The other day, my *almost* sixteen-year-old daughter read to me out loud her response to one of the questions on an assignment in her advanced English class. The question was:
“Who or what has had the biggest impact on the development of your voice?”
Me [best attempt at no expression]: “Ooh!!! Good question.”
Me [inside]: ME!! PLEASE SAY ME!! But it might not be me. Shit, I don’t have a poker face, Christy, get it together here!! If it’s not you, you don’t want to make her feel bad. Whatever she says is fine, whoever it is. OH PLEASE LET IT BE ME!!
My son turns 18 today. All he has asked for is a Zippo lighter with a puppy on it. He had an early celebration tonight with his dad, who cooked his favorite bacon burger and put him into a “food coma.” Tomorrow we will go to Red Lobster for the Endless Shrimp, at his request. His dad and I have been divorced for more than three years now and as we have ever since, we will celebrate the birthday together as a family. Because no matter what has come before or what may come after, for better or worse, we are family.
This is what family does.
I want to take a moment to give my boy a moment of appreciation. Recognition. My words, which have been my gift and at times, my curse, until I learned to use them wisely. Kindly. Always working on this. 🙂
My boy. How do I express everything that I feel at this moment, the night before you turn 18 and as you told me tonight, “Tomorrow I’m an adult!” I smile and say, one day at a time, kiddo!
Awhile back, I wrote a poem where a willow tree played a prominent visual role. I don’t know why or where it came from. It just…appeared. Followed by the words. As I write – as often happens – ideas, images and lines come to me. Creative gifts.
I’ve learned not to question.
Shortly after I wrote that poem, I decided it was time to move. On a Thursday night, I reached out to Rich, a real estate agent/friend who has helped me buy two marital homes and rent my post-divorce home. (Yep, I rent. At this stage of my life, I travel light.) I’d been looking for the past two years on and off, but nothing felt right. Not the house, not the location, not the time, not anything. By Friday morning, he had a listing – very rare, met all my criteria: closer to school; extra bedroom for my office; and two bathrooms – a must after three years with three people/one bathroom, all in a town where rental house inventory is scarce. I toured the house on Friday afternoon. Took the kids on Saturday afternoon. By Monday morning, I was negotiating. By Tuesday, it was mine. Two weeks later, my kids and I moved out and in. (Special shout out to my sister for helping!) Four days later, I packed up and flew to California for work. Flew back.
And finally, my first Saturday evening free in my new home, I sat writing in my new backyard. And I saw it.
A willow tree.
I used to believe in so many things. I love my magical beliefs. 🙂 Everything will turn out alright in the end! You will getthrough “fill in the blank!” The universe or God or someone is looking out for you and protecting you! Everything happens for a reason! Your soul mate is out there! Everyone means well, you just have to lower your expectations! No, lower! Okay, wait, lower. No – lower.
As another Mother’s Day nears and my kids grow another year closer to adulthood, I am thinking back on it all. The tattered hard copy of Goodnight Moon recited by heart. Bath/book/bed routines. Play groups. Walking through the grocery store when they were littles and feeling SO proud of myself for getting a shower in and dressing up in something other than sweat pants, the kids well behaved in the cart and I thought – yeah, I’m on it! I got it all together today! Go me!
And then in the checkout lane, the woman behind me whispered, “Excuse me, but did you know that you have a lollipop stuck on the back of your skirt?”
Motherhoood is a sticky business. When I first announced to the world that I was pregnant, there is one phrase I heard most often: “Your life is going to change!” This was usually followed by knowing smiles or laughter. I remember saying, “Yeah, I know.”
I didn’t know shit.
Seventeen years and two kids later, I get it. I’m going to try to capture just how life-changing motherhood has been for me and a few of the lessons I’ve been humbled to learn in no particular order. For mother’s day. For moms everywhere who show up every day fighting the good fight. Continue reading “What Motherhood Has Taught Me”→
This post is for anyone who has ever had a dream. The passionate ones. Creative ones. Visionaries. Artists. Storytellers. Meaning makers. Lost ones looking for the way back to something they feel but can’t see.
I was cleaning out my closet this past weekend and it got me thinking about dreams. Those big, hairy, audacious ideas for something you love to do but don’t. It’s scary to put your dream out there, let alone go for it. A dream is a tiny flicker of a flame and there are dream crushers everywhere. One wrong look or word and poof!
But the dream keeps tugging at your sleeve: Listen! Pay attention to this! This is good stuff! Let’s see what we can make happen here!
It’s soooo easy to defer your dream. If you follow me, you know my story. I’ve known I wanted to be a writer since I was five years old. Two degrees, a professional writing career and 43 years later, I’m just now getting back to making space for my dream of being an author. There. I said it.
< insert terrified look here >
It’s one thing to say you want to do or be something. It’s quite another to make the commitment despite the doubts, insecurity and gigantic hairball of fear that tells you oh no, you can’t do THAT. That’s not going to put food on the table, pay for goalie gloves and new brakes for the truck. You’re not good enough. Who do you think you are, thinking you can do THAT??? And then there’s life. That thing that happens when you’re busy making other plans.
I wrote about quitting online dating one year ago this month. Seems like a lifetime ago. Enough time and distance to write a follow-up with perspective possibly worth sharing. As Anais Nin said more eloquently than I ever could, “The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say.” Whether you’re just venturing back into dating after a breakup, considering or in the throes of online dating, recently divorced, or just curious about what it’s like to date again later in life, here’s my story. For what it’s worth. I hope you find what you are looking for.
First: My online dating “stats”
I’m 48. Married 19 years, together 22. Divorced for three. Two teens who live with me full time. I did Match.com (tolerable) on and off for about a year. Dabbled in eHarmony (hated it – too regimented and reminded me of Catholic school).