Final Dissolution

                            August 26th, 2026. I  had it circled on my virtual calendar for months. It was the day I  had waited for, a day that would make me feel lighter, feel relief, feel free. Imagine my surprise when that was not at all how I felt. Those things are not at all how it feels to sever a marriage of thirty one years. Honestly I am at a loss for how to accurately describe the feeling. I  have been married more than half my life, and I  am left to navigate the rest of it as an individual , no partner , no landing place. That looms very dark for me. Today, my marriage was reduced to four squares on a zoom call with a judge who never met either of us. The judge never saw the long life we had together , before it came to this. He was not present in three delivery rooms, or at hospital bedsides, or graduation venues, or countless birthday parties. He never witnessed the struggles of the last decade, of both of us trying to figure out why we could not be happy with each other. He wasn't at the few failed therapy attempts, or in the parking lots we met in late at night to try and see if anything was left for us to salvage. He doesn't know that one of us will return home this afternoon to an empty house full of memories that are imbedded in the walls, floors and ceilings. He doesn't know that the shelter of that family home occassionally feels like an anchor tied to the past.  He doesn't know that the other one of us is going home to a completely different life, with a completely different woman (and I struggle calling her a woman because she has yet to have her frontal lobe fully formed) and a different dog - but his life is basically the same. Sans the woman he just could not choose over his vices. The vices that eventually destroyed us. No, this judge knows none of that. he just sits and listens to me answer a series of questions that my attorney asks ,acknowledges that I  am in agreement to end the marriage and signs a document deeming thirty one years "null and void".  Null and void. I guess that actually sums up how I feel... those are the words I was looking for earlier. So, even though this journey began two years ago, and I could not wait for today I am left sad and, like my marriage, irrevocably broken.

   

Just in Time

                    I  have taken a rather long hiatus from writing. Not because I  have nothing to say , in fact, quite the opposite. I  have so much in me, spilling out at all times. It just isn't coming out on to paper - its coming out in the form of tears, in the form of over eating, in the form of starving myself, in the form of sleep aids and in the form of anger. To write what I have been feeling for the last 15 months would startle the reader , because it is so raw. So uncharacteristic of all the things everyone believes that I am, that I  shoud be. 

                   I  never understood survival mode until now. 54 years in to this existence and I am in full on survival mode. I do not know what is next, and I  have ALWAYS known what was next.  I wake up everyday (not wanting to) and move. I  am robotic in my routines, but I get them done. I contemplate hiding, having a breakdown - but I stop myself. I keep going , even though my life is really sad and my future probably even worse. Worst of all, the person I have known for 37 years, I no longer know. Did I  ever? That is quite the haunting question when you've built your life , made your choices and sacrifices for another person.  If I spend too long analyzing the last three decades, I fall deeper into the abyss. I know what happened, I know how reactions created situations, and I know why it fell apart. I have spent the better part of a year and a half blaming myself, being guilt ridden and trying to be the "bigger person" . I am here to tell you that this "bigger person" is exhausted. Surviving is exhausting.And exhaustion can really alter one's mind. But then somehting happens , something peeks through the cloudiness of your day- to add a slight bit of sun, a glimmer . For me it was this:

                      On December 31st , this past year, I was home alone. My kids are scattered , I have no significant other, so I was watching tv (half heartedly) and for the first time in my life I thought about what it would be like to just not be here. And I could not find a negative to this idea. My job can be done by anyone, my kids are adults and succeeding, why I am I even bothering with the daily struggle of trying to be normal, trying to be happy , when inside I was hollow?  In the midst of these very intrusive thoughts, I got a message. A message I assumed was a Happy New Year wish from someone , albeit early , so they could cross me off their best wishes list for the night.  Turns out,  it was what ended up making me realize there's bigger things than my despair, there's better things ahead. It was a picture of my sweet daughter in law's positive pregnancy test. A faint line , but a line. I  immediately texted her asking if it was real. She assured me it was, and it was very early on, but it was real. From that moment on , the thought of not being here was unbearable. I want to see my baby's baby.  I want a quasi second shot at all of that , of course with the boundaries set by my child and his wife. That faint line was , unknowingly by my family and friends,  my life line.

                     So my writing took a hiatus this past year to spare my friends and family the scary thoughts and feelings that an old woman has in the midst of a very ,very shitty divorce. But I now feel a little more like my old self, and think I will have a lot of positive and exciting experiences to put on paper over the next several months , thanks to a baby who is not even here yet , a baby boy who is going to have the BEST grandma ever. A baby who showed up just in time.

The first 5 letters spell Exist

      I do not think an existential crisis is possible before the age of 40, maybe even 45. Prior to that we are knee deep in life - and all it brings with starting out . We are raising children , building a career , trying to get to a point where we are comfortable . We are busy , too busy for introspection . Existentialism requires quiet reflection and the years prior to middle age seldom offer us that . The flip side of this is maybe we know to bury ourselves in our work , in our children , as long as we can so we can avoid looking inward for as long as possible . Eventually , however , things settle . Children grow up , careers level off giving less satisfaction than they used to and all of a sudden you’re left with , gulp , YOU. And you are seldom happy with YOU. Even if you are liked and respected by others , even if you seemingly have never suffered a day in your life it isn’t enough . There has to be more . So you begin the journey inward , and this can be tricky because it usually comes with a questioning of our life choices . The questioning slowly turns into regret , which peeks into our mind like sun coming through an opaque curtain - slight but just enough to keep us awake . You begin looking at others wondering if they’re truly happy , are they questioning their lives - their marriages , careers , and their shortcomings? You become envious of those who chose different paths and are seemingly thriving and happy because that could have been you . As the years have gone by , however , and my 40’s morphed ever so quickly into my 50’s I have come to realize no one feels 100 percent happy or content with their life , or the path they’ve chosen . There are always questions about the path not taken , Robert Frost knew this in 1815 , at 41, when “two roads diverged in a yellow wood “.  Reading that at 53 hits different then when forced to analyze it in English lit at a liberal arts college in 1989 when  the world was still mine to take. It was all of ours to take at one point . Questions now of purpose , and what if’s,  are urgent . Leaving a mark , a footprint , an impact become a beat the buzzer type situation . No one wants to exit our time here quietly , but the fact of the matter is , most people do . That silent exit , the being forgotten by others and not doing everything we feel we were meant to do, is the crux of what terrifies us. The years pick up speed as we age , and we see our hour glass running out of sand . This is what causes the deep inward search for “ what else is there “ , what do we need to do , be , discover, before that hourglass empties . No one is turning it over , no one is starting our timer over . These thoughts become common as we get closer to not being here anymore , and we seek answers . Did we do enough ? Is there more than this , that we can look forward to on another level? Because if not and I’m a believer that there is nothing else ( I want to be wrong ), we have to make this level one full of personal fulfillment , contentment and happiness . That’s a tall order , so it’s no wonder they call it an existential crisis . I have no answer , nothing to offer as a suggestion other than when looking inward decide what you can’t leave this earth without doing . Whether it’s a real tangible thing like traveling more , volunteering more , or a personal goal like focusing on your peace and happiness - whatever that looks like to you . My focus has shifted to peace , removing toxicity, whether that’s situational or an actual person who invades that peace . Spending the next chapter of life on autopilot isn’t an option . Time is pushing us all and as scary as that is , it’s scarier to not take a harder look at ourselves and see what we really , really want for the rest of our lives . 

I Cant Remember

                        I can’t remember the last time I saw my mother alive. I mean, I can remember a string of long and dreary days in a very seemingly oxymoronic beautiful month of May that led up to her death,  but the actual last day she opened her eyes to see me ? Nope , I got nothing . What I do have memories of  are a lot of “ it’s almost time “ days. Days where I would drop the kids off at school and pre school , and rush to a bedside to visit the woman ,who up until that point , signified strength to me. I would watch the Hospice nurse bathe her , do mouth care and try and keep her as comfortable as possible from this demonic disease that had ravaged her every organ. The whole time I was there I wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere but witnessing the deterioration of my mother , who no longer was really “ in there”. I so desperately want to recall when the last time I laughed with her was, when the last time I bitched to her about being a mom of three little kids who drove me a little insane was , when we last shared a cup of tea and a Law and Order marathon . I legitimately do not remember , because the minute her illness got to the point where it stole her from me I shut down. And that is a cross I bear every day.

                         The relationship between a mother and daughter is complicated . I know this , as I have been both in my lifetime. My role as daughter did not last long enough , and its abrupt ending made me quite cynical. Cynical of religion ( my mother was a devout Catholic and look where that got her ) , cynical of treatments, doctors and so called trials that in the end made her life a little better for a blip of time , then really sick for the remaining time. Cynicism and sarcasm grew in me tenfold on May 23 2005, the view I had of the world going forward would be very different. Fear of illness , health obsession and anxiety , served with a side of depression are just a few things that I have dealt with the last 18 years. The complicated part of being someone who is no longer living’s daughter is you have to learn to navigate many things alone , whether that be tackling motherhood yourself, wanting to know if her marriage was as hard as yours, and how she coped daily with trivial things while not losing her sanity. There is no one to look to for this . That person who created you and knows you best is gone. It’s Not your husband , not your friends and certainly not your own children  because you are their “Go To person” not the other way around. 

                I am writing this because I am about to turn 52 in a few weeks. My mother was initially diagnosed around 50 years old , and battled for close to 10 years. That’s a long time to never feel good, to try and live your life knowing the black cloud is always just right overhead - and that umbrella is only going to last for so long. I have been trying to imagine how she must have felt for those years in her 50’s and I  cannot even fathom it. Because I was In my late 20’s and early 30’s trying to live my own life and start a family , not concentrating on being a daughter. In fact, not concentrating on her at all , until the last couple of years when I was forced to . When I would sit next to her hospital bed and talk to her , hoping for any coherent response . Those were few and far between by the time I began being “ present” for her, being her daughter for the last leg of her journey . My mother never said she was ready to go,  never said she loved me or goodbye during that blur of a month . I know she loved me of course but the things left unsaid are always what we long to hear. My futile wish for this birthday is to remember the last time I saw her living , not just alive but living. 

                So take it all in with those you love. Take pictures even if they’re silly , spend extra time chatting even if you have to be somewhere ( because in the end who is taking attendance ?)  and try to be cognizant that any memory you have with someone could be the last one. 

Is Kim Really To Blame?

        It has been a minute (as the kids today say) since I have written anything. Two plus years to be exact, and this lines up with the timeline of doom we have all been living in since March 2020. Lately, I am having a hard time not letting my feelings out - even if it is on a blank page and may not have anyone even read it. Surprisingly, the thing that spurred this on was the ever shallow Kim Khardashian (sorry Miss Kim) . She was recently being roasted for losing 16 pounds in 2 weeks to fit into Marilyn Monroe's iconic "Happy Birthday Mr. President "dress. She accomplished that lofty, possibly even dangerous, goal- wore it for a short while , then changed into a replica that actually fit better and she could spill cocktail sauce on. Where am I going with this? Hang on , I hope it will become clear. 

         Let's fast forward to the current mess that is SCOTUS and Roe vs. Wade. This is where women's rights for control of their bodies hang in the balance , at the mercy of old men (mostly) making decisions based on , what?  I mean, last I looked they don't have a uterus in their old man abdominal cavity. They do not know what it feels like to have to make a decision that will color their life - no matter which way they decide. Women are used as vessels if you will with no regard to what they want, how they feel , or what their circumstances in life allow. I am outraged by this. Why are women treated like their bodies belong to someone else? Why does society make women feel like they have to look a certain way, choose a certain way , and pretend to be okay with it all?  Why are we, as a society, going back to days where a woman who faces an unwanted pregnancy will have to risk sepsis, multi system organ failure, possible loss of her uterus (if she lives) ? Don't for one minute think this is about babies, and sanctifying life . It is about control and women having less rights and beating down a woman's mindset to fit a mold. 

           Back to Kim, and even myself. So, Kim is shallow and vain and will do anything for money- we know all this. So her wanting to wear that dress , and losing serious amounts of weight to do so should shock no one. In fact , my first twisted thought was "I'm going to eat tomatoes for 14 days too, and see what happens". Luckily my GI system would not allow such crazy behavior without leaving me dehydrated and chained to the porcelain potty . I fortunately know my vanity limits , but the thing is I thought about it. And if 51 year old me , with common sense and a history of stupidity for vanity, thought about it - I  guarantee your daughters thought about it.  And , drum roll please, those thoughts are perpetuated by the way women are viewed in society. Rather, the way their bodies are viewed. Like they are not their own. They are viewed as something to look at , something to be obedient and do what it takes to fit. Whether it be in a 60 year old dress or to go through with something that may ultimately harm them - physically or mentally . 

            I  have no answer to how to change this. I am probably not even the right person to try. I mean I just had my second breast augmentation 6 days ago . Fifteen years ago I had my original one because I was actually mentally beaten down by people (some were related to me) always saying hurtful things about my flat chest. I  allowed myself to fall into the trap of "what a woman should look like". Women have been under this cloud of what they "should be" for as long as I can remember . I had hopes for my daughter's and subsequent generations for a better world, a world where there is equality and security in how a woman looks and acts, and the choices she makes for HERSELF.  That hope is fading fast when things in the news , and current events are revolving around what a woman cannot do, rather than what she can do. 

Why write?

  Hi. It's been a while. I haven't had much to say in the last year or so. I mean, everything on Earth is said, ad nauseam , all day long on social media. So , anything I would write would be just a regurgitated piece someone else touched on , somewhere else on the Internet.  But tonight I went and re read a lot of my previous posts , and they reminded me that the writing I did was important in documenting how I felt at that particular moment in time . It might be all that my kids have of me someday, an echo of my voice so to speak. I  certainly wish I had that when my mother passed away. I only have a few things with her signature on it, and an old rather ugly jacket that still faintly smells like her . How I wish I had a glimpse into how her life was back when I  was a child , or a young adult too selfish and too busy to pay attention in real time. How she actually felt about me, her marriage , and her life as a whole would have been cathartic for me. Well, reading those old blog posts tonight I realize my kids will have that, after I am no longer here with them. As of late our world is a place that I  hardly recognize , but have had to adapt to in a very short time. My worst fear; sickness and plague have become the everyday reality that we all live in. Watching my children adopt practices of mask wearing , not touching anyone who is not in their "safe circle" and learning that grown ass adults can be an embarrassment while in in positions of leadership and decision making is what my new normal as a parent is. I have no answers for them or any way to reassure them. It is a rough time to be a mother , a prewired "fixer" who can no longer fix. It has been enough to cause me to have anxiety again, a little depression and an overall hopeless feeling. I overeat, I over exercise,  I cry ,  I sleep a lot and I doubt everything. I am willing to bet I am not the only one. That is another reason writing needed to come back into my life , even if it is just rambling posts just stating the obvious. Someday, this world we are living in will be a distant memory. All we have had to endure and adapt to will either be ingrained or forgotten- I am pulling for the latter. This post will be here for my kids - or my husband (if he out lives me- and he WILL  because he does NOT exercise or take care of himself) to read and maybe hear my voice again, remembering what I  had to say at that time. They can choose to remember fondly or to log off. 

   I had a wonderful summer, dare I say it was the best I have ever had. Yet I never left my hometown at any time during this season , and I gained a good solid 8 pounds. I  watched bad T.V. and ate all the food . ALL THE FOOD. I  took walks , had conversations that turned into life lessons and went out for late night runs to Twistee Treat - I  mentioned all the food, right? The best part was I did not do this alone, actually if did that would be scary... I  did it with my sweetest, best-est friend who also happens to be my daughter. It was a summer of lasts and we knew it. We were not going to fight about stupid stuff, we were going to laugh, watch dumb You Tube videos and shop. The shopping was second only to eating in time spent together. Every weekend was a marathon of dorm decorating and lunches. The nine weeks from graduation until today went by at warp speed. Today was the day my little girl left to go away to college and I had to let her go. Granted she is 30 minutes away, and will no doubt come home a lot , or as often as she needs her laundry done. But she left her room, her doggies and her home of 18 and a half years this afternoon and life will never be the same. Her life, and my life all changed forever. I am no longer the one she sees when she rolls out of bed, hair a mess, Superman t-shirt on whining for coffee. I  am not the person she will run to anymore to show the stupidest cat or dog video ,or ask me to watch an Insagram influencer with her . Those moments are to be shared with her new people, the people who will become her college friends, and ,more than likely , her life long friends. And I'm happy for her, so much so that I  ignored my nausea and panic these last 9 weeks to have the best time and further solidify our relationship. Today the stuff came out of the boxes we have been collecting for the past three months and was put to use and became the backdrop of her new home for the next school year.  Her room is great, her view is spectacular and her two roommates are adorable. She is at a top notch school in a fabulous city that she has always wanted to live in the heart of. She is ready. I am getting there, between bouts of crying and smiling to myself. From the minute they put this little girl in my arms I  knew she was meant to do great things, and I was meant to be thereto witness it. So this is Day One. So, as this summer ends and her life begins I know that she'll be fine in this new arena of independence and self awareness. I  just want to thank her for the best summer I  have ever had , a summer of nothing special was in fact the summer of everything I could ever want.

                         Let me begin by saying I have not "played cards" since I was 15 , sitting at my cousin's house in Queens eating Italian pastries and listening to adults bitch about their lives.  Yet I  am a nurse. I have held a few types of nursing/medical positions over the years since I graduated in 1994.  None of them included master poker player, or even master break taker.  A state senator that I had never heard of put her political foot in her idiotic mouth this week by stating nurses get plenty of "breaks" in their 12 hour days and probably spend a good portion of it "playing cards".  I read it, then re-read it incredulously, wondering who, if anyone, could be this blind.  Nursing school was , hands down, the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.
                          Now, I have worked in three very different nursing venues over my lifetime, taking a big, long break so I could raise my children ( never had time for card playing then either). The first job I had was a supervisor in a LTC facility , 3-11PM shift.  I was 23 years old, and had two hallways full of patients to oversee, learning on the fly how to handle the dead weight of an 85 year old dementia patient, or the intricate wound care necessary for a life long diabetic. Sometimes these were the same person. I remember sitting down at 10:30 PM to chart , by hand. There were no cards in those hands as I recall. I did learn a lot and most of it was from the CNA's who made me look a little less like an idiot. (And they were never sitting down - much less playing a rousing game of Go Fish).
                          The rest of my "hands-on " nursing career was spent in home health care. Time management and independence is what nurses learn in this genre of nursing. I  spent a good part of my days listening, bandaging, teaching, advocating and then driving to the next location to do it all again. I ate lunch in my car,  stopped at convenience stores to pee , ensured my supplies were kept in two separate parts of my trunk- sterile area and non sterile area. I did this 5-7 times daily , then went home and did my progress notes , made necessary phone calls to my supervisor and called it a day. I     don't recall shouting "Gin" at any time during the work day.
                           Now I am in an administrative office, with no hands-on patient care but I still interact with them via internet or phone. My current position does not require a nursing license but it helps. A LOT. I  have learned a whole other side to medicine now ,and work with many types of people including Doctors and executives . Guess what ? THEY'RE NOT PLAYING CARDS IN THEIR DOWN TIME EITHER.
                             So, you see Senator Shit head, you know not what you speak of.  Stating that nurses do not need mandated breaks during a 12 hour shift is like saying you will never need a nurse to take care of you. It's ridiculous to assume that you know what they need, but rest assured they will know exactly what you need when you are sick and hospitalized. Just count your lucky stars I will never be your nurse because your call light would be secondary to my Poker game.

                       "...I have squandered my resistance for a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises..." What does this line mean to you? It is a line from the song "The Boxer " by Simon and Garfunkel ( I  need to put this in here so I don't get sued by their estate). I think they're dead? Right? I'm too tired to look up that pertinent fact .. so I am crediting them early on. Anyway, back to the meaning of that line. I  am going to be honest , I used to think it said "squandered my EXISTENCE" , and by used to I    mean up until fifteen minutes ago when I  looked up the lyrics for accuracy on Apple Music. You see , the word existence made a lot more sense to me when put in a sentence with squandered.  I have been questioning my existence for a while now, as do most mothers of children on the verge of beginning their own lives. I  seem to have fallen into a grey area of living. I  am needed by my family, but not crucial to their survival . I  am needed at my job, but really anyone can do it ( the temp they get to replace me when I am out is 78 years old , so ...). I  am turning 48 in three months , the time I  have spent up until now , has it been wasted ? I  mean it is definitely more than halfway over , probably less, thanks to my genetic makeup and heart disease/cancer /diabetes trifecta in my family blood line.  So, you see the words that I thought were "squandered my existence "spurred on my deep thought process regarding the state of my life and it turns out that wasn't even the damn lyrics.
                     "... Squandered my resistance for a pocket full of mumbles..." has a whole different meaning. It means you sold out, gave up your true self for the path of least resistance. Well fuck, I did that too. Turns out that's even worse than what I originally though old Paul and Art were singing about.  I sold out my dreams and wants for the life of motherhood and being a wife. It was enough for many years, but now I am needing more. This makes me an awful person to some of you, I  know. I  struggle everyday with the yin-yang pull of "you are enough" or "you contribute nothing " feelings . I stay in bed a little longer,  eat a little more junk food and listen to sad ballads by 1960's musicians . I  have self loathing and resentment. I  am probably depressed , like I was back in college when I realized I was in the wrong major and had a breakdown because of the money I had cost my parents. Yes, that's true. Hardly anyone knows it but now everyone reading this knows it. And that's ok , because I have a feeling some of you may be feeling the same. Especially after you look up the lyrics to this song and listen to it ( you know you are going to). We are all Boxers , just fighting everyday , for what we want, what we were and what we hopefully can still become. I  am depressed,  I am at a crossroads and I  am going to make every attempt to rectify the "squandering " of both my existence and resistance in the near future. Some of you may not look at me the same anymore. That's ok , neither do I .

                   

                                 Some people would say I had a two year reprieve . They would be right, and it would be an understatement. I did get a two year "furlough" so to speak, from my eldest child leaving home to go to school. Believe me, back in 2015 I thought he would go. He had many college choices and , among those , some were pretty far away from home. But when it came time to decide, he chose one right here at home. Actually, he chose 2 schools in the last 3 years that both were local choices and the economical decision was to go to school and live at home.  All the while still allowing me to see him everyday. To hear him shuffle (already STOMP) through the house, foraging for food in my (always picked over )pantry and to hear him play his music, which was slowly becoming his passion.  He transformed his 12x12 bedroom into an electronic studio , teaching himself how to do a lot of the sound and audio "things" he wanted to learn.  So, when one day last Spring he decided to start looking into audio/sound engineering schools, I was not surprised. He took the initiative for this search, unlike his college search, applications and essays which I had to force upon him back in high school. He toured schools , in Florida and Georgia , and ultimately made the decision himself. He figured out where and how much he was willing to spend on this degree, and when he decided , it was presented to me. That is not how 17 year old Zach did things wayyyy back when as he prepared for college. Now I know why... he was not ready. He hadn't found his PASSION. He was going through the motions, like a minion , like so many of us , and he was not ready to leave home for a choice he did not feel strongly about. That's how I know he's serious , because he is a homebody and he is truly excited to start this journey now, as a person with a plan and a goal.
                                   So, now the time has come for him to go pursue the choice HE made.  He found an apartment and his beautiful girlfriend of 6 years is going with him, also making her own choices and blazing new pathways in her life. I have had the great pleasure of spending 2 extra years with them both . I will always cherish our family dinners, our walks in the neighborhood, our funny conversations and all the things we did together in the two years where most kids are away at school. I got to know my child as an adult , and I love him for letting me do that. I joke that my grocery bill will go down tremendously, but I know that so will the level of laughs and fun in this house. As I was lying in bed last night I start thinking about how I will have one less kid here, everyday. No waiting to see what he wants for dinner, no asking him to bring me a coffee if "he happens to be out" and no kiss and "I love you 's " when we go to bed at night.  I began to cry , that entire body shaking, uncontrollable cry.  I was crying out of sadness, but not for him . It was sadness for me and how much I had grown to expect that beautiful smile to be here EVERYDAY.
That was selfish of me to think I would always have it in my house , like it belonged to me.  It belongs exactly where it is going, with him on a path he chose and a timeline he made.
                                  So, for all you parents who haven't yet experienced this, or maybe still have an adult child at home trying to find out where they belong in the world, it's ok. Those loud footsteps to your pantry will fall silent soon enough .... focus on that beautiful smile they give you every day while you can.

                                       When your baby is born, screaming it's first screams after barely being out of your body for 30 seconds, you automatically cry. Whether its outward crying, or inward crying your emotions are raw and you have one million feelings about the little being that was just taken from the safety of your womb. I had this happen to me 3 times. I was extremely lucky to feel that 3 times. But 17 years ago to the day, I had my second child and those emotions were magnified tenfold because my doctor spoke the words "It''s a girl".  You see, I had a feeling I was carrying a girl , although never confirmed by any ultrasound or test I had to undergo. I want a girl so bad. I NEEDED a girl , someone who would be sweet and loving and enjoy all the same things I did.  In the first few minutes of her little life, I saw it all flash before mine.  Sparkly dresses, shoes, Barbies, hair and nail appointments together, dating advice, high school dances ,college trips. All of it was flashing before me on November 25, 2000 and I was elated.  Everyone was oohing and aching over her orange hair and super tiny little body , and I just kept thinking "She's mine. I have a DAUGHTER".
                                        I have been very fortunate all these years, she HAS been mine .  First my sweet baby, then my independent elementary schooler , then evolving into my mini me as she became a teenager. She has never disappointed me, and she always makes me proud. But more recently she made me look deeply inward at myself.  I was not the mother I thought I was, I was not living up to who I wanted to be for her. She was exploring religion on her own (I left the catholic church years ago and let the kids decide about their faith for themselves), she was in a evolving mature relationship with a boy and she was balancing work, cheer, and her difficult school load.  She was becoming less and less MINE and more and more HERSELF.  This is what is supposed to happen , children grow and evolve into who they are going to be. She is everything I saw flash before me 17 years ago in the delivery room plus a million more things I could have never predicted.  And I want to be a better person because of her.  I look at her and the way she handles things, both adversity and success, and I am humbled. I did not teach her that, that she learned on her own.
                                           I now know that when I met this little person 17 years ago, in the early morning hours ,still on an adrenaline rush from the delivery she was only meant to be mine for a while. She was put here for great things, and she is now on the cusp of those things. And I am fortunate enough to still be here, watching and learning just who this little feisty girl will become.  It's like watching a Polaroid picture develop when it starts to come into focus, it is still a bit fuzzy on the edges but you just know it is going to be a keeper.  Happy Birthday to my beautiful Sophie , thank you for being mine all those years... keep me around a few more ,will ya?  I love you.

                    Tomorrow I will be married 23 years, to the same person. That is half my life , sharing everything with one man.  It seems that a marriage that lasts 23 years is something like Big Foot; People claim to have seen it, it is fuzzy and unrecognizable in pictures , and is very rare indeed. I think it is an accomplishment to have been in a marriage this long, and I think an accomplishment deserves recognition, especially in our society of "disposable "everything. There were times, I'm not going to lie, where throwing it away would've been the easy road. So I think my marriage deserves a trophy, or maybe even a plaque. Yeah, a plaque. It would have to a 16x20 size, to fit everything it needs to say on it, but I have the wall space . It would say what the last 23 years have given us and would go something like this:
                      Over the last 23 years, Steve and Krista Davidson have had...
                 - Three beautiful children, spaced perfectly apart . Well ,perfectly if you want to be on PTA's for life and never want to finish a payment plan for braces or college funds.
                  - A mortgage(a few, actually). On a house that we could barely afford 6 years into our marriage . But then when we could afford the payments, someone (Steve) decided to shorten the term (twice) making it ...you guessed it ..difficult to afford AGAIN.  But thanks to that special , long term thinker we are almost done not affording it, and are actually pretty close to owning it.. outdated kitchen , leaky roof and all!
                    -Many sleepless and angry nights, which is the likely outcome when 2 people who are opposites in every possible way decide to live together FOREVER. We have a "type A " personality trying to mesh with a proverbially "Mr. Easy Going", a Southerner trying to learn how to cope with a girl from Queens , and a well known thrifty shopper constantly paying for things the , shall we say, "non thrifty" shopper brings home. (a lot of those things are ALIVE). The old saying "Opposites Attract" is so very true, but opposites also fight like rabid dogs over the course of 23 years.
                     - A life of love, laughter , happy tears, pride and discovery have also filled these 23 years , outweighing the financial and personality problems.

                       This may be way too much to fit on a plaque, and maybe that's why it is silly to think that such an accomplishment can be measured in this manner.  It is measured in days and nights of learning exactly what "I do " meant all those years ago... And we are still learning. I don't know what the next 23 years will bring, but whatever they do at least I know I won't find out alone.
                        Here's to the next 23....Happy Anniversary Steve.

           I am a woman, so I have feelings. A lot of feelings. Feelings that sometimes color my entire day. I have gotten to the point where I wish I had no feelings, you know, like a MAN.  Boy how nice it must be to just turn on ESPN, pop a cold one and forget the world. I have so many feelings in the course of the day, feelings that I work hard to talk myself out of , because they are not what I SHOULD feel. Although they are probably valid, they are not socially acceptable. They are feelings that should not enter the mind of a woman who seemingly has it all. I mean , on the outside I seem to be very , very together.  But on the inside...well let's take a look. Warning: these feelings may not be suitable for all readers , especially those with no hormonal fluctuations .
           So, I am lucky, I have a lovely house in a very nice neighborhood. I should feel grateful and full of joy that I live there . And I do , for the most part. But on the daily, I also feel annoyed and frustrated with my 17 year old home. I am annoyed because I can't afford to update my incredibly dated kitchen and bathrooms, I am frustrated because no sooner do we fix one thing , than another thing craps out. (Which is why I am can't afford any updates) , it is a vicious circle and my feelings sometimes are very bitter regarding my "lovely house". These are feelings I work hard to hide so people don't think "what an ungrateful bitch". But , in reality I am kind of an ungrateful bitch and I blame Joanna Gaines.
           I am also very lucky to have the three beautiful children , and I am very grateful for them.  Really, I am. However, there are feelings that arise in me often (by often I mean pretty much every day).  These feelings are the ones I have to suppress for fear of being thought of as a terrible mom. But I'm going to come clean, I feel unappreciated and invisible ...ALOT. They have had me around 24/7 for 20 years, and take me for granted. Then I go back to work and I am expected to still do the 24/7 mom thing with 27 less hours a week to do it. It makes me need to step outside , sit alone and remind myself I am VISIBLE. I mean my kids love me, that I don't doubt. But my feelings regarding motherhood are not always sunshine and unicorns , like we all pretend to feel when we talk glowingly about our children. I cannot be the only one feeling this way, and I sure as shit am not the only one suppressing it . Well, don't tell me if I am just nod and agree, like one would with a crazy person.
             As a woman, I think we are expected to just smile and take care of everything, both at home and in the workplace. To show how we really feel is a weakness. At my job, which is a basic entry level administrative position, I suppress feelings every hour of my 8 hour day. I took the job as a part time gig,  just to get my feet wet again . I am not doing it for the money, which is a good thing because I barely make any. I am not doing it for the respect, because that's non existent as well. I smile and do my job and pretend 25 year old executives know what they are talking about . It is so damn  exhausting doing that much suppressing , that I actually need the 4 days off a week that I get to regroup.
              Feelings are in every part of my day, and I wish people could know how I really feel about things. But it's best that they can't. I mean I am a smiling, happy blonde who lives in a nice house and has 3 beautiful kids  . It's all perfect... until I think about it. But things could most definitely be worse, and I know that, and I realize how fortunate I am . I chalk these "other "feelings up to HGTV and having ovaries.

                                                   My Summers as an IHOP Waitress...

                   Summer. That word used to mean something very different to me than it does currently. When my three kids were young it meant filling those long daylight hours with camps, bible schools and play dates for both my sanity and theirs. As they grew a bit, that changed from days filled with me chauffeuring them to friend's houses, community pools and theme parks (living in Florida everyone has a frigging theme park pass ..). The cost of summer financially was astronomical for those years, but it was worth every cent. The 2 month break from the 10 month marathon we call school was always welcomed and appreciated , especially by me . I jokingly used to say , on the last day of school, that "my job at IHOP starts tomorrow". I would cook and prepare food throughout the day , because 3 kids of various ages arise from their beds at very different times. So, breakfast had a tendency of morphing right into lunch , with dinner sometimes only a few hours behind. I literally felt like a diner waitress without the benefit of the tips or sassy apron.
                   What I just described all sounds very indulgent and exhausting , doesn't it? In fact there are probably people reading this saying "well you brought that on yourself".  Yes, people, yes I did. It was indulgent, expensive and tiring but you know what else it was? FAST.  So. very. fast.
                    Summer. Now this word means nothing different to me than fall, winter or spring. It means a quiet morning getting ready for work, drinking my coffee in silence. No Fruit Loops to pour, no waffles to make. Just me, sitting in my silent kitchen . I am very aware that three beautiful young adults will get up out of their beds(at all different times) and stumble to the kitchen to make their own breakfasts-or lunches depending on the time -and I will not be there.  They will make their coffee, they will toast their waffles and start their days. They will go to their jobs, or go the beach or watch Netflix and I won't be there to hang with them, or make sure they get a good lunch-not pizza rolls and Ramen.  I am no longer an IHOP waitress . They don't need a short order cook, or a chauffeur anymore. They still have their summer "break" but I am no longer an integral part of that. And I miss that.  I miss seeing them go from Zoo Camp to bible schools to Busch Gardens with their friends , with me as the driver, and most of all , the listener.
                      So , as I hang up my Imaginary IHOP apron for a business casual wardrobe, I realize the time I spent for those many summers was the best time I ever spent.  Summer meant time . Precious , albeit fleeting time with the three people I love most in the world.  So, if you still have littles, and are able to soak up every bit of summer with them I say indulge them and exhaust yourself because a quiet kitchen is right around the corner.

            Last week, my daughter Sophie brought home her course card for the next school year. This tiny card holds the key to what classes she will enroll in for the long awaited junior year, which is coincidentally known as " let's take every hard class the school has to offer so colleges will like me"year! So , as she brought me this blank card, she began telling me what exactly she was going to put on it.  Among the choices were AP psych, AP US History, Dual Enrollment English Comp , and Dual Enrollment College Algebra . I looked at her, in all her freckled face seriousness , and said " so you are quitting cheerleading, breaking up with your boyfriend and chaining yourself to your laptop for the next year?" She looked so confused, even a bit disappointed when she answered, " a lot of my friends are taking these classes and I'm smart too , you know".
               Oh, do I know ! Smart is one of the top 3 words I use to describe my daughter, with motivated and driven being the other two . But I also use words like, sociable, funny, silly, and oh I don't know, how about 16 ! to describe her as well. The look of this fictitious 11th grade schedule made me think those words would not accurately describe junior year Sophie any longer. Now, I am sure there are kids out there who can do all that and have some semblance of a life. But in my experience, those kids are few and far between.  I have seen kids make and live those sort of academic schedules before, and I have seen those kids (after the first few weeks) crying into their pillows, ( I won't mention any names but one spends ALOT of time at my house dating my son). I have seen great 4 point something GPA's nosedive due to an overzealous schedule which was just too high of a difficulty level for them to maintain. They are KIDS after all.
             Now I am not saying her junior year course card should read with the simplicity of a "Dick and Jane " children book,  but moderation is the key . So, I sat her down and made some (ahem ) suggestions. I suggested she take 2 Dual enrollment, neither one of them being a math class . Sophie's verbal skills/ reading skills are off the chart , but math is a work in progress. So English Comp and Dual Enrollment Psychology are a good fit for her.  I put the kabash on AP classes altogether. In my experience with AP classes , they have been rather disappointing.  The great grade in the class doesn't necessarily lead to a passing AP test grade. Which means "oops sorry that 500 hours of reading you did, 950 notecards you wrote and early Saturday morning strategy sessions you attended  , led to nothing , nada, "no college credit soup for you!" So after a heart to heart and her little red head envisioning a year of stress, and since quitting cheer is never an option for her and neither is quitting her boyfriend , we crafted a very solid, college friendly course card. What we didn't create was a sobbing, stressed out , anxiety ridden high school junior.
               I know there are people reading this right now who don't agree with it. But I'm willing to bet those folks haven't already been through this process yet. So keep reading Shakespeare to your kindergartners and enrolling the 4 year olds in Kumon,  everyone is entitled to their opinion.  But I know colleges like "big picture "type applicants. Good grades, challenging classes, a mix of extracurriculars, volunteer hours and students who will fit into their University atmosphere.  There are still going to be the parents and students who think only GPA and grades matter and in some cases like MIT, Harvard, Stanford (you know, the genius schools) that is probably a resounding YES ! Grades and GPA are the benchmark for fitting in at those esteemed schools. But for the rest of us, and in particular a little girl with visions of being a Tarheel cheerleader and UNC student ,crafting a big picture will be the focus.  And maybe, just maybe enjoying the one & only junior year in high school she's ever going to get.

Looking Back Hurts Your Neck

                                  The biggest curse of middle age is not the obvious culprits. The wrinkles, grey hair, and pouchy midsection all suck, that's for sure. Those things are not the worse thing about getting older though, the worse thing goes much deeper than that. The thing that I hate the most about being this age is hindsight. I find myself thinking back on lots of things and realizing how different things could be if only... That line of thinking is destructive, and gets the person nowhere. Yet anyone who has reached this age probably thinks back on things ten times a day.  The main reason being : our children. Especially teenage children , who are constantly making decisions and doing things we once did (albeit the 2.0 version). We watch and we know what they SHOULD do, because we did not do what we SHOULD'VE done. We want to spare them the use of the all too often coined phrase "hindsight is 20/20". No one spared us though, they did not even try, or did they?
                                    Let me give you all a good example of this. As a high school senior I earned an academic scholarship to a private school in North Carolina. It was in the town I was living in, therefore I would live at home.  I began my Freshman year there , and did okay. It was a lovely campus , the kind I dream of sending my children to (especially tuition free). Well, In the meantime I met a guy ( never mind that he is now my husband of 22 years) and I left my full scholarship to the prestigious private college and transferred to USF to be near him. Goodbye fully paid tuition, hello out of state tuition. I honestly do not know how my parents did not kill me. Or at the very least say No, I couldn't go.  They had to be shaking their heads, thinking don't do this. You only get one shot at all of this. Yet they let me go. Now, I am a parent about the same age they were when faced with these" letting me make my own decisions "moments. My son recently made a decision as well. A change of schools, of majors and basically life choices. The older, wiser me with a penchant for dreaming of what could've been , had to let him do it. Is it easy? NO . Do I probably know better what is good for him? YES. But it's ultimately his life. These decisions shape who we are. I have no doubt that his middle age years will lead to a lot of "look backs" and hindsight moments. Everybody's does , I guess. Good things came out of my hasty decision to leave my original college, things like a solid marriage and a fairly blessed life. In fact, if my parents had used their hindsight to try and sway me they would not have had their 3 grandchildren. They must have bit holes in their tongues, like I have. My tongue resembles a piece of swiss cheese since the arrival of the teen years in my house (x3 by the way).
                                      So, when I am asked for advice by my children I will give it . I will tell them my mistakes, regrets and things that I wish I would've done differently. I won't make my life theirs though. They will get the chance to earn the right to say, with wistfulness ,"hindsight is 20/20"... I mean , otherwise all we have to show for middle age is the wrinkles, grey hair and mushy abs.
                                 

From Mikey to Michael

                                A few days ago , Mikey asked me if we could go to the mall.  I was very preoccupied with his sister's new found head injury courtesy of cheerleading and his brother's bronchitis that was lingering a little too long. In classic third child fashion he said "never mind, we can go tomorrow." I breathed a sigh of relief, because I literally had no time to squeeze a trip to the mall into my day. Later on , I began to think about how Mikey so easily backed down. Almost like he realized his importance in the big scheme of things, predestined by birth order , and by no fault of his own. I felt very disgusted with myself . Of all my children, Mikey is the sweetest.  He , out of everyone else who lives here, deserves to go the mall the most.  Now I wanted to know why he wanted to go the mall, why the kid who never asks for anything , felt the need to ask to go the mall.
Turns out he ripped a pair of pants that he had gotten for Christmas, and wanted a new pair. Sounds reasonable, right? Sure, but up until now Mikey would've just WORE the pants and not even cared. This desire for the replacement pants is more than just a need for new clothing , it is a sign. A sign that my baby is becoming a teenager and now cares about his appearance.
                                 This hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. My little boy , the one I can still count on to hug me for no reason,  fight about taking a shower , still watch SpongeBob and eat cereal after school was soon going to be one of THEM.  And I have enough of THEM around here. I want a little boy.  But I know this is not possible, the stopping of time is an impossibility , if it wasn't no one would ever have teenagers in the first place. Mikey is at that" in between " . He wants cool clothes, shoes and hair. He wants to fit in. He's even recently started asking when is he getting braces, because kids are starting to notice his "jacked up teeth". It has been happening for a while now, but I have been turning the other cheek to it. Playing the ostrich mom, if I hide from it maybe it won't happen. However, when I take a look at my son, I see the metamorphosis beginning. Long arms and legs that almost appear awkward right now , a face taking on more bone structure and losing that softness that I love to kiss goodnight. A growth spurt is eminent , and so is the desire for freedom. Freedom from being the "baby" and longing to try new things.  This is something I know I cannot stop. With the other two children, I didn't feel so melancholy about it. Zach needed to grow up, so I could handle the other two . Sophie was born 15 , so her becoming a teenager was barely noticeable . Mikey, however, has been my connection to still having a "little one" and that was coming to an end. This clearly is more about me clinging to something , than Mikey becoming a teenager . It is about my journey through motherhood coming to a crossroads. I will have three young adults , who need me less from a physical aspect but more from an emotional one. I will have one more child who is almost a grown up , one more child whose voice will deepen , who will have tormented days as he tries to figure out who he is and who he wants to be. And I will go through it with him, just as I am going through it with his brother and sister. But even though he will be a teenager and start acting like someone I don't recognize , all I will see when I look at him is that blue eyed, good natured baby who never fussed or complained about anything. That's what will get me through Mikey's journey to Michael.

Because 15 Deserves A Whole Blog, Not Just a Status

                               15 years ago tonight I had just finished putting up my Christmas tree (yes, I was very holiday spirited back then and the tree went up on Thanksgiving weekend) and I went out to eat with my parents and my then 3 year old son . I was 38 weeks pregnant , and HUNGRY.  So we went to my toddlers favorite restaurant at the time, Perkins. I ate like a trucker coming off of a 4 day haul . I even demanded cherry pie (I was obsessed with red foods my entire pregnancy ...hmmm) which Perkins did not have. My swollen , pregnant reaction to the waiter telling me they had no cherry pie must've scared him enough to show up with a piece topped with whipped cream within 7 minutes. The exact time it takes to get to the Publix located directly across the street ..coincidence? Maybe...
                                After my parents rolled me back home and into bed , I settled in for a good night sleep. But someone had other ideas. That someone was a 2 week early , tiny redhead who came fast and furiously. By 4:16 AM after the Perkins eat- a -thon (and thankfully no C-section , because clearly I would have died due to the over indulgence of food 4 hours prior..) I was given my daughter. A DAUGHTER. I did not know I was having a girl, every sonogram her legs were closed tight. A great habit that I hope follows her for a little while longer . She was beautiful. Tiny and screaming , but beautiful. And I was instantly in love.  Even though she was not my first experience with newborn love, she was a totally different experience. I did not know how badly that I wanted a daughter, until I gave birth to her. I got to have a little girl, a sweet ,pink loving , gentle little girl. A perfect balance to the rough and tumble" all boy" son I already had. I couldn't wait to be a girl mom.
                              And the last 15 years have not been a disappointment, this "girl mom "thing. I got to dress her up, style her beautiful red hair , buy her cute (many, many cute) things. I got to go to dance recitals , cheer competitions , Twilight movies, sleepovers . I got to be part of her friends circle in elementary school, which has helped me still (sort of ) be part of her high school life. I got to be there for her first period , her first formal dance and her first boyfriend. It has been a roller coaster ride sometimes , and we have had some real knock down drag out fights. Having a daughter has been like living my life over again, but better. I get to watch and help out when needed. It is also just as painful ,when the mistakes she is making are obvious ,but she's got to learn from them to shape her into the person she is to become.
                              So tomorrow at 4:16 am my baby will turn 15. She has grown into such a smart, sensitive , beautiful person. She is everything I hoped she would be that early morning when I held her 5lb. body in my hands , and looked into her muddy blue eyes. And more. She's taught me just as much as I have taught her. I am so glad I have a girl in this crazy mix of boys. She is my sanity, my heart, my best friend. Happy Birthday to my Sophie Elaine.

The 4 Levels of HELL : Uh, I Mean Motherhood

                                  Recently a mom of a one year old said to me , "Gee, how nice it must be to not have to worry about your kids hurting themselves every second. I can't wait until she's a little bigger and I can relax".  There was so much wrong with that statement I didn't know where to begin.  I didn't have the heart to tell her you will NEVER relax again, you will just be in a different panic mode with each age group. I let her think that as soon as her baby got a grip on walking and not putting everything in her mouth it would be smooth sailing. I mean , why should I tell her differently? No one told me any different.  The worry and panic does not dissipate it merely changes , and there are several levels throughout motherhood that we all will go through (if we care and are engaged in our children's lives).
                                  Pregnancy: This stage of motherhood is the very earliest of the worrying . It starts with "Oh God!  Did that glass of wine I had the night I conceived cause my child brain damage?' , and develops into " Can I just have one cup of coffee a day to help me actually survive this stage (this is usually not a first pregnancy worry, more like a second or third ..)?". There is also the weigh issue , the not eating mercury laden foods issue, the keeping yourself from sleeping on your back , your side, your stomach so as not to hurt this tiny being inside . That's right , there 's no comfortable or safe position to sleep in , which leads to many sleepless nights of , you guessed it, worry! This stage ends with the happiest event in any mother's life, the birth of her child. Whew... we did it. Sadly, though that level of worry we just lived through as mothers is the easiest one we will experience....
                                   Infancy:  This stage is filled with worry of all kinds, and it's usually ridiculous. From the minute our spouses drive 8 MPH home from the hospital (with the mother in the backseat staring in fear at her new love) the worry kicks in.  The "why is he/she crying so much?" , the "OOH .. is that poop color normal, is that poop too runny , is he/she ever going to poop?" ..Poop fills a lot of the worrying very early on in a mother's journey... The calls to the pediatrician about fevers, teething, lack of appetite, too much appetite . It is a full year of worrying that we  are surely killing our baby , in some way , shape or form if we don't notify the pediatrician about EVERYTHING. (Once again, this is baby #1 ..Baby # 2 the worry is a little less..).
                                   Toddlers: This is the stage where mothers are on high alert . We have to have heads on a swivel because these people are DAREDEVILS. They climb, jump, eat things that are not meant to be eaten.  And we, as mothers , must predict what they will do next. It is exhausting! And we worry. Because , they wind up falling, pulling sharp, breakable things down on themselves and swallowing things that are shiny and small (like coins or watch batteries) and we must be prepared for any and all of these things to happen at any given time, and usually right in front of us. We worry that they will not be fit for human interaction if they happen to be biters, or spitters or even tattletales..I had all three(I'll let you guess who was who). This stage ends the morning we walk this little being into their kindergarten class , either we are crying or we can't wait to get to the gym and Starbucks (usually the second option is reserved for the 2nd or 3rd child. ). The worry we had for the toddlers has dissipated into a whole new chapter and it's a loooong one.
                                      School-age/PreTeen: I am combining these two because the worry is the same . We worry they will never understand the "new" math( because we don't), we worry they won't be liked by their peers, or they will be liked TOO much. We worry about letting them go to their first sleepover (the interview process of the sleepover host was  similar to an FBI interview when mine started going ). We worry about lice , then we worry we will never get rid of the lice that our second grade daughter with hair down to her rear end inevitably got TWICE (usually at a damn sleepover). We worry that they will find out Santa is not real at school by some little heathen who had it ruined for him by an older sibling..and we worry that we can't stay awake long enough to play "tooth fairy" and have to make up some elaborate story as to what happen to the little pain in the ass pixie the night before. Many a morning Mikey woke up with no money under his pillow, tooth still there. He actually made out the best , because then he got guilt money (exponentially greater than lame tooth fairy money). Then one day we are clapping out our elementary schoolers and sending them to middle school , where worry is more about keeping up academically and keeping them from getting in the wrong crowd...speaking of which here come the Teen Years.
                                    Teens: I can not write how much there is to worry about in this stage because that would fill a book. So I will go over the highlights . Driving is at the top of the list. All of a sudden , as mothers, we must let our child maneuver a 2 ton vehicle when that very child can't pour cereal without spilling it all over the kitchen counter.  It is ludicrous , but we must do it. We are destined to worry forever about this one folks ,so just get used that sinking feeling in your stomach as they drive off EVERY SINGLE TIME. If you feel like you ate something bad for lunch, you probably didn't it's just your child heading to the mall in their car . Another  biggie is drug use/experimentation/exposure. Now, you moms who do not have teens yet probably think "Oh no , not my little Johnny/Jane , I taught my child to just say no" . Ok, well unless they are going to school in a bubble they will be exposed and most will TRY . Now the worry must turn into fear.  Fear of drinking , fear of getting in cars with kids who have been drinking, fear of hurting themselves or others. See, doesn't that glass of wine you had when you were pregnant pale in comparison to this level of worry? This is a whole new playing field and it is where hope enters the motherhood stage. You hope that they will use common sense(they won't ), you hope they will hear your voice in their head as they take that beer from their friend(they may), you hope that when they inevitably do make these choices they will learn from them(most do ..eventually). This is the stage of motherhood I am in currently X 3. It is a constant state of questioning , worry and panic.  It is so much more intense than the any of the other stages , plus we are OLD. We are TIRED. We need them to start being mature, rational beings so we can relax. I hope that is on the horizon for me.. but I am sure there is more worry ahead.
                                I just made motherhood sound like nothing but worry, panic and a big headache. All you moms reading this know that is not the case. You know that even though it is filled with those things, it is also filled with smiles, laughs , love and pride. I get those tenfold every single day which makes the underlying stomachache I have (and have had since 1997 ) all worth while.

My 2AM thoughts last night...

                              "The days are long but the years are short". We have all heard this quote at one time or another.  When you're young it doesn't make any sense. How can days be long, but years short?? I remember thinking that once myself.  Just shaking my head and chalking it up to someone's supposed middle aged wisdom. Then one day, I knew what it meant. I cannot pinpoint the day that I had this revelation, I'm sure it was a series of events that made it all clear. Events like Pre-K graduations, 5th grade clap-outs, middle school dances and the long awaited high school graduation.  These things make you realize that the day to day tedium of raising a family soon just melds into many years passing by,  leaving you with memories of the little children you once shared your entire day with (literally from sun up to sun down- in many cases to sun up again).
                                 This week another milestone will happen in our family, proof once again how short the years actually are. My oldest child will turn 18 this week.  This child, who seemingly just came into my life , has actually been here for 18 years.  And believe me , when he was a baby the days were looooong.  He was colicky, then he was a biter,  then extremely active...well you get the picture . It was very trying as a young mother to deal with those early years, I remember thinking will this child EVER sleep? HA! The answer to that question is a resounding YES, but it took a while.  In that while , our lives were going by.  He was going to kindergarten, while I was home with a toddler, and a big belly. He was entering middle school , while my youngest was entering his first year of school. He was in high school for what seemed like a nano second.  Homecomings, talent shows, football games, baseball games, awards nights...all just a blip on the radar of his childhood.  All things I will be forever grateful that I got to share.  Then just like that it was over. Those seemingly long days morphed into 18 quick years.  And the other two children are hot on his heels.
                                     So, now that I am at a point in my life where my children sleep late(ridiculously LATE) , can be taken out in public without any meltdowns, and eat and poop on their own I realize the meaning of that old saying. I am sometimes wistful of those long days which did not only have the tantrums and the constant feeding/changing schedule ; it also had the hugs, playgroups and unconditional love that comes with having babies.  The days were so long because they were jam packed with it all. The years seem short because while we are in it we are not taking it all in enough. Then, one day your supposed middle aged wisdom kicks in and you know exactly how short the years are. And you cry a little, you smile a lot at all that has already happened and you look forward to experiencing all the rest with the little lives that have now become big ones. I'm lucky, I have 2 more children to still enjoy the seemingly " little" stuff with.  Only difference is, now I know it's actually the "big" stuff  .