A Marriage, Age 12

I struggle sometimes with what to write on my anniversary. I could tell you about the day we got engaged. How it was during a fight and Isaac just ended up tossing the ring box at me saying, "Well, fine. Here, then". That's always a good story. Or how he loves inappropriate t-shirts (and by inappropriate, I mean inappropriate, not necessarily dirty). I could quote you the most (only?) romantic thing he's ever written to me. Or tell you innocuous stories like how we nicknamed our downstairs Portland neighbors "Mona" due to their, um, more intimate relationship we could overhear EVERY night and how that name still cracks both of us up. I have a million stories and memories, both good and bad, that I could share. But here is what twelve years of marriage really comes down to.

It's a million fights.
It's stubborn - butting heads grid lock.
It's the best hugs known to man.
It's a best friend, a first choice for any activity.
It's lovers in sync.
It's being the person I love the most and hate the most all rolled up into one.
It's partnering on all things home and parenting related.
It's laughing. Crying. Holding. Propping up.
It's dinners eaten, forgotten, ignored.
It's movies watched.
It's inside jokes - more than the end of the numbers.
It's petty arguments about nothing in particular.
It's knowing that someone always has my back. Even if having my back looks terribly like not taking my side.
It's a million kisses and a thousand cold shoulders and a million cold shoulders and a thousand kisses.
It's the being and doing and having and becoming.
It's moving. A lot.
It's putting up with musical obsessions as well as fitness or money obsessions. I mean hobbies...
It's school and jobs and bills and planning the future.
It's anticipation and dread. Joy and pain. Heartache and unbelievable happiness.

So tomorrow, we will celebrate. Twelve years. And ALL that encompasses. I know I love him. A million times more than twelve years ago and I'm suspecting, a million times less than twelve years from now. But DEFINITELY to the end of the numbers.



(you're the best thing, the style council)

It Sucked But I Didn't Die

First day over. And I have to say? I'm really glad it is. There is something so tragic about walking away from your only born, knowing full well it's the start of his own life...The impact of that is every bit as difficult as I imagined it would be. I held the tears until he ran into the classroom (without looking back, I might add) and then I just lost it. I turned to leave, earlier than I anticipated, since I seemed to be the only blubbering parent in the hallway. Isaac reminded me, on the way to the car, that it's because we've raised him to be independent (dagnabit!) and not clingy that he so readily ran into the classroom not the least bit sad. He was touting this as some kind of WIN for us, when really I thought it sucked.

My morning was a flurry of getting things done around the house and showering and then, suddenly, it was time to get Isaac and pick Sammy up for his celebratory lunch. He was happy to see us and a little overwhelmed and, well, quiet. Much more quiet than usual. After we got home, he played and rested and started complaining of a headache in the late afternoon. And he was clearly exhausted. We finished up the legos were building and he was in bed and asleep by 6pm. That, above anything, is what I'm looking forward to the most. Getting a routine and stamina down to fix these exhaustion headaches of his.

He's pleased with school, though and moved up to the blue category (the highest) on behavior, so that was great. He's anxious to get his turn on the computers in his classroom and use the library. He declared it better than art camp and likes his teacher. I have a good feeling about this school and this year. It's going to be a good year. Even if I am already counting down to Memorial Day...


(three strange days, school of fish)

Sniff

My baby starts school today. There is no joy in my heart for this. I want to keep him home, safe, with me. I want him to never need anyone more than me, other than me. I want him to never know the world of bullies and mean kids who don't want him to play, for whatever twisted reason they make up in their minds. I want him to never know hurt or pain or sadness. I want him to be the one human on earth who coasts along, in joy, forever. I want all of this at the same time I know it can never be.

There was a church party this past weekend and I went to drop him off, he ran to play. In the time it took me to turn and speak to someone, he was back, fighting back tears. All I could get out of him was that he didn't want to be there, he just wanted to go home and never leave. So we went home. And as he snuggled in on my lap, he told me that he couldn't find anyone to play with (though he had friends there) and that he was afraid I was going to leave him there without anyone to play with him. It was quite a bit of time later before I could get him back out to run errands with me, though I promised I wouldn't leave and we'd be home soon. I knew then it wasn't about a water party, but about nervousness with school that he can't articulate. And it broke my heart. For all of his excitement, he's nervous for the change and for me leaving and for the unknown. He's a lot like me in that way. He'd much rather know all of the unknowns going into it. He'd rather know the ending at the beginning. So I know he's a bundle of excitement and nerves and I'm anticipating a bit of a rough week ahead.

And then, I just keep thinking that I REMEMBER kindergarten. I met friends that I still talk to to this day, in kindergarten. Granted, memories are scarce and fuzzy, but still there. And I think that freaks me out even more than knowing my baby is leaving me. He's going to remember most of this and I have such a pull to make sure it's smooth and anxiety free for him. To help him have the best possible time he can. And to make sure he knows that whatever happens; bullies, kids barring him from the group, general uneasiness, that we will be here for him. Always. This is so very important for him to grow into a healthy and productive adult. No matter should it kill me to have him leave to accomplish that.

I know he needs to go. I don't have to be happy about it, though. My mother in law told me this weekend to just embrace every time he drives me crazy in my head this morning when I want to cry. I don't think it's working, though. I just keep thinking of every time my mom stood, smiling, letting me do something I know she didn't want to let me do, and how they are coming back to haunt me. And, at the same time, ignoring every other mother who has done this before me, because I do not care. This is my time to be weak and sad and not ready for change.

I think I've always been right. This motherhood thing is way too tough for me.


(the white stripes, we're going to be friends)

Girl Talk

This article has been making the rounds lately, including on my facebook page, but I simply cannot get it out of my mind.

I don't know how I can make a meaningful contribution to the conversation other than by saying, YES! This is exactly right. This is what we need! We need more, what is your favorite book and less, you look like a princess. We need to watch our language because words are powerful and every one has meaning. A few weeks ago, we were sitting at play group when we noticed a group at the park that were clearly there for a princess birthday party. One of the guests, a little girl with long blond hair, was not dressed in a tiara and dress, but a full Spiderman costume, complete with mask. All of us at that table who noticed her commented: that we wish our daughters would be like that, that we wished she was our daughter, that our sons would gravitate to the girl in the spiderman costume over those in princess garb. And I loved it. I thought how far the world has come and how far it still has to go. And I, of course, thought about Sammy and the girls he'll like as he grows and how I hope I instill in him a desire for a partner who challenges him intellectually and can hold her own.

So as I meet Sammy's classmates and new friends (because...let's face it, they WILL be girls!), I'm going to keep this in mind. And ask them what they like to DO. Not focus on what they look like.


(am i the only one, bnl)

Don't Stand So Close To Me

I'm not a jealous person. Really. But I have my moments. And those moments are when what I HOPE is reality gets smashed into bits replaced by truth.

Isaac ran into his ex-girlfriend at the gym last week. She is not, sadly, fat nor ugly, now. As I had hoped would be the case should we ever run into her. I had a strange feeling come over me. One of "Wow. And he settled for you when he could have had the hot skinny gym going blond". Unfair? Probably. But it is what it is. I started tearing up and excused myself from breakfast feeling the fattest and most unattractive I had in a long time.

I'm glad he told me. It would have been much, MUCH worse had he not. But I really liked my delusion instead of reality. I mean, most of my ex's ARE fat. Or gay. And not here. It's just the nice thing to do, you know? Not be here. Skinny and beautiful. Working out near my husband. See? See how quickly normality can slip into irrationality? It's incredible, really.

By Friday afternoon, I was a little sore, but fine. I know I have nothing to worry about and life goes on. Isaac goes back to his normal gym this week and, considering it took 3+ years to see her the first time, I'm not worried about sudden, in my face everywhere-ness. But for a moment? It really did floor me. What time and inattention has done to me when I could fix it if I dared. And how very far away I am from being ok with the stupid, but beautiful.


(truth, neil finn)