December Is...

December. The mere word seems to send so many into a tailspin.  It is a word that has become synonymous with stress and rushing around like a colony of ants. We can forget can’t we?  We can let all of the necessities and commitments feel like lead burdens around our neck. We have those December list don’t we? And we check them twice.

But December isn’t have-to’s and need-to’s.  It isn’t watching the Joneses and feeling green with envy. December isn’t meant for stress and strife, and it isn’t about obligation. December isn’t envying what the other moms, or dads, or co-workers are doing, and it certainly isn’t doing it better.  December isn’t rampant maniacal running to and fro. It isn’t “I haven’t got a thing to wear!” December isn’t meant to be the month of dreading and draining and dragging. It shouldn’t be must-do’s and “oh my I am out time!” It’s December. It’s December. Have you forgotten? Try and remember what this month means to some, to a child?  If the mere mention of December brings about anxiety and stress, perhaps it’d be better if we tried to remember what December IS?

December is tinsel and twinkle and treasure.

It is sparkle and snowflakes and celebration.

It is candlelight, strings-of-light, and starlight.

December is tradition great and small.

It is taking a running leap at a patch of ice on the sidewalk and careening toward a snowbank at warp speed.

It is the shoosh of ice skates on a frozen pond and the rumble of plows that drive by on a winter night.

December is the thrill of flying on a snowboard, a sled or on skis. It is the cold air stinging your cheeks.

It is itchy toes warming up.

December is honoring our heritage and our beliefs.

It is lighting candles in celebration, in remembering.

It is prayer.

It is majesty.

December is snuggling under a fuzzy blanket with just the soft light and sweet smell of the tree to accompany you.

December is food; mouth-watering, sweet, salty, stunning, glorious food that gathers us together.

It is the satisfying hum from the voices of those you love all in one place.

It is smiling.

It is kissing and hugging.

It is giving of your time, of your talent, and of things that are needed.

December is slow and steady and stillness

December is music; both old and new.

December is magic and moments.

December is love.

The Most Meaningful Moment

After pulling the flannel nightgown over my head, I sat down in my worn rocking chair and text Son1:

I leaned my head back waiting for a response and smiled. It had been a particularly satisfying weekend. Son1 was home from college with Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend so they could rehearse for a Christmas show they'll be performing in soon. The time spent together was chuck full of intellectual college-type talk; psychological theory, professors who rock, assignments that don't, time spent with roommates and on and on. 

I opened my eyes and looked at the phone...no response. Hmmm. Usually I get a text from Son1 when he arrives safely back into the arms of his dorm suite because, well, I may perhaps be a bit of a worrier...just maybe, and he knows me so well. (And...no...I didn't expect him to answer if he was driving...Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend would answer for him typically under that scenario.)

I continued to stare at the screen, willing it to answer. It didn't and so I text:

Knowing myself, I got up from my chair and went to the bathroom to wash my face and to keep my mind occupied. I scrubbed away still smiling at the time spent with those two crazy kids...adults...kid-adults...Anywhooo...I was smiling, smiling large. I smushed that smile along with the rest of my face into a fluffy towel, patted it dry and walked back to my chair where the phone rested. Nothing...nothing at all. Just two lonely green talk bubbles with my texts echoing on a vast white screen. And looking back on it now, that's when it probably happened...my gruesome mom-imagination kicked in...It started as a flash of an image; a car turned over laying on its roof, two pieces of my heart laying in hospital beds. Cell phones flung hither and yon not to be found and so no way for the emergency officials to know how to find me...the mom.  From there my brain moved on to some freak snow storm that somehow fell just on the Mass Turnpike, dumping feet and feet of the slippery white stuff and forcing Son1 to pull off the road. There they'd sit, stranded...gas light on...contemplating wrapping the seat upholstery around their feet so that they could walk to safety. (Clearly I watch wayyyy too much reality tv!) 

I stood up quick and waved my hand to clear my frantic and overworked mind, picked up the phone and text:

When he didn't answer, I moved on to Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend--no answer there. I decided on one more desperate text:

After 6 or 7 (or maybe 8)  direct phone calls to both Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend's and Son1's phone, both of which went directly to voice mail fueling the cellphone-has-flown-out-of-the-car-during-a-bloody-car-wreck theory, I went sort of crazy. (Okay, crazIER than just five minutes before.) I will spare you the minute details of that mini-breakdown but they just may include a frantic call to my local state police office inquiring about how to find out about accidents on state roads, a Facebook message to Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend's mother and perhaps one to a suite-mate of Son1's (although if pressed I will plead the 5th...) Those details may also include a manic and rude awakening of Son1's step-father where I MAY have cried a bit telling him the gruesome details of what I thought had befallen my two dear college students...All of those things MAY have taken place (but once again, if asked directly I will deny, deny and deeeeee--ny!)

Just as I was about to unleash my wrath on a bureaucrat at the state police office who actually had the gall to speak to me as if I was a tad out of my mind (CAN YOU IMAGINE????) the phone buzzed with a call on the second line. It was Son1 apologizing...his phone had died and there was no time to charge it before he and Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend had to dash off to acapella rehearsal. 

Instantly...instantly my shoulders came out of my ears, the nervous maniacal stomach butterflies flew away and I found myself laughing out loud. I plopped down on my bed, and while some of you are probably wondering if my relief soon turned to anger, it didn't. Not at all. 

Here's the thing--he's doing it. Son1 is doing it. Everything that I have ever dreamed for him; every-single-thing. I wanted him to take risks. He is. I wanted him to get involved. He is. I dreamed that he'd use his God-given talents. He is. I hoped that he'd know how very worthy he was of friends, and camaraderie, and relationships galore. He does. I imagined him growing and thinking and changing in an intellectual community that carried him into adulthood. He's doing just that. 

Mamas, for years we dream and we want and we hope and imagine for our children. While we're in the thick of it...the raising years, the nail biting years, the holy-moly-where-did-this-surly-alien-being-come-from years it doesn't feel as if any of those dreams, wants, hopes and imaginings will ever come to fruition.  How could they when they can't pack a backpack, or pick up garbage that is right in front of them, or manage to wash their underwear more than once a month (if that...)? It seems as if all the things that we wish for our children will never ever come true. But let me tell you Mudders...it will happen. It WILL, and when it does, when we finally understand that they are off...that their wings are spread and they are flying at an altitude that seems downright amazing...when that moment of  realization hits--the feeling, well, it's breathtakingly beautiful. Even if just five minutes before because of a mistake on their part you were convinced that they were lying dead in a ditch somewhere, you will laugh...laugh out loud, because honestly I am not sure that there will ever be a moment more important, more meaningful than the one where it dawns on us that our children are going to be just fine as adults. Just fine indeed. 

An Open Letter to my Son's Drug Dealer | Mamalode

Thanks, dear drug dealer. Just thank you.



An Open Letter to my Son's Drug Dealer | Mamalode

An Open Letter to the Drug Addict Who Turned In My Son

Dear Drug Addict, Drug Dealer, Ex Friend of My Son,

You turned him in to the police. In his words, you ratted on him. To him, you are a narc, a stool pigeon. He, my son, is angry and disillusioned  and hurt. After all, you sniffed together, toked together, sold drugs to other people's children' together and stole together to support your habits. He doesn't understand why his "boy" turned him in. He--will never forget this act of disloyalty. He will never forgive it.

Then there's me. How do I feel about you? Believe it or not I am so incredibly grateful, so very grateful. In fact, this blog post is meant as a thank you. Thank you for turning him in. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thanks...

I will admit that from the moment the two of you met, way back in kindergarten, I warned my son about you. I told him that you were bad news. But he didn't listen, and you and he bonded over illicit illegal activities and your broken homes.  But I was wrong. I am surprisingly happy that the two of you found each other. If you hadn't, he may still be out there, on the streets, doing drugs, getting high, selling to the sons and daughters of worried parents. He'd still be out there with you or someone else stealing, taking things that belonged to others and selling them in a way that gives no regard to the many he was hurting. Instead, he's sitting in a cell awaiting his indictment.  And for the first time, for the first time in two years, he's clean. He's detoxed. He's sleeping. He's had to face reality without the haze and fog of illegal substances.

Although his health alone is enough to thank you, it isn't the biggest reason that I am grateful. Nope. Not the biggest reason at all. You see for the last two  years I have been fighting a losing battle against formidable fierce foes, and no matter what weapon I used against them, I was sorely beaten. The biggest enemy, the giant named "The System" fights back with ludicrous laws and wields its powerful apathy, relentless relentless apathy. I will admit that I have crawled into many corners licking my wounds because of this enemy and had all but given up. But then you came along, and with one fell swipe of a  pen took down that system and all of its  might. And you may not know this but by doing so, by turning him in to save yourself, you became a soldier in my army to fight against all that you love; drugs, crime, lying, sneaking and dishonesty.

Because of you, I have slept for the first time in two years without worry, without nightmares that taunt me with my son's seemingly impending death, without fear.  For the first time  in many many months I have hope.  Because of his arrest, he'll plea in court. He'll take a plea and go to rehab. Rehab! And then he'll spend the next five years on probation.

Now I am not sure what my son will do in rehab or out of rehab. It may be a fresh start or a dead end. Those decisions are his and his alone. But whatever happens in the future, no matter what, you have given this long suffering mother a reprieve. If he chooses to take some help then I can rest easy. If he chooses to return to his life of drugs and law breaking, I can also rest easy for five years, thanks to a probation sentence that will return him to jail if he violates the terms.

So you see, oh Man-who-turned-my-son-in, you have done what I thought was impossible, what I have unsuccessfully tried to do for two years. You managed not only to get my child out of the toxic poisonous environment that perpetuated his drug use and pain, but by selling him out you set in motion a safety net that makes it so he is, for awhile, not without support. And for that, I am forever in your debt...

An Open Letter to The Tech-Distracted Dad in Dennys

Dear Daddy With the Phone and Beautiful Son,

I watched you and your son today. At first it was because the two of you together gave me such a warm feeling sitting there side by side on one side of a booth. I admired you for possibly making a decision to sit next to your son instead of across from him. That intimacy was nice to imagine...and it seems that that was all I was doing...imagining. Very quickly my opinion of you changed and truly my heart broke for both your son and you. What a waste your breakfast was. What a waste of a moment you will never get back.

While your son poked away at his banana french toast, your meal went untouched. Your head was down, fingers flying across the screen of a smart phone. You sat in silence. No one spoke for 10 straight minutes. Yes...I timed it. I. Timed. It. While you amused yourself with texts and games and Facebook, your son swung his legs, put a few bites of food in his mouth and stared off into space. Every once in awhile, he'd look over at me. I'd smile. But he was shy, not really trusting my friendliness. But I kept staring, willing you to pick up your head and meet my eyes. But you never did. You never did.

That son of yours, he's beautiful. His eyes are so big and so clear. Have you ever looked into them? Do they stay with you the way they have stayed with me? What do you think he saw with those eyes today? I know, if you don't. He saw a father that was completely and utterly checked out. He saw a father who didn't understand the miracle that was sitting next to him. He saw a father who was more interested in words and games and images then he was with the flesh and blood and a vessel of feelings. He kept looking at you hoping that he was noticeable. And unfortunately he never saw himself as that. He never did.

There was a moment...a very quick moment...in which I thought that you were going to prove me wrong, that perhaps the inattentiveness was just a fluke. You raised your head. My heart leaped and so did your son's. I saw it in those beautiful eyes and in the way he snapped to attention and sat up straight and tall. "Here I am daddy!" he seemed to say. I waited holding my breath to see if the interaction you were about to have would be a deep one, a necessary one, a meaningful one. It wasn't. It wasn't at all. "Be sure you eat those bananas" you said staring at his plate, and you instantly went back to your phone surfing. So you missed it. You missed his distress. He crumbled. I am not sure it was because he didn't like bananas or because of your inability to see your son as a human who needs you and your attention and your wisdom and your eyes gazing into his and your support and your love...good gracious...he needs your love. After you looked away, his gorgeous face squeezed into one thousand muscle contractions of pain. Those gorgeous eyes shined with pooled tears and his mouth opened in one of those heart breaking silent cries. He cried silently for 3 minutes. Yes...I timed it. I. Timed. It. And you never looked over. You never reached for him. You never stole one of those bananas and elbowed him in jest. You didn't notice the silent cry. But I did and I can't forget it.

When the crying subsided, a change came over that angelic face. Your son made a decision. He was GOING to get your attention no matter what. At first he tried to impress you. All decked out in his soccer uniform, cleats, socks, jersey, and shorts, he stood up and practiced his kicks. He kicked over and over and over and over glancing at you after each and every kick. Very soon those kicks changed. It was almost undetectable, but there was a change. Those kicks became fiercer. He grunted with each one and swung his leg hard. He stopped looking at you and zoned in on those violent air kicks. I wonder what he imagined was at the end of them. Maybe I don't wonder...When the kicks didn't work, that son of yours crawled under the restaurant table. He was old to do that. Had to be at least 8. But that didn't matter. He was under the table, legs sprawled across your feet. Did you feel them? You didn't indicate so. Then he got up on his knees, head crouched down and he started rocking the loose chair across from you. Did you see it? You didn't indicate so. When that didn't work, he got up and my heart jumped into my throat as he walked away from the table toward the door. He clearly had enough. He marched with purpose one, five, ten strides and then...well then he looked back with that old hope in his beautiful eyes. You finally noticed. You finally looked up from the sanctified phone. "We are going in a sec," you mumbled. And then you shifted your attention to the meal. "Wow! That was an expensive breakfast!" you exclaimed. Yes sir, yes sir it was. It was a very expensive breakfast but not in the way that you were talking about.

That breakfast cost you. It cost you a great deal. It cost you the chance to connect with your son one-on-one, man-to-man. It cost you a moment to talk about the game, to teach him about sportsmanship, to tell him how much you enjoy watching him play or smile or kick or chat with his teammates. It cost you the privilege of perhaps teaching him what a man SHOULD be like as a father. It cost you seconds, minutes, an hour of gazing into those beautiful eyes. That is time that you will NEVER have refunded. It cost you a chance to high five him, to tell him a joke, to ask him about school or to help him solve a problem. Oh sir, it cost you, and if you continue on this tech-obsessed road, you will end up very poor indeed.

I have been doing this parenting thing for a long time and I can tell you for sure, I can promise you without a wavering certainty that you will ultimately one day lose the greatest riches that has ever been bestowed upon you. Your inattentiveness, your inability to connect, your lack of respect for the human that you created will cost you your son. And trust me when I say that when that day comes, you will look back and wish that you had been the father that he needed. You will wish that you taught him what a father/son relationship should be like. You will wish that you had been present in triumphs and his mistakes. And by "present" I mean THERE really THERE telling him what's right, what's wrong, how to be a successful human, how to grow into a confident adult, how to respect women like his mother and perhaps a sister. You'll wish that you looked into his eyes more often and marveled at the beauty of them. You will lose him--mentally, or physically or emotionally or a combination of all three.

Is your phone more important than the relationship you have with your son? Moment to moment it may feel urgent. It may feel more important. Business calls. You and his mom are divorced and you are trying to connect with a new woman. You may even be doing it to spite that ex spouse or baby mama without even knowing you are. But I ask you again sir, how will your inattentiveness effect your son's future? Have you ever thought about it? How will you feel if there comes a time, when breakfasts with him, chats with him, watching him play soccer is no longer an option? He'll rebel. He will rebel. A child without the guidance of a responsible father will soon feel angry and resentful and unimportant and he or she will inevitably turn to someone or someTHING else to fill the hole? What will you do then? Do you think your phone will give you the answer?

I Can't. I Won't. I Must. | Mamalode

A miracle pregnancy. An blissful father. An ambivalent mother. Click the link below. 



I Can't. I Won't. I Must. | Mamalode

 

Feeling Desperate?

Desperation is certainly an emotion that is felt by humans more than once throughout our lives.  It isn't solely a depressed emotion, or a poor emotion, or a lonely emotion.  Desperation thwacks us all--ALL. Perhaps desperation feels worse when things, the big things, are what's causing it.  Perhaps someone has lost a family member or a whole family.  Perhaps a single mom can't pay the bills or feed her children.  Perhaps a beloved job has been lost.  Perhaps a family home has burned to the ground, or someone has received news of a terminal illness.  These big things; family, money, jobs, homes and health are usually what give us comfort and keep us going.  However, if these things are all of a sudden taken from us somehow, I am sure--I know--it would feel like we've been set upon a surf board on a 80 ft. wave with a massive rip current underneath.  Nothing on which to lean. So what would help us keep our balance?  

This is a question I have been pondering over the last week.  There are so many who don't have the safety and love and security of family, work and home and health.  What keeps them going when the big things are gone?  What would keep me going if those big things suddenly disappeared?  More importantly, besides the big things, what are the little things I would miss if I suddenly disappeared?  

So for the last 48 hours, I have been paying attention to my days, my hours, my minutes, my split seconds.  I took stock of my life's little joys, and what I've found is that when putting my mind to it, there are so many wonderful seemingly insignificant things in this world that bring a sense of satisfaction and even happiness that I have never really even considered.  

Take yesterday for instance, I made homemade spaghetti sauce with meatballs.  As I was preparing the food, I imagined never being able to do that particular task again.  What I found was that there were so many things that I'd miss: the smell of garlic on my fingers after dicing, the tangy taste of sauce on my tongue while sampling, the pure feeling of satisfaction when a recipe comes together, the super smells that waft through the house when using a crock pot.  All of these I'd miss if I were suddenly gone.  

Last night, after a taxing day with my daughter, my husband gave me a foot rub and while that is one of life's BIG pleasures, I tried to break the act down into the small things that just make life spectacular.  I learned that even without a sweet husband, there were amazing things about my feet (yes I said my feet) and that rub that I'd miss if I suddenly disappeared.  Don't you just love the feeling of relief you get when you finally sit down after a long day and kick off your shoes?  What about rolling your ankles in circles as they rest on an ottoman or flexing and pointing your toes?  I found I loved to sit with the left side of my left foot resting between my big and second toe on my right foot. The cotton-candy smell of the lotion that my husband uses I realized is quite decadent and certainly makes me feel happy.  Even its consistency is one that I never really stopped to think about.  It isn't that runny lotion that one buys in the drug store, but the kind that feels like frosting in your hand and stands at attention before getting applied to your skin.  Lotion and feet--life's little pleasures.  Whodathunkit? 

This morning, when feeding the dog, once again I imagined what it'd be like if I couldn't do that anymore.  I instantly knew that I'd yearn for the clicking of the dog's nails on the ceramic floor produced by Charley's joyful reindeer-type leap.  Even the sound of the kibbles hitting his bowl makes a sort of music.  And even now, sitting here writing away, I am thinking about the miracle of my brain and how it sends light speed messages so that my fingers move easily along the keyboard and that I love the way it feels when my nails click away on each key's smooth surface.  Currently there's a bird in my front yard cawing with a chorus of crickets behind it and a little breeze is billowing my sheer curtain through the open windows.  All of this is usually background noise and distraction but today I hear it differently.  I see it differently.  These are earth's tiny miracles that I have taken for granted for so long. I am sure without a shadow of a doubt that I'd miss all of this if somehow it or I were to disappear tomorrow. The small things can sustain us a bit if we let them.

I know, I do know that life is hard, the news is bleak,and the world seems to be crumbling.  But perhaps...perhaps, if we can zoom in on what once we thought was the mundane like cooking dinner, feeding the pet, sitting on a couch in our living room, lotion, and yes, even feet, we may realize that there is so much to life that we can lean on when standing on that shaky surfboard.  There are many things we'd miss if we disappeared into the ethers.  So when desperation knocks on our door some bleak day, when life's BIG things trouble or leave us cold, you and I can try and lean on the little things, the everyday things that I now know are not just noise, and details and things that I completely ignored, but instead are small miracles and necessary joys without which life just wouldn't be the same.  

After doing some thinking, I'd love to have you add what small things you'd miss if you could no longer experience them.  Let's help each other appreciate life's small miracles!