A Mother Knows

I’m living in teenage hell.

The “glitter is more, cleaning is a chore, mothers are a bore, in two seconds flat you are at war, and YOU just want to yell, ‘Shut the front door’” kind.

I’m not really sure how else to describe it.

Today I was asked a plethora of questions from the minute I picked her up from school, til the 10 minutes it took to get us home. It started with, “How was your day?” and quickly progressed to “Why are you always so mean?” ending with, “Are you starting menopause?”

I felt like I arrived fresh-faced, then emerged with scars so deep that hours of Heidi Montag plastic surgery wouldn’t smooth them out. 

Yes, parents ruin lives. That is exactly what we set out to do when we have children. I actually made a conscious decision that I would be in labor for three days, beg for drugs only not to receive them, give birth, put in important mommy time by introducing her to BIG ideas and fostering cognitive development just to squash any dream she may imagine for her life.

Hey, go big or go home, right?

But tomorrow I am seeking revenge. I am going to wear her Uggs. And her favorite shirt. And then, I’m going to test-drive her jewelry, use her new straight iron, and make-out with her life-sized Justin Bieber cut out. Well, not really. Cause that would be creepy. But I am going to wear her Uggs. Just because I can. And I may use her shirt as a cleaning rag. But that would be over the top. You know what? Maybe I won’t even go in her room at all. Take that.

Truth be told our relationship blurs the lines of friend and mom. It’s probably 2.3 parts friend; 1.7 parts mom. For a long time it was just the two of us. Then along came a spider who sat down beside her stealing her curds and whey (figuratively that would be me, the mom). And there were three… then four... then five of us.

And it’s hard. It’s hard enough to be a teenager, let alone find yourself in new situations where you have to share your mom when you don’t want to do it. Let’s face it. Divorce sucks. When I hear people who have kids talk about how they want a divorce, I have profound words of wisdom—like, "It sucks." Sure, you’ll have all this time for you. And at first, you’ll think this party could be pretty great. I’ll re-read my favorite book! I’ll paint by numbers! I’ll raise chicks! Then you’ll be so depressed you don’t see your kid, you won’t do anything. That new passion for artistically creating cut-paper dogs of many breeds (yes, I actually did this—it’s all in the weight of the paper) will soon collect dust while you sit in front of the TV and get up only to tinkle. And people won’t come to this party. And those who aren’t divorced won’t understand. They say they will, but they won’t. Cause they can’t. Someone actually had the nerve to tell me “if that were me, I would miss my child so much.” Really? Cause I never missed mine. No, I never crawled up in a ball in my bed and cried myself to sleep worrying about how my life was affecting my child’s. Not once. The sad part is I think that remark was meant to make me feel better.
It didn’t work.

Before you know it, three years go by. And, finally that spider crawls past and you don’t feel like crushing it. Cause it’s a nice spider. And then your teenager tells you HER life is ruined. And you are even more depressed than when you got divorced. Man, kids can break your heart more than any man who tells you you’re fat. Which, I’m not. And if any did, I’d kick him in the privates. Exactly like I taught my teenager to do when she was little. 

Pain is difficult on any level. It doesn’t matter how old you are. I thought about this for a very long time and tried to figure out how to address the pain my teenager was coping with when the new babies came along. I came up with this poem. I tried to turn it into a children’s book, but it was beautifully rejected as having “wonderful cadence, feel, and a great message.” Man, those agents really know what they are talking about!

Anyway, my poem really helped us. I am referring to it once again.

And, I hope if you are in my situation, it helps you, too.

A MOTHER KNOWS

By Me

Mommy, will we always be together?

Why of course.

How do you know?

A mother knows.

But what if I get lost?

I will find you.

How do you know?

A mother knows.

What if we climbed a really tall mountain and I ended up on one side and you were on the other side?

I would find you.

How do you know?

A mother knows.

What if we were swimming in a great big sea and a huge wave took me away from you?

I would find you.

How do you know?

A mother knows.

What if we were flying kites and a strong wind carried me high up into the clouds?

I would find you.

How do you know?

A mother knows.

What if we were sledding down a huge hill and a giant snowball grabbed me and rolled away?

I would find you.

How do you know?

A mother knows.

Mommy?

Yes?

What if you got a new baby and you loved her more?

How do you know?

I know a mother's love is taller than a mountain, bigger than the sea, stronger than the wind, and warm enough to melt a giant snowball.

Mommy, will I always be your baby?

You will always be my baby.

How do you know?

A mother knows.

Life happens

Nora rolled over, and it was quite an event!

Nora rolled over for the first time today, and I was there to witness her milestone. I didn't see the other two children roll. Michaela and Lydia both achieved theirs in daycare, while I was working. But it could just as easily have happened at home, and I would have missed it. I was never focused the way I am right now. There was always some work project to do, freelance to write, laundry to clean. I was running to get ahead at work, running to get ahead at home, and sometimes I just running to get away. And then time passes. You know how it goes—what feels like five minutes is actually a year to regular folk. (Regular folk = people without kids.) But now, I get to stop. Stop and actually witness beautiful moments that are once in a lifetime. It was joyous, I tell you. Every smile, every coo, every twinkle in her eye. I own them. They are burned in my mind, which is much clearer these days now I am home.

As I was watching her roll back and forth over and over, I was thinking about my aunt who lost her son last week to a heart attack at 51. It was very sad and shocking. My mother felt a huge loss for my aunt, and reminisced a lot. She told me time and again how my cousin looked like Brad Pitt and was the epitome of health. No one knew he had heart problems, not even him. But I guess he knew something was wrong because he told a friend the night before if anything happened to him to take care of his mother, my aunt. That just makes me so sad.

I actually haven't seen him since I was 14. He lived so many states away, and well, life happened. Soooo much life happened. I felt guilty about this after I found out about his death. I thought of him often over the years and cherished childhood memories of him hoisting me on his shoulders, walking me from room to room singing — Bad Bad Leroy Brown Baddest Man in the Whole Damn Town. It feels like yesterday I was that pudgy little 5 year old with the big personality and the husky voice. I remember running around his house, crushing on his "Brad Pitt" beauty, and mostly just basking in his kindness. He was sincere in his kindness. I shared this memory once to an old boyfriend's father, many years ago. I'll never forget his reply: That's a very important memory to keep, he said. It's like he said it yesterday. It's that vivid. Just like my cousin singing that song is still in my mind.

Never in a million years did it occur to me that I wouldn't see him again.
When I close my eyes, it really feels like I just did. I swear it feels just like yesterday.

I am so grateful to still have these memories. And that's what today will become: A beautiful memory of Nora completely moving her body for the first time. It's already etched in my mind.