Leaving His Heartbroken Parents Behind

He's in bed right now. In his own bed, in his old bedroom. His lease was up on his apartment so he moved home for his last two weeks in Michigan. QueenMaker and I get a few more days with our boy before he moves to Chi-town.

This means we will see him less. Visits will be farther apart. Luckily Chicago is not that far away, just a four hour drive. QueenMaker and I are already planning our trips.

He is about to embark in a new adventure. He loves adventure. He loves new experiences.  So the move will be a welcomed change from life in Ann Arbor.  He will explore his new city with gusto and call us with his discoveries.

We get to discover it too. Looking forward to Chicago deep dish pizza, the museums, the aquarium, and whatever else Chicago has to offer.

His dad has voiced it more than I have of late. I think he'll miss his son more than any of us know. So when Beloved packs his belongings into his car and drives away, our hearts will be breaking a little.

Good Sleep Better Than ...

Yahoo!  I SLEPT ALL NIGHT last night.  Didn't get up once.  So, so awesome.

Been a full seven days when sleep has been good and last night was the icing on the cake.

I haven't been here in a few years it seems.  I'm going to guess that there is a "Pause in the Meno."

Yuk, yuk.  I'm making bad puns.  That's how giddy I am.

Yessssss!

Mother #3 - Just Doesn't Count

This week's Spin Cycle is all about Mother's Day.  A day I have coveted from afar.

I've been a mother for 23 years come September. And I can tell you that it hasn't been enough.  I've been bemoaning my rather "dormant" status for a few years now. Beloved, a grown person, has grand plans for the future, and they unfortunately have very little to do with his parents.  **sigh.**

Mother's Day - My vision.

The sun streams through the window and illuminates the ivory satin sheets on my bed.  The smell of coffee and bacon wafts under the bedroom door which serves to rouse me further.  The sounds of breakfast are coming from the kitchen.  I hear my husband's voice kidding with the kids (I wanted three) as they make breakfast makes me smile.

Soon everyone is in the room showering me with kisses and lots of "I love you mommy" hugs.  After breakfast we laze in bed together talking and deciding what we will do to commemorate this wonderful day.  I look forward to a Sunday where I get to do and enjoy whatever I want.

I'm running through a field of wildflowers with my children. A picnic lunch is set up ahead in a clearing under a tree.  Ice cream will be involved at one point.......

Screeeeeeeech!  Snap!  Flip, flip, flip.  Stop the film.  Editing!  **sigh**



Ladies and gentleman I am what you would call a third mother.  In a family dominated by strong women and a few weak ones, a mater hierarchy has been established.

Numero Uno - My Mom.

Deux - My Mother In Law

Third - Me.

Mother's Day is a Sunday like any other.  Take my Mom to church.  Run home pick up hubby and child and return to my Mom's for loving big family get together to honor our mother, then off to my mother in law's (an hour drive) to honor her motherhood.  A very long day.

In the past, I have warned both these women that one Mother's Day, I will stay home all day to celebrate my motherhood.  But it was a bluff.  I never did it.  I no longer care about my position on the mother totem pole.

Numero Uno and Deux are getting up there in age and the Mother's Days with both of them are becoming more and more dear to me. So off I go to buy a corsage for mom to wear for church and a miniature rose plant for my MIL.  Have a great day you mothers.

So go to Sprite's Keeper for more spins about the whole Mother's Day experience.

Seven Weeks of Smokey

Seven more weeks. Smokey is staying with us while Mom and Dad are sunning themselves in the Caribbean, really going back to their childhood homes.  This is Smokey, the most chill dog ever.  I don't believe in endowing animal with human traits, but he is...

the most patient, loving, comically endearing dog, such a character.  Perfect for my parents who are in their 80's.

QueenMaker and I had dogs when we were children, but we never owned one during our married life.  The whole family decided that we were just too busy to give a dog the quality of life it deserved.  So its been 40 years since a dog has graced our lives.

I would never volunteer to take care of a dog, but for some reason, Smoky loves me.  He adores me.  Maybe it's because every time I visit, Smokey gets a complete doggy massage.  I look at that fur and I immediately feel the itch.  So I figure he must too.  That is why he loves me.  I'm way too empathetic.

So I mentioned that I may, possibly, give some thought, ask hubby first, not sure, but thinking about it, on the fence about taking him. That means its a done deal to my Mom.

Every maybe hints at possibility.  Possibility means a potential positive outcome.  So every maybe means a positive and even enthusiastic Yes! to my mom.  She will always say, "But you said..."  I didn't want to disappoint her.

So we have Smokey for seven weeks.  You never know what to expect from a dog that doesn't belong to you.  But he is true to character.  With a big sigh of relief for me and especially to hubby, the dog shows great self control.  It's as though he has always been here.

Today, I swear he did a seven take.  We confused him, momentarily.  First I saw the double take, then the quad, then a seven take!  It was simply awesome.

So I'm beginning to feel like a "mommy blogger,"  okay more like a beloved auntie with a nephew visiting for a month or so. He's becoming our little bundle of joy, waiting for us, greeting us with so much love and enthusiasm, reveling in our affection, wanting to play.

And he can stand on his hind legs forever too.



 

The Daughter I Used to Be

I don't like to be touched.  My personal space is hallow ground. Step too close and I might bark or give you a swift kick to the knee.

My mom's a hugger and a kisser - to EVERYONE.  Be careful because you might meet my mom on the street one day.  And if you look down or disheartened, don't be surprised if a four foot nine, redheaded, 78 year old, looks you empathetically in the eye and with an impish smile, rushes up to give you a big hug and a kiss.  You think I'm kidding?

One thing that annoys my mother is when some of her friends during a conversation keep touching her on the knee or arm every few seconds to get her attention or to emphasize a point.  She tells me this all the while she is touching my arm every few seconds to keep my attention and to emphasize a point.

After about the ninth tip touch, I can't take it anymore, "Mami, stop doing that, okay?"  "What?"

Living with all that love, empathy, and need for human connection, finally got to me. I can't help myself. At our martial art school, students are regularly greeted with big hugs and a few kisses.  Children and adults stay with us for five years or more so they become closer to family than clients. My mother taught me that people all need to feel wanted, welcomed, and understood.  Instead of being the growling grouch of my youth,  I have become a loving, hugging fool.

Vodkamom posted some posts about her mother that got me thinking again about my dear Mami.  I realized that as you get older, real intimacy is sometimes lost between a parent and child. There are a lot of grandchildren and my brother and sisters, and there is plenty of love, but intimate moments are few yet cherished by her.  My dad is not a demonstrative man, very closed, never was.  My mom is a complete opposite.  She needs lots of love, but she is not too selfish.  Because what she gives will tenfold exceed what she needs.

So at church today, watching the multitude of children in our congregation, and I mean multitude, I witnessed the little one's need to hold a parents' hand or to be picked up in those loving, safe arms. The complete bond, that oneness between mother and child was something my mom hasn't experienced for a long, long time. So I decided to be her little girl again.

I slipped my hand into hers as a five year old would, and we held hands the whole service, as daughter and mother, reliving the oneness we used to feel.

No Room to Think

The Spin Cycle this week is parental confessions.  Check out more Spins on Jen's Sprite's Keeper.

Confessions of a mom when her child was three years old.

Aaargh. I'm going mad.  There were times when the only voice I could hear in my head was that of an adorable somewhat high pitched voice belonging to an equally adorable little boy. He learned not only to ask questions and form sentences, he's learned he could ask them non-stop.  Question after question would fly my way, which I dutifully answered as best I could and I have to admit, I was pretty good at it.  

Then he would check my answers by repeating what I had said over and over.  We moved from two word phrases like "Look mommy." or "What's that?" to requests for full explanations about the world around him and then ask why, until each explanation needed another until he was fully satisfied. Then he would take the information and talk and talk about what he had just heard, peppering me with, "Isn't that right mommy?"

After a while I realized that my willingness to answer all his questions was a way for him to keep me near him, which was really sweet of him.  It was a way to get my full attention, every second of the day, the unconsciously sweet little manipulator. If I started to move from the room or look in another direction, he would recognize the body language to flee and ask another question.  He sometimes grabbed my chin to make me look at him.

At one point I told him, that he needed to give mommy a break because the only voice I heard in my head was his, that I couldn't hear my own thinking voice anymore, that my head was full of his questions and that there was hardly any room for my own questions.

After a while, he looked at me with concern and asked, "Is there room up there now mommy?"  Yes baby, there's room.

Aunt Ellie Holds A Baby

Baby Holding - Awesome!

At a mere five pounds, he fits so perfectly in the crook of my arm.  It's been a while since I held a baby but it always feels so right.  The maternal gene kicks into high gear, a smile spreads across my face, a feeling of complete contentment comes over me, and it seems like I have found my calling.  I was born to hold babies.

Not necessarily have them.  Just hold them.

Missing Oneness

My guys are coming home.  QueenMaker and Beloved have been gone a week now.  They boarded a plane westward on a business trip. They also took a few days to see Redwood trees and visited Crater Lake.  They were looking forward to their trip as father and son.  They haven't spent much time alone before and as Beloved said, "This will be the first time we are going together as grown men.  I think I can be considered a grown man, don't you think Mom?" "Yes, baby. You're a grown man."

I get to experience the day on a totally different timetable.  I still take care of our business, but my days are less structured. When there is no one waiting at home I'll wander. I'll hang around.  I'll stay put longer. I'll stop at a bookstore. My day is mine to do what I wish.  I eat when I want and visit family and friends without looking to see if it's time to go home.

Of course, knowing this, my family has made all kinds of plans for me.  I don't mind.  It's always a good time to refresh family bonds.  But I allow myself to selfishly decline if I want. I never feel guilty when I say no because I need my alone time.

It's been a while since I have been completely alone.  I'm not a person that gets lonely.  I like solitude and seldom need the companionship of other humans.  But the feeling this week can only be described as empty.  My bed seems particularly cold this past week.   It's hard to sleep when the furnace of your life is away.

I'm ready to leave aloneness. I'm glad I can set aside this state of being until another time. It's an option that some people just don't have.  I miss my companions and the togetherness of our little trio.

Please bring them back safe to me.

            

Crater Lake

How Yah Gonna Keep "Em Down on the Farm...?

My college student, Beloved, just returned to the nest. He's distraught over the situation. Secretly, I'm cheering. I called Middle Sister a few weeks back and gave her the news, "Beloved is moving back home, temporarily." Her happiness for me was emphasized beautifully by saying, "Yaaaahooooo, Alleluia! I'm so happy for you. This is sooo exciting." I really appreciated the glee, the yelp for joy, the acknowledgment of the truth. I thanked her for saying aloud what I was feeling. "I'm keeping my emotions on the down low," I told her.

Ex-college student thinks moving back home is a step backward. Mr. Maturity, I've Got It All Together, had no choice but to move back home. For his sake I'm feeling sorry for his plight. He wants desperately to be independent, not to be a financial burden, and to stand on his own feet. Plus QueenMaker pointed out that coming home squelches particular social gatherings, ahem, to which Beloved had become accustomed. O00000h, I'm so dumb sometimes.

I've dismantled the sewing, craft, and projects room formally known as Beloved's Room to make room for his things, thus becoming Beloved's Room once again, temporarily. My house is a wreck with boxes piled high. I'm still trying to find room for it all.

Then there's QueenMaker. I didn't ask how he felt about our newly evolving "alpha male" offspring returning to his domain. But the look in his eyes tells me that he is as happy about the outcome as I am. At least temporarily.

I don't ask Beloved when will he come home, or whether he will come home, or if he will be home for dinner. I don't want to fall into that trap of parenting when it is no longer required or desired. We recognize that his autonomy is paramount. It maintains a balance in his life and in ours.

He still works in Ann Arbor, so he stays there with friends four days of the week. So QueenMaker and I still have the alone time that we have learned to relish. We are just as grateful that our kid is with us a few days and a few hours more each week for a little while longer, temporarily.

Small Pleasures

Reading Chris's entry about her son's letter and love of writing, reminded me of my son's passion for writing stories and drawing. I wrote the following about seven years ago. My god, has it been that long ago. It seems like yesterday.

Small Pleasures

I have learned to take pleasure in the small things, to really see them. As I hurriedly moved from room to room putting away the daily clutter, I stopped all of the sudden and didn't move.

I came up and you were on the computer writing your story as you sometimes do. Something caused me to pause and notice a few things about the scene before me.

Perhaps it was the lighting, the way the ambient glow of light from the computer landed on your face.  I noticed how beautiful you looked.

Or was it the driven pounding on the keyboard keys, that decisive, percussive hit when you are on a roll. The fast and furious pace stopped me too.

Or was it the intensity in your eyes, the need to get all you had to say out before you lost it, looking satisfied with the results. 

Or was it that you looked so grown up, just turning 14 just two days earlier and sporting a slight mustache.  How mature you looked.

Or was it the pleasurable thought that I was looking at a budding artist, a writer at work.

Or was it all those things that made me stop in my tracks.

I decided to pause and sit in my chair trying to be inconspicuous. I sat in the dark, positioning my head as to not alert you to my viewing.  I pretended I was tired and glanced at you, but not to spy, but to take in an image I wanted to remember.

All these things made me pause.  I wanted to emblazon that image in my mind forever.

My son is at home, writing, and is content.

The Shine In Your Eyes

Another thing I miss more than anything at times is the look I used to get from Beloved when he was a little boy.   Do you know it?   It’s the look that reflects pure happiness and unconditional love on my child’s face when I enter a room.  It’s a look that thrills me as soon as I see it.   It was immediate and electric, “Yes, Mom is home! Joy, Joy, Joy.  Please pick me up and love me.”

I’ve come to learn that the look will begin to fade, just slightly.   As your children grow older, it may not be as instantaneous or as powerful as it once was.   Some parents tend to greet their children with a barrage of questions and instructions.  “How was school?  How much homework do you have?  Wash your hands.  Where’s your lunchbox?”  And if a parent becomes too critical or demanding, the shine can be extinguished altogether.  Maybe you won’t see it again until years later, maybe a whole generation later, when a child lovingly calls you grandpa or grandma.

Time can rob you of the shine.  Lovers know the shine.  But as time goes on the shine fades. Couples in love that once showed the thrill in their eyes when their love walked into a room, have now become complacent, apathetic, or indifferent due to the stresses of life. 

Queen Maker coming home one evening said, “There it is, that look.  The look I love.  I’ve really missed that look.”  I realized that over the years, the look had turned into, “Oh hi, you’re home.”  No big deal.  Or during my cranky years (not sure I'm out of the woods yet) when I'm sure my look was anything but welcoming. 

In our school, we developed long term relationships with our students, some lasting between seven to thirteen years.  After class, a parent asked why our students stayed for so long.  Trying to come up with an explanation, I realized that we treated our students as though they were dear long lost friends each time they walked in the door.  Our eyes truly shine with delight and hugs of greeting are a norm around here.

We both concluded that adults rarely experience the thrill of experiencing shining eyes of love, acceptance, and welcome turned in their direction anymore.  Children grow up and daily life becomes mundane.  Marriages may be in peril, if the spouse finds the shine in someone else’s eyes.   Adults don’t even know they miss it, until they recognize the “instant joy” once again.   It was a look that was lost and it saddened me to think that this was the case for many people.

I realized that as human beings we want eyes to light up when we come into a room.  The shine has to say, “You’re here. Joy, joy, joy.”  People want, or more accurately, need for someone’s eyes to shine, happy, throwing out open hands in friendship or an enthusiastic embrace of unconditional love.  I crave it and feel joy when I see it.  Queen Maker no longer has to “miss that look” because he sees it every time he walks in the door.  Such a simple act to keep a relationship alive and fresh, deepening bonds of friendship and love.  My advice is to show all those you meet or love, the shine in your eyes and see what happens.  

Hearing Mom Again

If you read my previous post Selfish Mom Needs, you will understand what hearing the word Mom means to me.

The light of my life came to the school yesterday.  Since graduating from college he now has the time and the inclination to come back to his martial arts school to train. This means, dare I say it, that I will see Beloved once or twice a week. Joy, joy, joy!

I’ve been missing my kid for four years, especially the last few months. He’s been studying for finals and had six papers to write, meaning little to no sleep, lots of stress and little time for visiting. I was worried about him.  Now that he’s out of school, I’m hoping those dark circles under his eyes will soon be gone.

Knowing he is done with college, I can’t let my hopes (of spending lots of time with him) and my expectations to become unrealistic. I have to keep myself in check. He still has to find a job and when he starts working, again I won’t see him as much as I like. I know that I will go to the school anytime he will be training. I know I will be deeply disappointed if he doesn’t show.

Luckily for me his goal is to finally get his black sash this summer, meaning that I will see him more often.  I can be Mom again. I can hug my kid, give him a kiss, and tell him I love him to his face. Sometimes he can tell that I need to be Mom a few minutes longer, so yesterday after class, he asked me, “Mom, do you want to go with me and get something to eat.” Like, yeah!  Joy, he said the word, Mom.

Afterwards he decided he would drive me home, even though it was out of the way and Dad was still down the street at the school giving a lesson and would be done soon. He said he wasn’t done talking with me.  Joy!

So I will relish the time I do have with my Beloved.  It brings such joy to my life.  And once you’ve tasted joy, you want it everyday. I’ll settle for once or twice a week.

Selfish Mom Needs

I wrote the following a year or so ago, when I felt a little low.  Tomorrow, I become Mom again. 

I miss something and I miss it a lot.  Ever since my Beloved left home for college, I miss being “Mom.” I didn’t realize it until a few months had passed.  Of course, in the beginning, Beloved called for us to bring him more stuff, more food, moral support.  But soon those calls for help slowed down and eventually came only once or twice a month.

I looked around and no one needed me. Beloved was my traveling companion just as I was his chauffeur. My driving companion was gone, the questions were gone, the conversations were gone and the asking was gone. By golly, even his laundry was gone. My activities were no longer dictated by his activities. My schedule no longer was impacted by whether or not he needed something that day. Our dinner plans became simplified, no longer needing to take into consideration his taste or quantity requirements. After 18 years, I no longer had to get up to make sure he had a warm breakfast before sending him off to school. 

A big part of me, the caring and nurturing aspects of my persona was no longer required, just wrapped up and put away until the call came again sometime in the future for “Mom.” I finally realized that the sense of loss that I was feeling was my need to hear it, the word  “Mom.”  That single word “Mom” was my conditioned response, my Pavlovian equivalent to “I need you.”

You just can’t turn that off can you? Queen Maker offered to make the supreme sacrifice and take all the caring and nurturing I can give him, but that usually leads to him making me feel like a Queen, if you know what I mean. So it isn’t really the same thing, is it? Don’t get me wrong; nothing is more delicious in this world that being Queen Maker’s wife, if the name bestowed upon him in not evident enough. But this is about being called “Mom” and I most definitely am not his mother.

I wasn’t done hearing the word “Mom.”  I literally looked around. Where are my other children, isn’t there a spare somewhere around here? Why didn’t I have another one lying around? I wasn’t finished. I need someone to call me Mom and I need to hear it EVERY DAY. Beloved is well on his way in becoming self-sufficient and self-reliant.  Although he knows we have his back, our relationship is becoming more like great friends, which is exactly how Queen Maker and I had planned it. Excellent, but this does nothing to satisfy my selfish mom needs.

I started to envy my three sisters.  They have more than one child and each one of them have a gift that I will never have, a daughter. Ah, those daughters.  The relationships I watched develop between mother and daughter are beautiful and the bonds between them are well crafted in our family.

Youngest Sister has two boys and the divine Ms. M. who is in her first year of college and away from home. It is obvious that they are each other’s BFF. She calls Mom at least two to three times a day sharing triumphs and despair.

Middle Sister has the fairy like and talented Ms. A. who is eleven years old. Her older brother is now in his first year of college at State. See, Middle Sister still has one lying around – and she’s a girl! Middle Sister is letting me share, bless her soul.

The Sister After Me has a more unique situation. Not only does she have a son who is 28, she has a 30-year-old daughter, gifted Ms. T, with a little girl and boys of her own making Sister After Me a grandmother at 37. She is twice blessed because she is also a new mom again in mid-life with the sweet Ms. E., now four years old.

Years and years of the beautiful call, “Hey, Mom!” ahead for these lucky women. I’ve heard that a daughter is a daughter forever. Sigh, but enough with the daughter envy.

I felt as though my identity had suddenly changed.  I wasn’t ready to be non-Mom. When Beloved was born, a new identity was bestowed upon me. I joined the Mom Club and suddenly felt legitimized as an Adult Woman entrusted with the care of a precious life. Then, if by chance your Beloved turns out to be a wonderful person, my status not only as Mom but also as Successful Parent increased significantly in the eyes of others.  Hey, we are really good at raising a child. Who knew? Everyone loved Beloved and I was proud to be his Mom. He increased my standing greatly.  My identity thus evolved to be, Beloved’s Mom.

But now, no one would realize that.  From now on when someone new comes into my life, Beloved is not there standing next to me. They will not understand who I really am because no one is calling me “Mom.” The labels I wore so proudly are no longer evident. The name “Mom” ringing out made me feel younger because all the Moms in the room would turn to the sound. Whether you were in your 20’s, 30’s, 40’s and 50’s. Yes, I too have a child in the room, and our membership in this club makes us all seem younger.

The next thought made me cringe.  If I was no longer to be known as Beloved’s Mom or just Mom, how would people perceive me? What was my next identity in life? I will soon turn fifty facing menopause and becoming an old lady.  No. No. NO. NO!   Quick someone let me borrow a kid. 

My own dear Mom always puts things in perspective.  “Honey, don’t worry, you still have a chance. Your aunt thought she was going through menopause and found out she was pregnant at the age of 50. Remember? Of course, she had to be hospitalized for exhaustion several times in the first three years, but you still can get pregnant. You’ll be 50 soon; there is still hope yet. You may still be blessed just like your aunt. That would be wonderful. Don’t look so horrified. It could still happen. It would be a good thing.”

Oh my god! What I am really asking for here? I was just feeling sorry for myself. I just wanted someone to call me Mom again.  Wait. I mean I just missed being called Mom, Wait. I don’t want another child NOW, not really. I’m going to be 50. I work with 4 and 5 year olds everyday at school. That should be good enough. Really I don’t know why I was complaining so much. Just because none of them can call me Mom… Wait, I don’t mean that. Knock on some wood. No that’s laminate, that doesn’t count. Find wood now! No, I’m not calling you Queen Maker.

Will my selfish rant be heard above and will someone smile and say, “Careful what you ask for sister.”

Oh, dear Saint Emily Litella*, hear my words,  “Never mind.” 

*the lovely Gilda Radner's character on SNL