it’s complicated

Mother’s Day.

Who doesn’t think Mother’s Day is complicated…even just a little bit? I know it is with my Mommy Dearest and myself; but I like to imagine with my kids and me it’s okay…more than okay as they shower me with love via FaceTime, texts, cards, bath bombs, wine, chocolate, licorice, Hamilton lyrics and flowers.

It’s good to be Mom, y’all.

Then my beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy gifted me with a dozen roses delivered to The Big Top with a note expressing how he sees me as nicest, prettiest, smartest mom in the world, and I am done y’all. Done. Oh. My. Gawd. Yes. I cried.

He’s growing up. My baby boy. My fifth and final and youngest child. Grown up gifts, grown up cards with grown up sentiments and I…I am overwhelmed.

Then he comes to me to me at the end of the day overwhelmed in tears as he gives me the handmade gift he crafted at school.

I wanted you to have the most perfect day, Mom. I’m sorry that this can’t be perfect for you.

And, yes, I am a puddle of tears again.

It’s been a grueling, emotional time for this one…testing for his red-black belt in Tae Kwon Do, graduating from Middle School next week…so much more because, people, we are fifteen years old with angst and feelings and hormones.

I pause for a moment, snickering to myself remembering each and every mom in the whole, wide world who told me how much EASIER it is to raise up teen-aged boys, then I hugged my son as tightly as he would let me; whispering fiercely that this Mother’s Day was perfect – it was absolutely perfect.

After the flowers die, I have this, on my my bedside table to remind me. PS He reminded me again in this that I am the nicest, prettiest, smartest mom in the world

Mother’s Day, it’s complicated y’all. I have the BEST kids! Yes, sometimes I am certain that I don’t deserve them either.

Blessed.

I am.

 

 

for Mother’s Day

Have you seen what mothers want for Mother’s Day on Facebook?

Every year my children ask me the same question. After thinking about it, I decided I’d give them my real answer:
What do I want for Mother’s Day? I want you. I want you to keep coming around, I want you to bring your kids around, I want you to ask me questions, ask my advice, tell me your problems, ask for my opinion, ask for my help. I want you to come over and rant about your problems, rant about life, whatever. Tell me about your job, your worries, your kids, your fur babies. I want you to continue sharing your life with me. Come over and laugh with me, or laugh at me, I don’t care. Hearing you laugh is music to me.
I spent the better part of my life raising you the best way I knew how. Now, give me time to sit back and admire my work.
Raid my refrigerator, help yourself, I really don’t mind. In fact, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I want you to spend your money making a better life for you and your family, I have the things I need. I want to see you happy and healthy. When you ask me what I want for Mother’s Day, I say “nothing” because you’ve already been giving me my gift all year. I want you.

At first read, I sighed a little “Awww” because it’s such a sweet sentiment. Yes, this is exactly what I wish for Mother’s Day, and every day with my kids, now that four of them are grown. I will always be your mother; but now I kind of want your friendship. Except for the fact that I remember when I was your age.

Yeah, I know how that sounds and I also know that you’re rolling your eyes just a little – perhaps a lot if you are that one kid of mine.

But I do, kids. I do recall what it was like to be your age trying to figure out this adult life thing along with love and sex and relationships, balancing budgets, saving – or not saving, school, career, marriage, having babies, having more babies, and everything else that is adulting. I know that nothing filled me more with self-doubt and self-loathing as an adult than the advice that I never really asked for – and there was a lot of it – whether I asked for it or not – usually I did not ask for it.

And so, kids, I bite my tongue – A LOT.

I want to talk to you about your life, your loves, your friends, your school, your career. I definitely wonder if marriage is for you – and children. I want to know about who was that one guy on your Instagram and Snapchat. I am curious about your plans for school, your job, your career. I even want to see what your friends are sharing about you on that birthday tribute page.  I do, kids. I really do.

But I can still remember when I was your age.

Some things are private – for you – for me. As mom, I am not a fan. As a person who values the trust we have built together, you know, as friends, I do my best to respect you.

Yeah, I bite my tongue a lot.

But, my dear kids, I know that I raised up some pretty awesome people – because of, or perhaps in spite of my parenting. And that is why I am privileged to enjoy our conversations – when you ask me questions, ask my advice, tell me your problems, ask for my opinion, ask for my help. When you to come over and rant about your problems, rant about life, whatever. When you tell me about your job, your worries, your kids, your fur babies. I love when you laugh with me and, occasionally, when you laugh at me. I love when you are here, raiding my refrigerator and pantry too. Most of all, I love just hanging out with you – all of you. That time together reminds me what amazing people my children are and, yeah, I am going to take some credit for that.

I love you kids! Thank you for making me a mom. More than anything, that is the best Mother’s Day gift; all of you.

a day when even my lucky underpants don’t help

Was it a bad day for you too?

I mean, it’s not every day the Mother Of All Bombs gets dropped…RIGHT???!!! What else could happen? Two thin-skinned, narcissistic despots with nuclear weapons poised for a pissing contest – okay!

Was it a bad day for you too?

It couldn’t get any harder except for just navigating the day in pain. Yes, still. It couldn’t possibly get any harder, any more stressful.

Heh!

Not a stellar day in the life of parenting a neuro-diverse kid.

Gonna try harder. Gonna do better. Tomorrow. It’s all that I can do.

You know, Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocket ship underpants don’t help.”
~ Bill Watterson

mother, child, friend

Twenty five years ago, we met face to face for the very first time. That’s right folks, my Zoë Elizabeth is twenty five years old!

She steals my breath every time I regard her while basking in her warm, bright, shining face.

Twenty five years ago I was her mother and she was my child. Through the years we challenged one another in many ways. There were the times where I did find myself saying out loud, “I am not your friend, I am your mother.” I might have even screamed it through an abruptly slammed door. But that is part of being a parent. I won’t lie though, I wanted to be her friend. I really, really wanted to be her friend. I have always loved talking to her, laughing with her, playing with her. Yesterday she called me her friend and with her now at twenty five, we are at a place where we can be friends.

Always her mother, always my daughter, and now my friend.

Happy birthday cheers my darling daughter and friend!