Usually take one last pass through town, Stop the car and touch the ground, Watch those streetlights swayin’ in the breeze, Decorated store fronts, Rusty old gas pumps, Try to fill my mind up, With somethin’ before I go, Picture postcard memories, You know they always make for good company. –Turning Home, David Nail
Picture Postcard Memories. Somehow that line has stuck with me for days. Just a silly line in a song, but I can’t get it out of my head. In a lot of ways, I think like that. In postcard memories. Have you ever seen the movie, Elizabethtown? The girl, played by Kirsten Dunst pretends to take photos of people, of places, just to remember. When I saw that movie, I realized I’ve done that my entire life. Although, I do it in my head, so as not to end up in a round padded room, being asked to find the corner.
I have been thinking a lot about this lately. When I’m having a bad day, I try to search through my mind for happier times, simple times, just memories that make me smile. I’d like to write some of these memories down. For me to remember, for my kids maybe one day. Just so I never forget. Thought I’d try a few today. Maybe I’ll keep doing it. We’ll see. You all know how I say I’m going to do something and then I never bring it up again. But it’s a thought.
*****************************************
We told Morgan for months that she was going to have a baby brother. Each time we told a random person and that person said anything to her, she’d say: nopes, no baby bruder. We thought she was just having trouble adjusting. Turned out she was right. Bailey, despite the doctor being SO SURE she was a boy, was born a girl.
She was born near midnight and it was around lunch time the next day, when my mom brought Morgan in to meet her new baby sister. I can picture her little eyes sparkling and her screechy voice when she came in the room and saw me. HI MOMMY!!!! All decked out in a new outfit from my mom; red shorts and a red striped Dora shirt. She suddenly seemed like a full grown child, compared to her teeny tiny, new baby sister.
She got up on the bed with me and held her baby sister. This Ian, she asked, because we’d told her for months that would be her brothers name. No baby, it’s not, I said. This is…well she doesn’t have a name yet, but she’s your baby sister. No brother. Sorry honey. No Ian? Okay.
A little bit later, she got off the bed and started looking around. She looked under the bed, in the bathroom, heck, she even looked in my bag that was by the bed. When she walked out of the door, I called her back in the room and asked her what she was looking for. I looking for Ian mama. He’s lost. I will find hims for you.
She thought we’d misplaced him. Like he was a shoe or something. A missing item to find.
*****************************************
The pool was shaped like a kidney bean. We were in Waikiki, Hawaii on the last day of our vacation. In the deep end there was a weird window, about two feet down. We’d been going down and making faces at it for a good hour. My step-mom was in the room with her eighth migraine of the week. My dad was somewhere.
I bet my brothers to moon the window. Told them, I’d pay them a dollar each. I could have offered them a piece of gum, they were easy marks. Eight year olds are easily buy-able. At ten, I could pay them next to nothing, or just dare them to do anything and they’d do it.
They each took a turn, going underwater and mooning the window. Seconds later my dad showed up. He rarely yelled, but he yelled loudly that day. Get out of the pool right now. Come with me.
Turns out, it was a bar. With a window. To the deep end of the pool. Weird, huh?
He made us apologize to a bar full of hysterically laughing people. The bartender gave us each a Shirley temple. Even added extra cherries. Little tiny boy butts are nothing. I’ve got kids at home. You have no idea the things I see, he told my dad. Whoever thought of putting this window in, was smokin something crazy.
****************************************
Our last night in Las Vegas. We’d been there for three days. Three fun filled, easy days. Neither of us really wanted to go back to the hotel. It was admitting the end of our trip.
Sitting at the Bellagio. In a back hallway, in comfy chairs, eating gelato for an hour and a half. Talking about nothing and everything. Being shocked that we couldn’t hear a single sound, except the few other people doing the same thing. We could have been anywhere. In fact, from the second we went into that hotel, until we left it, we never heard a casino. It was a perfect end, to a perfect trip.
*****************************************
I was fourteen. Summer. Camping. Half Moon Bay. I got up at dawn to go to the bathroom. It was cold and foggy and the sun hadn’t even considered coming out yet. I knew I couldn’t get back in the pop-up trailer without waking everyone else up, so I decided to go on a walk. I walked and then sat and watched the fog roll off the ocean. Listened to the waves crash. Peace. I felt more at peace in that moment that I had in years. I sat there alone and watched the sun come up. Then I walked back to the camper, where no one had even gotten up yet.
*******************************************
Morgan being held by my Grandpa on his 80th birthday. She was only six days old. Perfection she was, full of that newborn awesomness. I can picture everything he wore that day, her too. If I think hard enough, I can even smell them both. I ignored his words that he might not be strong enough to hold her and placed her in his arms. He was pale and shaky, one of the last few times I’d see him standing and walking around. She’s barely six pounds Grandpa, I said. She won’t break. I watched him take a finger and gently run it on her nose, watched him kiss her head. Angel kisses, he whispered. What, I asked him? Those red strawberry marks on her eyelids. Oh those will go away in a few weeks, I said. Or that’s what her doctor said.
Angel kisses, he repeated. This child was kissed by angels.
******************************************
I can’t live these memories a second time. I wish I could, but it’s just not possible. But the stories in my head? Are something I’ll never forget.
She’s always done things her way, in her own time. Generally earlier than most kids too. She was walking at the same age, her younger siblings were just getting the hang of crawling. She spoke in complete sentences by 14 months old, where my other two were content to point, sign the words for more and milk and say quack at the ducks, at that age. People used to ask me if she was a dwarf. No, I’d say, she’s just advanced. Gifted. Special. Choose your pick of words and feel free to roll your eyes. I would too, if anyone else said it about their one year old child. Didn’t make it any less true though.
At two years old, we knew she had ADHD. It’s one of the many challenges facing us with her. One that we’ve learned to deal with pretty well in the last three years. There were a few years there where it was extremely hard, but we’ve come a long way. She’s come a long way. Some of that is age, some of it time, some the Adderall she takes every day. I don’t and won’t apologize for that.
The other major challenge in being her parent, is balancing her intelligence, with her…well I’ll call it social immaturity, maybe? I don’t know it that’s the right wording, but it’s what I’ll use. Not to say she isn’t a natural born leader, nor that she doesn’t have a ton of friends. Or even that she is lacking in social skills. Just that her intelligence makes it where she can understand things way beyond her age level, but she can’t really handle the knowledge. She has a high IQ. If I told you her IQ, you’d swear I was lying. Even people who know her are sure I’ve made it up. Mostly because only a handful of people will ever know someone with this high of an IQ. She can comprehend more than some adults. But she’s still eight and a half years old. Being able to handle change and being able to deal with the things she knows? Well it’s harder for her to deal with that, then it is for her five and a half year old sister.
My kid? She’s an enigma. She’s amazing. She’s special. She wants to be a Supreme Court Judge one day. If you ask her why a Supreme Court Judge, instead of a regular judge, she’ll tell you, well the Supreme Court Judge, always gets the final word. She’s sweet, loving and kind. She adores animals. She’s artistic and creative; writing stories that always delight me, because I love to hear what’s inside of her head. She’s smart, athletic, funny and extremely bossy. She likes things her way. She’s weird. She does math problems, that she creates herself, for fun. She can play Majong for hours, but can’t sit still in her chair for dinner. She’s an absolute joy. She’s also my hardest child. She’s never been what one would call easy. Never will be either. I can picture myself watching her one day spouse roll his eyes at her, saying what can I say, she’s just her.
She’s anxious about changes, always has been. She doesn’t like small changes, much less big ones. This is the kid, I had to give a run down of her entire day too, each day at breakfast, for the first seven years of her life. You will brush your teeth, find your shoes, we’ll go to school, you’ll read, eat lunch, blah, blah, blah. On and on and on. Just to make her feel more secure. Changing her cereal used to take two weeks to talk her into. We had to start talking about anything major weeks or months in advance, just to help her transition. It didn’t always help. We taught her relaxation techniques as a four year old, which helped in some ways. She still, at eight, wears days of the week underwears, just because it’s an order thing and it makes her happy. She’s a little OCD.
Out of my kids, she wasn’t the one I thought would be easy to deal with, in regards to the divorce. She’s taken it surprisingly well. Her sister became needy and stopped eating for weeks and was prone to crying at absolutely nothing for months. Her brother became needy and whiny and very tantrumy at everything. They both still sleep with me at least half the night when they are here. She became helpful and easy…or well easy-ish. She started doing more around the house, to help me. She told funny stories to cheer me and her sister up. She helped her dad with her siblings when with him. She read stories to Harrison, to entertain him in the car. She seemed to be fine. To be handling things okay.
Then a few weeks ago, the night before I left for my vacation, she had a major tantrum. The likes of which, I hadn’t seen since she was five years old. One that started in a parking lot and ended three hours later, after she’d screamed and then sobbed herself out. She threw things, she hit the wall, it was bad. It took me a long, long time to calm her down. At her dad’s house. The night before I left for vacation. Fun times. The next day, she told me on the phone, she didn’t know why she did it. I kinda figured that I did.
Since then, she’s been full of attitude. Back talking me. Whining non-stop at her dad. She’s mean to her sister and rude to just about everyone else. She’s crying at nothing and is prone to screaming fits, making me wonder if she’s suddenly become a 15 year old with raging PMS.
She’s stuffed her feelings. Five months of stuffing her feelings is now barely staying inside. She’s angry and sad and really, a big mess. Frankly it is worrying me to death. I’ve made an appointment for her to see someone this week. I’m also going to take her out of town this weekend, even though it’s her dad’s weekend. I think she needs some one on one time. Some time to talk. Some time to be. Maybe then, she’ll start to let some of those feelings out a bit at a time, before they eat her up.
This is where parenting gets hard. Sure we all think it’s hard when they are babies and toddler. It is too, I’m not saying it’s not. But at the end of a day, when they are babies, if they were fed, changed, played with and loved, you did your job. Now? The feeding and loving and clothing comes a bit easier. It’s the making sure they are okay emotionally that is hard. Because there’s no easy answers now. A kiss on boo-boo’s, doesn’t work when your child is in emotional pain. God, I wish it did.
I just hope I’m doing the right thing. That I’m not too late. That I can help her deal with something that I still don’t understand for myself.
I remember my first Mother’s Day. Eight years ago, I sat at my mother’s house, in her backyard, surrounded by people, with my tiny little baby, trying to stand up on my lap all day. Even at six months old, Morgan was active. She loved to stand on my lap. She couldn’t stand on her own, but all she wanted to do was stand. She was happy, as long as she was standing. If I close my eyes, I can picture the little white jeans she word that day and the flowery white and yellow shirt she wore that day. Her hair was so dark back then. She was a fireball, even then. Her legs were so strong, even then. My little athlete.
At that point, I still felt like I had no idea what I was doing. In fact, I still felt like the entire day was about my mom and my MIL. I wasn’t sure I felt like I deserved a day about me yet, not in that way. I still felt like I was playing mom.
Three years later, I had two little crazy girls with me on Mother’s Day. Bailey was the exact opposite of her sister. Easy, even as a 10 month old child. She was crawling, but hadn’t even tried to stand yet. She played with a plastic cup all day. While her sister ran around like the Tasmanian Devil on crack, my tiny baby girl and I hung out on a blanket in the park, at a family picnic. She was content. Content to sit there and chew on a cup, her hazel eyes, following her sisters every move.
I can picture them both on that day. Morgan, all crazy and wild, was still the funniest little girl I’d ever met in my life. She spent the day running back to me every now and again, giving me extra hugs, because she knew it was a special day. Never an overly cuddly kid, this was a treat. I can picture Bailey, with her rolly polly legs and her big old smushable cheeks. Matching dresses, one of the only times I did that.
By that point I felt like a real mother. Three years, two kids, a crazy life. It all felt right. It all felt real. The bags under my eyes were proof.
Today, I yet again spent a day with my two girls. A girls day, paid for by my ex, as a Mother’s Day gift to me. Pedicures, movie, some shopping, dinner out. It was a great day. It was nice to spend a day with just my girls. It’s nice to do the things that just isn’t possible with a 19 month old destroyer, no matter how cute and lovable he is.
Tomorrow, I’ll spend the day at home with all three of my crazy kids. Pancakes, Wii bowling, movies. Laundry. Ha. Simple. Normal. A lovely Mother’s Day. It’d not the iPad I wanted, but it’s a million times better. I’ll buy my own iPad, one of these days.
No matter what, no matter how my life is in the moment, these three loves of mine, make me happy. They are amazing. I am grateful to be their mother. I strive to be a better, saner, more content person, for them. I’m a work in progress, but I know I’m doing something right, each time I look at the three of them.
I adore them. I love them more than anything in this world. They made me a mother.
To all of you, those who are mothers, those who have mothers and those who help mother the rest of us, happy mother’s day.
My hand is still messed up. It’s been oh six weeks now. Maybe seven. I’m starting to forget. Problem is, my thumb doesn’t bend. At all. It’s still hugely swollen. Oh and I can only feel parts of it. Fun times. I should have gone back to the doctor when I came back from California a few weeks ago, but I thought they’d say, come back in a few weeks. When I went in on Tuesday, the guy told me that is exactly what he would have said. Now however, he’s saying he has absolutely no idea what’s wrong with it. He’s sending me to a specialist, because he thinks I have possible nerve damage. Did I mention how fun this is? Seriously, nerve damage? Sigh. Not to mention the fact that I’m sick and tired of only using one hand for everything.
I am very grouchy these days. Semi-depressed. But mostly just grouchy. Whiney too. I’m very fun to talk to, let me tell you. I want something to change in my life, but I just don’t know what I want. Is hard to know what to change, when you don’t feel like you can change a thing. I want things I can’t have is the problem. Sigh.
I really shouldn’t even bother to post. But hey, what’s a blog for if I can’t whine in public?
Maybe I’ll share a couple links to people a bit more interesting than me. Just know I haven’t opened my reader in a few days, but these are things I’ve liked in the last week. You know, of the four posts I managed to actually get to yesterday. What? It’s a process.
If you’ve seen/written something you think I’d enjoy, please let me know in my comments section. I’d love to read it.
My homegirl Jenna is holding a little contest at her place this week. Winner gets a pretty sweet gift card. Go check it out if you get a chance.
My friend Anymommy is discussing feeling like the odd mom out a lot of the time. Which, um hai, me too. If you get the chance, go tell her she’s not alone.
Jenny, also know as The Bloggess is getting a book published. She’s one of the funniest people online and I’m thrilled for her.
See: Issa is nicey like that. Or something. Snort.
–I went looking for a picture for my husbands cousin, for her kid’s graduation photo thing. I didn’t find the one I wanted to, but I found the cutest photos of my girls as babies. They seem so old.
–Knowing that a child who you have known since they were four years old, is graduating from High School, makes one feel suddenly very old.
–What exactly does one call their husband when separated? Our divorce won’t be final until October, so it’s not like he’s exactly my ex-husband yet.
–I just heard that Apple is releasing a 4G iPhone in June. I take back all comments (see: whines) regarding having to wait until July for my iPhone.
–Am I the only one who didn’t think the: ‘May the 4th be with you’ Star Wars joke was funny the first time? The 32nd time it’s just dam annoying.
–I have MAJOR shoe issues. Basically I hate wearing them. Which really, I blame on my mother. I mean, if you lived most of your childhood in Southern California, you’d think flip-flops were the only acceptable shoes too. I have tons of shoes. Don’t get me wrong. The problem is that I despise wearing all of them. I wear flip-flops from the second it gets semi-not-actually-yet warm-enough, until the very last second possible. I love flip-flops.
–But what went wrong??? May be the worse question one could ever ask a separated/getting divorced person. However, I hear it often. They ask it like it should have an easy answer. Like I should be able to pinpoint the date and time it all went away.
Honestly, I don’t know. I have thoughts. Guesses. No definitive answer though.
Being asked that is like being punched in the heart. I can’t answer something for others, that I can’t answer for myself. Sometimes I think it’s because they want to know for them. Maybe to figure out where I went wrong? To see if they can avoid that thing I did in their own marriage. Other times I think it’s because they feel bad. That somehow knowing will make them feel better about the situation. Because I should need to make them feel better about my situation?
I don’t know what to say when it comes up. I do know, it’s a question that shouldn’t be asked.
–Really, this is all I have. Sorry for the last one in fact. I’ve been wanting to say that for awhile. It’s just it came up again yesterday.
Grab My Button!
I’m a joiner
