all the priceless offerings of those older sages of wisdom who have given me such pearls of advice as not swimming while pregnant to avoid drowning my baby, and that babies with a lot of hair make you sick. To these grand spinners of legend, I promise to pass your folder on to the next generation, as long as the whole swimming thing really is not true.

Enough cleaning for now. I have probably filled a landfill. Oops, I meant a recycling bin...

What I Know...

This is the start of something new for me. For this small moment in time, I am escaping from what I am supposed to be and trying to be what I think I can be. You do not know me, I could be anyone you pass by- the one you bought coffee in the drive-thru this morning, the one you honked at for stopping to let someone walk across the street. I am still that person who was not acceptable to you before on your terms, yet somehow is now a friend here on mine. I am going to let you in, and, for just a moment, you are with me...

The first thing that I remember learning in Journalism is to write about what you know. No one will believe you if you don't, and you will never convince anyone of anything otherwise. I know that the world is full of goodness, though sometimes it gets clouded over by evil. I know that nothing is more priceless than holding a newborn for the first time. I know that money, or the lack of, gives you a true glimpse of a person's true personality. No one really is secure about themselves, and the world does not owe you anything.