360 days

360 Days till departure.

Today was a pretty typical day, you and your sister playing and sharing secrets. The two of you both told me you were going to read in the hammocks, and every time I looked out the window there you were talking to each other. I have no idea if any reading took place, but I know that cementing your bond was definitely accomplished.

361 Days

361 till departure 

Today my daughter and I gave blood. I am borderline anemic and I get deferred more times than I am able to donate, but every time I am accepted for donation, I cannot help but feel personally connected to humanity in a spiritual way. 

I will tell anyone who wants to listen about my positive feelings regarding donating, and last year when my oldest was age eligible to donate herself, she did. To say I was proud is an understatement; I mean there is such an immense swelling of all the good feels when you realize that your kids not only listen when you speak of your values, but also choose to put them into practice. It truly is a sublime feeling. 

Given my history of deferment, we assumed iron levels may also be an issue for my oldest and sure enough the second time she tried to donate she was deferred. She took it in stride but I know that it bothered her, because in the weeks leading up to today’s donation, she tried to do everything she could to ensure there would be success. Thankfully, there was success, but it came from an unexpected source; yes, we were both able to donate, sure, it was something we did together, and yes, she directly saw her efforts to improve her chances rewarded. But the really success came from what we learned while at the drive, for you see, today’s blood drive was being held in honor of child that we know who has leukemia. 

This child is the same age and grade as mine, and every day since I have learned about this child, I have been thinking of them and sending them all my thoughts and prayers. Giving blood felt like a way to control the total randomness of life where some kids get sick while others never do. It felt good to combat that helpless feeling by doing something concrete and something so physically impactful. 

While at the drive, looking at my own child who is healthy enough to donate her blood to others, I saw the father of the child who we were all there to support. My heart was heavy, but then I overheard him sharing a story of how his child’s prognosis is really good and many of the positive outcomes they were hoping for so far have come true. 

There are always those moments when I think about that phrase, “There before the grace of god go I.” Today, as I was spending time being grateful for this other child’s improving health, I also said a prayer thanking the universe that my main heartache is nothing more than the fact that my own child is growing up.

362 Days

362 till departure 

There are good days too. Today my family surprised me with a nostalgic trip to Storyland. Both Mike and I went as children and we enjoyed many family trips here when our kids were little. I think they all thought that I might cheer me up to take a walk down memory lane....they were right. 

We did everything just like when they were little, except this time we didn’t have to worry about diaper bags, or carrying anyone when they got too tired of walking, or negotiating who was going to sit next to who on the ride. It was a good reminder that if I allow myself to think about it differently, there are some benefits to them growing up. 

There was one bittersweet moment at the back of the park where the tractor ride is, when the two of them remembered how they used to fight over which color car they were going to ride in. My youngest made a comment about how simple life used to be back when the biggest drama in her life was not getting the right color car. We were all waxing nostalgic as we got on our tractor only to find out that we are all too big to sit in the front seat. 

Today was filled with laugher and play, and it just felt so damn good to be happy. I love my family, and I am so grateful for the life we get to live together.

363 Days

363 Days 

 The downside of writing this journal/blog/confessional is people seeking me out to share their similar feelings. There are moments in the day when I can pretend our inevitable separation will not happen and then someone stops to chat and share that they too are going through a separation, and just like I suspected, it feels awful. 

I am glad to know I am not alone, after all misery loves company, but I am sad to know this is real, as it makes pretending it’s not…impossible. 

Speaking of misery loving company, I am not the only one in our house with deep feelings about this. My sophomore is also going through a difficult time as she reconciles that it is inevitable that she too is going to grow up. As we were driving home today, she put on T. Swift’s “Never Grow Up” and sincerely asked the universe why she couldn’t just stay young forever. My heart broke in a thousand pieces, for her, for me, and for everyone who wrestles with the finality of the human experience. We both had tears rolling down our cheeks which made us also laugh and then I assured her that no matter what, she will always be my baby. Yes, it is true that she will always be my baby, and in the saying of that I recognized how wrong it would be of me to selfishly keep her to myself. She is a beacon of light that was put on this earth to shine. Both my children are, and tonight that truth is comfort enough.

364 days till departure

364 days I did not sleep last night. 

The anticipation of this milestone was so built up that I could not get my mind to shut off. I spent a lot of time thinking about the past and how bizarre time is. A memory that I kept turning over was when we were in our baby play group and you were a newborn and I was horrified when a toddler came over to our blanket to touch you. Our group was for parents of new babies but the baby didn’t have to your first-born. Many parents brought their newborn along with an older sibling. At the time, the toddlers stood out to me; they were like wild monkeys just roaming around touching everything, putting everything in their mouths, just being sticky and smelly. (For the record I had some undiagnosed post-partum depression at that time, toddlers of the world please forgive me.) I remember thinking how pure and serene newborn life and routine was compared to the world of parents with toddlers. Then at some point I blinked and the next thing I knew I was in the same group but with your newborn sister and you were the toddler monkey, touching other people’s babies. 

The time warp just keeps happening. I can remember when our friends with older kids were seniors (now they are college graduates) and decorating their cars to arrive to school on the first day declaring their senior status. I swear to you, it was just yesterday, but somehow time screwed with me again and it was actually today that it was your turn to go off to your senior year in your decorated car. 

When you came home today you seemed very content. I tried to pry every detail out of you, not because I care who wore what, or ate what, or sat next to who, but because every single moment that I am with you I am aware of that trickster time, and I do not want to blink again and find myself wondering what happened to this last year.

365 days till departure

365 days till I presume you leave me. It may actually be sooner, it may actually be later, but I do know that it is inevitable and I don’t like it. 

Tomorrow is the first day of your senior year, your last first day of high school as a student, (I will not rule out the possibility that you could be a teacher, let’s be honest you can be anything you want) and it is the start of the beginning of your life that will be separate from me. 

I am going to write you a letter each of these 365 days. I know that the time will come when we don’t live together, but if there is ever a time where you need to hear my voice and you can’t get me on the phone, where you need to be comforted and I am not there to hold you, you will have my words and my thoughts and I hope that it will provide support until we can be together. 

I am going to put these out in public so you can always find them and so others can remind you, to never forget your mother :)

Achievement At The Highest Level

Yesterday, I peaked. Seriously I accomplished one of the major goals of my life. Quite frankly I am in awe that it happened at all and a bit worried about where I go from here. By now you are probably wondering what this major accomplishment is, and yes, I will tell you, but first---you must promise not to laugh. Yesterday, I was able to French Braid my daughter's hair.

This may not seem like much, but believe me when I tell you , this really is a proud moment. Growing up in a house of males there was not much braiding going around; in fact there was not much personal hygiene to speak off. I suppose that is unfair, my dad did take two showers a day, but somehow his cleanliness never rubbed off on my brother or I. I can not recall a single incident in our lives where he ever told us to "wash-up," "brush our teeth," or "take a bath." I think he assumed that peer pressure would take care of us, that we would feel shame at being the smelly kids in school, and in fact he was right. But though we may have known to wash, brush and bathe, we did not necessarily do it well. And though you could always wear clean clothes over your unbathed body, keep your mouth shut if your teeth were not brushed, it was a whole other thing to try and hide an unwashed, or worse, unbrushed, head of long tangled hair.

My dad was clueless about my hair, and with no one at home to show me, I was left to figure out hair grooming by myself. I had very long, black hair. It could have been pretty, but as it was uncared for, it always seemed to be a liability to my social status, rather than an asset. In a classroom full of girls who's moms would braid, barrette, feather, or (the height of glamour) banana curl their daughters' hair, my tangled "rat's tails"--so aptly named by my classmates was an on-going sore spot for me.

To illustrate how clueless I was about hair I offer this story....After weeks of complaining about the tangles and knots in my hair, my neighbor's mom bought me a bottle of Prell conditioner. I can still recall how beautiful the pearlized mint green conditioner was, and how excited I was that I finally was going to tame my hair and become one of the beautiful and popular girls in my class. I took that bottle home and told my dad and brother to stay out of the bathroom as I was going to undergo a transformation. About an hour later my dad knocked on the door to ask what I was crying about. It didn't take him but a moment to realize what I had done. Never having had conditioner before, I did not know how to use it, and I used the entire bottle on my hair. That lovely pearlized mint green PETROLEUM product would not wash out. Needless to say there were a lot of hats worn for the next two weeks.

This is just one of many stories I could tell about my hair mishaps. Somehow, as is human nature, I was able to adjust and get over my hair misfortunes. That was until I had a daughter.

Luckily my first daughter was born bald, and actually stayed that way until two years old, when some adorable auburn brown curls began to appear. Alleluia!, the gods had spared me, they gave me a child with curls, and curls, so I thought, have a way of taking care of themselves. That was until she went to pre-school, and I saw all the other girls in barrettes, pig-tails, freaking banana curls-still!--and of course braids. My daughter is beautiful, inside and out, and she never asked once for anything to be done with her hair, but I was damned if she was going to be that girl who dumped a whole bottle of god knows what into her hair because her mother never taught her anything. So I began practicing my braids. I practiced on the dolls in our house, on some of my friends, and on my daughter, who never once complained as I tugged and pulled to try and hold the tension in my braid. As the adage says, practice makes perfect, and they were right. Yesterday, I sent my daughter to school with not one, but two, near perfect French Braids!

I know I have many more milestones to go as a mom. And it is not lost on me that the true measure of my parenting is my well-adjusted, happy, kind child. But I would be lying if I didn't admit that it also feels really great to exorcize those old demons too!