.....All My Children.......

Finally, I was able to get all my children together for my birthday celebration.  One thing about having multiple children is that it is very hard to get them all together at the same time.  It won't get any easier, I know, and luckily I do not care what actual "day" this happens on.  Whatever "day" it happens is always a good one, regardless of whether that is the actual "day" we are celebrating or not.  It's a mom thing.

My first request was to get a picture of all of us.  This involved setting the timer on my camera, sitting it on the barbeque grill on The Rock Star's patio, and running to get into position.  We didn't get a great shot, but we are all in it.

Youngest Baby, Rock Star, Rockette, Charli-girl, Beautiful Redhead, My Oldest Baby, and me, the mother of them all.

It occurs to me that my children are pretty much grown.  Look at that, My Youngest Baby is taller than the Rock Star!  The Beautiful Redhead said she was in an awkward pose, so we took 1 more.

I am confused as to how they all go so big, but I got a grandchild out of it, so I'm rolling with it.

The queen of all our hearts.

I wanted to get some pictures of all the kids, so the boys all pile in.  Charli sees sunglasses!  A prize for any 9 month old child.

But wait!  Where is the Rockette?  Turned out she was in the kitchen preparing beautiful, handmade cupcakes with candles that--HAD COLORED FLAMES, ya'll.  Coolest thing I may have ever seen.  She is like Martha Stewart, but better, I swear!  She, also, is a nurturer.  She also, can't seem to stop.  I think she is a special present just for me!  I call for her, there is the sound of running feet, and then here she is.  Charli has successfully snagged the sunglasses from the back of her Youngest uncle's head.  He hasn't even noticed.  Victory for Charli!  My Oldest Baby was about cropped out, but you can tell he is there.  The twins got some sorely needed time with their brother, and my heart was full.

After a wonderful meal and cupcakes, Charli was very tired.  Her mother read her new Easter book to her and I watched that baby's feet.  She has her mother's feet, we think.  Just look at those little toes. 

A couple of times I thought she must be praying with those feet, she can almost fold them together like the rest of us do with our hands.

Then it happened.  Charli's signature move.  When she is tired she puts her hand on her forehead, as if to say "Oh my, it's been a long day, I think I must lie down for a bit."  That's not even all.  See the look on the Beautiful Redhead?  Also her sign that she is tired.  Perhaps only her father and I would recognize it, but that is it.

Just look at that.  It melts my heart every time.  I am so thankful for a grandchild with parents who love each other.  She has a beautiful house where she is treasured above all every single day and night.  She has lots of family and any one of them might snuggle up and take a nap with her any time she wants.  This time it was the Beautiful Redhead.  To hear her offer to lay down with her niece made me look forward to her having her own baby.  The years flashed by in my head in a blur, and I realized that this is real.  This is my life.  I love it so much.  Sorry, Beautiful Redhead, but you knew this.  I waited for a very long time for grand children of my own.  Totally worth the wait, but I wait still for the rest of them.  It's a mother thing.  You will understand.  Someday.  The story never ends, you know.  Or perhaps I should say "the neverending story continues"?  So many happy hours I spent with my older two watching that wonderful movie.  

It's just going to keep on going.  Eventually, someone else will take up the telling of this story.  I wonder who it will be?  We will just have to wait and see what happens next.  I can't wait.  What happened next this time was the Rockette went back to check on our girls and came back gushing about how sweet they looked asleep together, and it hit me: I am not the only mother around here anymore.  What a relief this is.  What a blessing for this wonderful, strong woman to have landed in our family.  You never know what lies around the corner, but I am so glad our family went around that particular corner.  

Happy 50th to me, colored candles and all.  Thank you, God, for my many blessings.  May I be worthy of them.

Top 'O The Hill To Ye, Matey.........

Today I am 49 years old.  I have been christened a Warrior Princess and I will become a real grandmother for the first time this year.

Grandma's got a whole new "hair look".  Let us hope it's a good one.

If it's not, I'm just going to focus on the fact that I don't have to spend any more of what life I have left fixing it, worrying about it, or perhaps most importantly, buying product for it.

If you are a woman, and still in the throes of worrying about how you look, take a moment right now and do me a favor:  add up all the hours that you spend fixing and/or worrying about your hair.

Your hair, for God's sake.

It's kind of a lot of time, is it not?

Now, for added clarity, add the time you spend looking through your purse.

My bet is that these two things will add up to enough time to do a whole lot of things that matter a whole lot more.

Am I right?

Well, I'm done.  I've paid my dues.  I chopped that crap off and bought a little purse that only holds a few things, which turn out to be only what I need.  I've drug around a heavy old purse most of my life and those days are over.

The days of worrying about my hair?  Behind me now.

I have made peace with a lot of things, my hair being just one of them, and it has been time well spent.

Lately I've been feeling terrible about my house falling down around my ears and my not caring.....

And I realized that I have been working on things inside for about 10 years.  And I have done a pretty good job of getting everything in order there.  It has not been easy, but what worth having ever is?

Now, it is time once again to turn my attention to outside.  I have a lot to do.  This house has to be "grandma's house" by June, man, and I have got stuff to do.  Ripping up carpet and painting and...well, lots of stuff that does not include worrying about my hair, my purse, or anything else that used to matter so much to me.

I kind of hate to tell you this, but I grew up.  Yes, it happened to me, and it will probably happen to you.  It doesn't hurt except for mentally, and don't spend more time kicking yourself for stupid things you did, of which there will be many.  That is just a waste.  When you know better, you just do better.  You have to make yourself, no one is going to follow you around and make you.  (Well, this could actually be debated, but if I have my way, no one will ever do this.  We'll see, but I just choose to have faith.)

Should someone show up and start ordering you around, I suggest you resist strongly, immediately and permanently, because I can promise you, not only will you not like it, but it will not be good for you in the end.

You have to take responsibility for yourself and be willing to pay the price for whatever happens from there.

Yes. It's true.  Otherwise, there are no adults in the world and things get..............realllllly stupid.  Look around!  We are there.

I look out from the top of this hill I've been climbing for so many years, and I am just ready for whatever happens next.

I don't even really care what that is, because it's going to happen anyway.  All I can do is be ready.

I no longer try to imagine what that will be, partly because it makes me almost suicidally depressed, but mostly because I use the trick of remembering that my imagination is tainted by this world, and my mind cannot even imagine what God has in store.

I find a lot of comfort in this.  

I hope you do, too.

It's a good trick and if you live long enough you will master it also.

Practice, practice, practice.  Life provides nothing but, really, once you catch on.

Whatever comes next, here's to you.

I'm ready.

Here's to growing old gracefully, fully aware of all that you are and are not, and knowing what's really important.

No one will tell you, and I'm not going to either.

Some things you just have to know yourself, and you will.

I promise you, you will know when it happens to you.

SURPRISE!

When my mother died, The Rock Star was 14.

My mother had an old Jeep Cherokee that she had purposely kept for the Rock Star and then his sister to drive.  It was very thoughtful of her to even think of it, considering what she was going through at the time.  She had time to look ahead with her illness, but she was always one to look ahead.

So when the Rock Star turned 16 and got his license, he already had a reliable vehicle that cost very little to insure.  That Jeep Cherokee lasted through him and The Beautiful Redhead both.  It finally met it's maker after it hit a deer, and we were all very sad.

The last few years I've been looking ahead myself, wondering what in the world I would do for the boys to have something to drive.

How would I ever afford to buy them a vehicle in addition to shoes and jeans?  The shoes and jeans for 2 teenage boys are very expensive, in case you don't know.  Savings is hard to add to, when you are buying shoes and jeans every time you turn around.   It's always like "JEANS & SHOES! SHOES & JEANS! MORE JEANS!! NEED SHOES AGAIN!!" in my head for the last couple of years.

What would happen? I wondered this for years, putting back what little I could spare and hoping for a miracle.

As usual, the miracle came from my most wonderful of all step-mothers, the one I kept!   Her name is Paula, and she called me up a few weeks ago and said that she had "happened to run into a girl who had to sell her car that night, for $300", so of course she at least had to go look at it.

After she looked at it she brought her husband to look at it.  He drove it, looked it over,  and gave Paula the high sign to buy it right then and there.

It's a 1994 Dodge (Red) Caravan.  It had a few dents, needed a new bumper, had high mileage, but ran perfectly.  Paula's husband now (thank you again, God for her finding such a wonderful man) pulled out the dents, replaced the bumper, did body work, painted it, put some pin striping on it (silver), redid the carpet and headliner, and as if that wasn't miracle enough, changed all the fluids and replaced all the filters.

I don't know how to say how much this means to me.  For the past several weeks we have had excited, giddy conversations about how it's coming.  Titles and plates and proof of insurance have kept the mailmen busy as they flew from one end of Missouri to the other, and it will be ready when we get down there.  This is a big SURPRISE for the twins, who are convinced they will never be able to have a car at all.  Why would they think that?  Well, because their mother uses reality as a teacher every chance she gets, and has been taking them around to car lots and letting them get a load of how much cars and more importantly, trucks, actually cost.

Paula was going to tell them on the phone, so excited was she that she had not only found a vehicle, but could afford to buy it!!  Her exact words were "Well, I didn't want get it without saying anything, but I"ve never been able to do anything for them and they never ask for anything.  YOU never ask for anything, and I thought it was too good a deal to pass up."

I said "Oh, no, I'm not going to say a word.  This will be your present to them for their 16th birthday, and you will get to surprise them with it when we come down."

She just said "Ooooooohhhh." And I knew she was remembering my mother's Jeep and The Rock Star and Beautiful Redhead's first car. How wonderful is it to through years with the same people and know that there are things they do not have to be told.  To know that you don't have to explain anything because they were there.  They remember it too, and know all the angles, ins, outs, in short, everything.  That's one of the reasons why I think we quit making new friends at a certain point in life: because we just don't want to put the energy into trying to explain all that stuff.  It's exhausting to even think about past the age of about 35, and some of that stuff cannot BE explained in any way that would make sense unless you were there. You know what I mean?  I truly do not know who I would be without this angel, who came to me as a step-mother but stayed on as one of the dearest, best friends I have ever had.  She isn't really old enough to be my mother and we have always had the best relationship.  She is, simply put, worth everything any of us ever went through to get to her.  I never count the costs when it comes to Paula. She is worth it all.  Everything else just fades into the background, compared to her. If I had to live my life without my mother it was a great comfort, to both of us, to know that I would still have Paula.  And that my children would still have Paula.  She has saved us more times than she even knows,  just by being there for us.

Ever since then we have both been so excited we have been floating around like, I don't know, the job rate is down to 3% and America is no longer dependent on foreign oil because we finally just used our own or something!  I mean, we are EXCITED!!!   VERY EXCITED!!!

Our only 2nd thoughts were vocalized by Paula.  "You don't think they will be disappointed that it's a van, do you?" I was quiet.  This thought had occurred to me about the same time as she asked it. I've been embarrassed by my kids turning up their noses at presents before, but not since they were very small.  I would die of mortification if this happened, with Paula, with this miracle.   I thought about it.  I thought about 2 boys who only have learned the hard way that they only have their mother to depend on, who know the value of a dollar, who have to be wondering if they will EVER get a car.  And I said "I don't think so.  I don't think so at all.  I think they will be thrilled to death to have anything at all and with all you guys have done to it, it's a lot better than 'anything at all'".  I admit, also in the back of my mind, I was thinking that if they didn't like it I would take it and they could drive my car.  At this point I was so excited that I would have been very happy to have a van again.

Just a few more days to go and we will surprise the twins with a great first car that their mother can afford insurance on!  It's like a miracle, you guys!!!

"I have an early birthday present for you guys.  The only thing is you have to share it."

 

She handed them each a key with their name on it.



The light is beginning to dawn on them.

 

They had to take the keys and figure out which car the key worked on.

 

Aaron just had the goofiest smile on his face and he kept saying "This is really nice, I'm not gonna lie."  Andy kept saying "We're gonna be hauling everybody!"



The best news is, it's old enough that they can actually see the motor, ergo they can also learn how to FIX the motor!

 

Paula, being an angel herself, found and married another angel who also happens to know everything there is to know about cars and motors.

Aaron, Paula, Tom, Andy

 

BEST. 16th. BIRTHDAY. PRESENT. EVER!!!!!

The "birthday" thing...or, Peace At Last

Birthdays.  How they change, one might even say "evolve", as we grow older......

Take my seventh birthday,  I remember this year in particular because I had gotten the idea (possibly from learning to read with Dick and Jane) that you got lots of presents at birthday parties.  LOTS!!  This year I did not consider the amount of presents I got "enough" and expressed my disappointment to my mother.  She quickly informed me that I was ungrateful and threatened to take away some of them immediately, which made me cry, which made her swat my bottom, which made us both have to take an exceedingly long time in the bathroom.  This made people curious, who then stared at me when I got out, (or so I was convinced), which upset me, which made my mother think I was pouting, which led to another "talking to", in which she did not swat me.  She verbally shamed me instead, teaching me two good lessons: Always be grateful and control your face because no telling what you will have people thinking..  One of these I have mastered.  

Not the last one.  

In any case, the day of my birth was already fraught with possible disappointments and control issues for me from that day forward.

The years between then and now have flown.  No, really.  Except for the years when I had small children, and I don't even remember those at all, so I'm not sure they even count.  If I don't remember them and there are no pictures to prove they happened  (because who, other than the mom, ever takes a picture?), they don't count, right? 

I remember my 38th, during which my mother was deathly sick with cancer, and I was in a very dark place.  Along came my birthday, (like I needed THAT!) and I was in a really, really bad mood.  I mean, dark, people, and I don't think I had said anything mean, but when I am in a dark mood I don't have to say anything.  People just know.  This year the only people around were my children and my best friend's children, who were almost exactly to the day the same age as The Rock Star and The Beautiful Redhead.  Such a dark mood was I in that I fixed spaghetti for supper (of course I had to fix supper) and I was in such a bad mood and not paying good attention that I served those children spaghetti with cold sauce that I had poured into the pan but never warmed up.  I did not know the difference until I sat down to eat, last (of course), and looked around at those precious kids who either loved me so much, or were so scared that I was going to kill them, that they had quietly and quickly downed that spaghetti, with COLD SAUCE, and were not going to say one word about it!  It made me feel so good (because they were such good kids!) and so bad (because I was such a horrible, scary, bad cooking biotch!) that I cried.  After I cried, which I should have just gotten out of the way and saved us all time, then we all laughed, once they knew it was safe for that kind of thing again, and I was so very sorry because I had temporarily forgotten the hard learned lessons of 7: to always be grateful and control my face!  And I vowed that I would never forget it again.

The next year I did much better.  Partly because it was my first birthday without my mother, partly because I had long ago gotten over the "birthday" thing, and partly because my 12 year old daughter, who did not cook, had made me an angel food cake.  I was so surprised and touched that I cried.   I asked her if she had gotten a box mix to do it and she said "I could have gotten a mix??????"  She has always been so wonderful like that, although she has never seemed to know it.  It's part of her charm, but mostly I was just so touched that she had thought about it and stepped in so that at least one year I did not have to make my own cake.  I do not like angel food cake, actually, and she didn't know that either, but if you don't think I ate that cake you would be greatly mistaken.  That was a good one. It's all I remember about that birthday, and it is enough.

A lot of birthday memories involving tears.  Tears of disappointment, anger, gratefulness, laughter.

Last week I celebrated my 48th.  I've gotten over wishing no one knew and I've gotten good at graciously accepting congratulations.  I gave up on wishes years ago, but this year I actually celebrated it for the first time in a very long time.

Sometime last winter I started feeling better.  Better than what?  Better than a tired, sad, jaded, cynical woman who would rather be hibernating.  I don't know if it's a hormonal change or just the end of deep grieving, and I suppose it doesn't make any difference.

Lately, I have been able to go out with friends and actually enjoy doing whatever we have done without wishing I could just go home after about 20 minutes.  This is like a miracle!

Just the other day it dawned on my that my wardrobe is comprised of dark, somber colors, as are most of the furnishings of my house.  There is a good reason for my clothes to be dominated by black, because I have wisely given up the struggle to eliminate black dog hair.  I've simply embraced it because it takes less energy that way.  Besides, I like black!  Black is always appropriate, it makes me look more streamlined, and it goes with everything.  I bought a new couch, which is black, but that's all right, not only because of the dog hair but because it matches my curtains.  Yes, they are black, but not all of them.  I have tan ones on the insides.  Black and tan.....not the color scheme of a happy person.

On Easter, I was marveling at feeling so alive and not viciously angry, and I had the strongest urge to put a pastel table clothe on the table and decorate.  This hadn't happened to me for at least 10 years.  Maybe 15?  I looked at my tablecloths and I have 2 in a burnt orange, 1 in what we called "maroon" in the 80's, and a plaid one in tones of maroon and burnt orange run through with a little gold.  I also have a green and white checked one which has been ruined by numerous painting jobs by the kids over the years, so I couldn't really count that one.

There I stood in my kitchen, in a good mood that had lasted more than 15 minutes, for the first time in many years, looking around and realizing that in the last 10 years I have literally been in mourning, and that I was not feeling that way anymore.   Even more than that, I hadn't been feeling that way for a while.....this lightening of mood seemed to be sticking around.  This, too, was like a miracle.

I mean, you guys, it was like a miracle!  All I could think was that maybe 48 wouldn't be so bad.  It felt like I had woken up from a deep sleep.  I had not been in a deep sleep, literally, but I was emerging from the fog (link included if "fog" is not another color here--technology is not my friend)  of grief that I had been in for so long.  Lately it has felt like the sun is shining through.  Lately I have gotten up and enjoyed days instead of just slogging through them so I could go back to bed.  Lately I have actually smiled for real instead of just doing it so people would go away and leave me alone.  Lately I have felt more like myself again.  When I first started to notice it, I thought it was fluke, but it's not going away.  It's lasted long enough now that I am cautiously optimistic that it is not a phase.

What I think is that, living through these times, like dealing with cancer, comes terror, resolution, and finally, a kind of peace.  The worst thing you could ever imagine has happened, is happening, and will continue to happen.  You know this, and yet......here you still are, still you, still here.   Is it not a miracle that you can wake up every day and thank God for that, even after you've had the worst news you could ever hope to hear?  Is it not an act of faith to keep slogging through the days, even if you are only pretending?  Is it not a miracle if, after slogging through many years, one day you feel alive again?

We have moved, as a country, to a place I never thought we would.  I don't like it, and I fight it every day.  But still I go on, singing with the radio, smiling real smiles, hoping for the best but prepared for the worst.  Of course I'm prepared for the worst, you don't get to be 48 without learning that it never hurts to be jaded and cynical!  Otherwise you would just be an idiot, or a celebrity.  I will also admit that I have gotten old enough to take the attitude that whatever happens, I will not be the one to have to deal with it for that many more years, let alone pay for it.  On my worst days I symbolically tell younger generations "Good luck with that!" and laugh, because I fell for that crap too, when I was their age.  But only on the worst days, which are farther and farther apart.

These days I am mostly calm.  It is a calmness born of 10 years in the fog of grief and in the rain of constant disappointment, complete with dreary, mostly black props, and the knowledge that as long as there is still breath in my body, come what may, I have to keep going until my job is done. These 10 years may have seemed boring to those looking in from the outside, but in here it has been time well spent deciding what I really think, wrestling demons to the ground (then jumping up and throwing my hands in the sign for touchdown!)  and working on my faith.  I have never been alone for one second and the work has paid off: I feel peaceful and clear eyed, and ready, come what may.  I don't doubt that the hard times are getting closer daily, but I just show up to serve and let God take care of the rest.

And that, my friends, is my plan for the future, however much of it remains to me.   But I am definitely getting a pastel table clothe, too.  Life is too short to live surrounded with dreary props.  Don'tchathink?