Musings on the year

Today, after five or six days of only walking in our neighborhood (and being cooped up happily in our house otherwise), I told D I had to see something else. And so beasts of burden it was. It felt appropriate....this cow giving me the side-eye. I feel a little bloated and bovine after slubbing around for days on end and eating entirely too much dairy. 

It is New Year's Eve or Arbitrary Time Delineation Day Eve as I like to call it. Where most people toast in the falseness of a new year, but more importantly, an all new and improved possibility of themselves, a them it is probably not possible to be at least within the mere span of 12 months and certainly not on day two or even the first 30 days of January. 

As much as I dislike all the rubbish around this day and tomorrow, I find myself reflecting on this past calendar year because it has continued what has been several years of milestone-ish events and nausea-inducing whirlwinds (if I think too much about it). 

My dad's open heart surgery in 2019 followed by mom's second breast cancer thereafter (or maybe hers was right before...who can remember). 

COVID in March 2020, followed that summer by Dad's cancer, chemo, radiation, and more surgery and radiation in 2021. 

N turning 18 in early 2022, the two of us going to the Galapagos two months later and that trip followed by her graduation from high school. 

G starting high school.

Our family trip to Scotland this past summer as a celebration of 25 years of marriage (as of late 2022) and me turning 50 (in 2023). 

And now M has applied to the same high school where G attends, so I'm apprehensive about that and anticipating the strangeness of my baby being in 9th grade. 

Around Christmas 2020, I really thought we were going to lose Dad and so I told myself that anything beyond that moment was gravy. Time with him beyond that instant was something unexpected and so I should pay special attention to it. 

As much as I do not like to use terminology like this, the realization felt holy to me and still does. It centered around my dad at that time, but it has expanded to include most everything I do. (Of course, things like earning money have to be done when and how they have to be done.)

I've always been reflective, even since childhood. I was one of those "mature beyond her years" kids, which I think mostly means you're well on your way to needing therapy and a solid antidepressant regimen. But that reflective moment felt deeper than others. 

As much as 2020 was a complete shitshow in so many ways, every year since then has been an effort in me considering time and what I do with mine. Do I want to be busy? Do I want to sit with my thoughts? Do I want to have a relationship with this person or that person? Who gets my valuable and limited time?

Although her poem is tiled The Summer Day, Mary Oliver's line, "what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" has been on my mind almost always since that Christmas 2020. 

Even in the bleak early winter as I roamed through the woods today, on the new year's eve, I found myself thinking how right Oliver's poetic lines have been for me these past years:

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

Same thing as G birthday-wise

Dear M,

My bonus baby is 14 now, and it is hard for me to believe. 

You've changed a lot in the past year, mostly height wise because you are now officially TALLER THAN ME. I'm now the shortest person in the house, which is strange. 

I watch you saunter toward the car during school pickup and am astounded by how different you are from even a year ago. Taller, deeper voice, snarkier comments (which mostly make us laugh). 

You are the hardest of my children for me to figure out. For so many years, whenever I would ask your opinion, you would respond, "Same thing as G." So that's what you got: the same thing. We didn't know what you, M, actually liked.

Now, you have left that line behind, but when we ask you what you like or want, you mostly respond, "I don't know," which is harder for me to comprehend than your previous standard response. 

Like your dad, you struggle with making decisions. You are pretty happy with whatever as long as someone else makes the call. 

So how would I describe you at 14?

• You are a pet whisperer: you have a special way with animals that makes them like you. 
• You like doing work, having recently discovered an affinity for power-washing. (When I think about what job or career you might pursue, I always wonder if it will be something that blends desk-work with being up and about.) 
• You do not like watching movies; it is a miracle if we can get you to watch one with us. 
• You are definitely more like your Pa because he loves to save money and so do you! (G takes after Papaw T who couldn't keep $5 in his pocket without it burning a hole.) 
• You recently told us that your nickname with friends is Benson. It makes me happy to know you have a group of friends who have given you a nickname. 
• You never wear a shirt if you can help it, which makes for some awkward family photos.

I love the dry humor you bring to the table (literally, every night at dinner) and the look you give whenever Dad pulls up a photo on his phone of you as a chunky toddler. That is what I see when I look at you, even though you're now a couple inches above me. 

Hope this year is a good one!

Love you,

Momma

You made it to 16

Dear G,

You just recently turned 16, and I have to admit, I'm a little surprised. Given our struggles when you were younger, I wondered if I wouldn't throttle you long before you reached this milestone. Sometimes I am amazed that the person who towers over me now and has a pretty mature emotional outlook used to be the kid who couldn't control his feelings at all.

I'm not going to say I haven't learned anything from mothering your sister and brother, but being your mom has taught me the most (so far, anyway) because of your struggles. 

One thing I've learned from you is that kids are who they are and there is a lot of awesomeness to be proud of. You have always been a unique thinker, a sensitive person, and those are wonderful traits; we simply had to get your brain settled down enough so that those things could take center stage rather than anxiety. Unfortunately, anxiety feeds off anxiety, so your feelings set my feelings off, and that was never a great combination or experience for either of us. 

Being your mom has made me realize how critical it is to get as much help as soon as possible for kids who struggle so that their struggle doesn't have to become a lifetime one or one that cripples them. I'm thankful we had the resources to do that. I'm thankful we were open to the advice and help of professionals. Our only concern was helping you be happy and comfortable in who you are. 

You've gone through a lot of changes in the past year. You started high school and have done excellent in your classes; you adjusted like a champ. You had a girlfriend and experienced a breakup, which you also handled admirably. 

Because you've always had a very strong identity, I have sometimes felt like I knew exactly what you would do, but yet, as you get older, you increasingly surprise me. Like going to next week's event up in Indiana, which you originally said you didn't want to do (which didn't surprise me), and then changed your mind (which did).  I think it will be a fun experience for you, and I can't wait for you to tell us about it afterwards. 

I like to think that pushing you a little out of your comfort zone throughout your life has given you a sense that you can move out of it on your own even without our prodding. You did great on our family trip to Scotland and surprised me there, too, with loving haggis and climbing up to the Old Man of Storr, which I thought for sure you would complain about both. 

Another thing that has surprised me is your newfound desire to watch movies, which either you, me, and Dad or you and Dad have been doing at least once every weekend since June. It is so funny to see you discover films that we love (like Inception) or to hear you and your dad go on and on about Stanley Kubrick or space travel after watching 2001: A Space Odyssey. 

You have always been a bright, thoughtful, conscientious kid, but you are adding maturity to that which only makes you better. We are excited to watch you grow and change even more in the next 12 months. 

Love you,

Momma

Reasons why I don't ever want to become a vampire

I recently finished John Polidori's The Vampyre and am now on to a different kind of vampire tale, but even if I wasn't, I've long believed that being a vampire would be the worst fate imaginable. 

It's not the blood or the taking of life. Those aren't my issues with vampirehood.

The problem is the fucking monotony and the absolute ennui that would ensue after living for hundreds and hundreds or, dear god, thousands of years.

Humans keep humaning in their pathetic and/or atrocious ways.

Like their insistence on measuring girls' clothing lengths. Word on the street is that N's former high school was checking girls shorts today, and this news has put me in the foulest of foul moods. 

(Because didn't we just go through this in the before times which weren't that long ago?)

Unless I'm seeing a penis, testicles, nipples, a vulva, gluteal cleft or extensive mammary action, I don't care what a person wears, and I cannot wrap my head around why seeing shoulders and thighs is such a problem for so many people. 

But guess what being a vampire would mean? 

I WOULD NEVER ESCAPE THE BULLSHIT THAT IS DRESS CODES FOR WOMEN AND GIRLS.

I would never escape buses dropping my kid off on the wrong side of a 5-lane parkway again.

I would never escape having to call and find out if this can be remedied.

I would never escape being interrupted by texts or by my children who don't see me busily working at my desk in what used to be the living room. 

I would never escape hormonal mood swings that may cause me hurt someone (or them to hurt me) before menopause is here. 

I would never escape the depression that is shopping at Walmart. 

I would never escape doing work that doesn't actually get utilized in a purposeful way.

I would never escape litter that tracks itself all over the house and is especially irritating in summer when I have bare feet.

I would never escape the hellscape that we're managing to turn the Earth into. 

Despite how funny Laszlo, Nandor, and Colin Robinson make it seem, being a vampire and having my life extended only to witness humanity effing things up sounds unbearable. 

Second-guessing life choices...sort of/not really

It's that time of year again--the time when teachers post their "back-to-school" photos or comments stating that this is their 18th year in the classroom or their 12th year at School X and 24th year teaching in general.

This is also the time of year when I think to myself, "This MIGHT HAVE BEEN my ____ year."

[For the record, had I not taken an extended break from full-time work, I would be starting my 23rd year.]

Mostly, seeing these posts makes me feel bad because it means that in 4 years I could RETIRE from teaching, and that probably isn't the best attitude to have, especially since I haven't worked full-time as a teacher in 19 years. The only reason I have regret is because I would want to be almost done with a job that I haven't wanted to do full-time in the first place. 

And this just seems....dumb (in addition to confusing). 

So it is also at this time of year when I have to do what a lot of people do: I have to give myself a good talking to in response to stuff I see on social media. 

The talking to goes like this:

First, you didn't want to try to be the mom you wanted to be and the teacher you wanted to be because you felt pretty certain it would drive you crazy to not give yourself fully to either one. That is water LONG under the bridge so would you puhlease get over it. 

Second, you created this weird life of sorta teaching, sorta writing, sorta editing and have a bunch of hobbies and interests and you would have to give ALL of that up if you went back full-time. You spent time with your kids while they were growing up, and now you're spending time with your parents who are growing old. 

[To soothe your ego, here is a reminder of the things you've done: 13 years as a freelance writer, 11 years at the cottage school, 7 years as a substitute teacher, edited several books for people who have been published, editor at online literary magazine, soon-to-be published in an anthology. There do you feel better now?]

Third, you ABHOR meetings. The best part of the teaching you do is that you can avoid these. Same with your writing work. Minimal meetings is key. 

After the lecture I feel better and am able to go about my life doing what I have chosen to do. 

Until next August when we do this again.

If someone did to our free time what we do to kids' free time

Imagine an adult working a job. Maybe this job is 25 hours a week, maybe 40. It doesn't really matter. When this adult is not at work, she or he is experiencing what is called "free time," the time they can use however they wish. 

Most adults, because they are adults and have responsibilities, must spend part of that time doing stuff that keeps them alive: cooking, shopping, cleaning. 

But the rest of the time is theirs to read, play video games, sleep on the couch, watch Golden Girls, play sports, smoke pot, whatever. 

Now imagine if someone said to this adult:

"You must do something productive with your free time even if you don't want to. You have to join a rotary club or a politically-minded group. You have to go to book club three nights a week. You can no longer just enjoy your free time as you want. You have to engage in something that will 'improve' you in some way."

How pissed would you be?

I expect most adults would be furious. How dare someone tell them what to do with their free time?

And yet, it seems to me that parents often do this with their own kids. 

I think the reasons for this are complicated:

First, it can be hard for parents to understand that their children are not smaller/younger mockups of them: "I played football and love football, and therefore I want my child to play and love football." And maybe the parent encourages (pushes) the child into something that the child maybe feels meh about. 

Parents have also bought into this notion that if their kid hasn't set the world on fire by the time they are 17, it's over for them. Like kids have to pack in all these experiences before they go off to college (or to get into college), and if they don't....god help them. If our kids aren't little mockups of us, they are moldable blobs of clay that we are shaping into the next big success or the next awesome scholarship recipient. (The media, colleges, and high schools promote this and feed on the anxiety.)

[Personally, I think if you peak at 17 you're in for a rather disappointing life. I had a good high school experience but FFS, it wasn't the be-all and end-all.]

Of course, there are some kids who legit want to be involved in everything. I was that kid in high school. The paragraph next to my senior photograph is probably six inches long with all the stuff I was involved in. But by the time I got into college, I didn't want to join shit because I was freaking tired from the previous four years. It just wore me out rather than making me a bigger, stronger, faster version of myself (like the Six Million Dollar Woman). 

I'm so much more than I was in college, and I want to scream it from the rooftops to quit putting unnecessary pressure on young people. 

It seems pretty important to let kids be kids, even if it means they don't join stuff, if all they do is go to school, pass their classes, and come home (like my sons do). If G and M wanted to join something, I would encourage them, and sometimes I ask if they'd be interested in something I may hear about at their school, but when they say "no," I don't insist. 

D was never a joiner in school and sometimes I think he regrets it. And maybe one day my sons will regret it, but it is THEIR LIFE and, honestly, their problem. I would rather them be mad at themselves one day because they didn't get involved than be resentful of me because I made them do stuff they didn't want to do. And, lord knows, I don't need a fight. 

It's hard enough to get them to do the basic stuff like wash their hair and wear deodorant and reply back to their grandparents' text messages. If they don't want to do judo or be in the chess club or play with the orchestra, that's fine. 

The kids who are joiners will join, and you won't have to twist their arms to do it. The kids who don't want to join may not want to join now (on your time table), but they may do it one day when they are inclined. And then there are some who will never join anything and will be perfectly fine with it, even if it makes their parent's eye twitch. 

Would you shut up already?

Well, I knew it had been awhile since I blogged but February??

My word. I've been a busy lady, I guess. 

I could review all that busyness, but this is not the time nor the place.

I'm talking about our family trip to Scotland.

It has become clear to me over the past couple years that when it comes to travel, I get a wild hair (from where, I don't know) and just run with it. 

I had never had any thought of going to the Galapagos, but when I heard about it from N's high school in October 2020 (for an April 2022 trip), I just thought, "Let's do it." 

So we did. And it was awesome. 

D and I had briefly talked about taking the kids to Boston because G had mentioned something about it from an interest in a video game (which inspired our trip with the kids to Las Vegas in 2021). With G being the most difficult to please (in all respects) out of the family, we sort of let his interests guide our plans. At one point, sometime in early 2022, I guess, I asked him, "Would you prefer to go to Boston or Scotland?"

Smart boy said "Scotland."

Why did Scotland pop into my head? It's cool there, generally, which has become the primary factor in where we go. G hates hot weather, and as an almost 50-year-old woman, I don't need any additional help being hot, so cooler is absolutely alright with me. 

But did I have a burning desire to visit Scotland? Not especially. 

Still, the words had come out of my mouth, so I proceeded to plan a trip last summer. 

Sometimes I think my unconscious brain is busy working while my conscious brain just dithers about because D and I did celebrate 25 years of marriage last fall. Why not make this trip the June after our anniversary a milestone holiday? And we took the kids because they are not quite old enough to be totally solo for 10 days, and our parents are just a little too old to be dealing with not quite old enough kids for 10 days. 

I worked with Tenon Tours to plan the trip and was very happy with how everything turned out. Could we have done it for less money? Certainly, but part of what we wanted was to spend a night in a castle, and that wasn't cheap. They selected a manor house for us to stay in for two nights, and that was an amazing experience. We got to do a falconry experience was that phenomenal. 

At the manor house, while playing pool, M said, "This place is really cool, but if I stayed in places like this all the time, it wouldn't be special." And I think that sums up this trip for us. 

We visited the following towns/villages/cities in Scotland: Edinburgh, Kingussie, Forres, Inverness, Findhorn, Portree, Glencoe, Ballachulish, Fort William, Mallaig, Stirling, and Falkirk. And we saw so many amazing things. 

It has been a complete drag to come back to real life. Real life is so dull. (I say or think this and then fight the shame/guilt that reminds me that I am so privileged to be able to go on such a trip and then come home and complain about my very easy existence.) I have been posting photos on social media (partly because it brings me joy and I do like sharing it with others; I try not to be too insufferable by posting only a few photos, not big photo dumps of 45 pics.) I feel certain at least several people I know are thinking, Would you can it?

Still, the most wonderful part of the trip was spending time with my family at a time when we spend less time together. In some ways, this may have been a last hurrah for us (I hope not, but life changes whether you want it to or not.)

Some highlights of small moments: 

Apparently, at one point I said, "Ice cream is calling my name," and my kids have now made that one of  the "mom" phrases they make fun of me about. 

They also made fun of me because every time D has a camera in his hands, I ask, "Are you taping me?" And he always gets me on tape asking that question. (After 25 years, you kind of know someone.)

The kids, while D and I were checking into our hotel in Glencoe, made several videos in which the boys spoke as their alter egos, Eugene and Theodore. Theodore (G) gave Eugene (M) a hug which made Eugene fart, causing uproarious laughter that was caught on video. 

N, in her excitement over being able to drink legally as a 19-year-old in Scotland, ordered the typical beverage that everyone orders at an Italian small plate restaurant: a margarita. 

G's socks stunk so badly that all their shared rooms smelled like corn chips until I could find a laundry on the Isle of Skye. 

The best thing I have discovered about getting away from real life is that it takes away all the distractions that keep me from noticing my kids---the laundry, the paperwork, the phone calls, the vacuuming. It makes me focus on the moment. And we're getting short time on moments when I have the opportunity to notice them. 

Last year of teens

Dear N,

You have now embarked on your last year as an official teen, although your life is already very different from what it was a short 12 months ago.

It has been a strange year because you are learning how to navigate life as an adult, and I am learning how to not be a part of everything. This is not bad, for either of us. I have not once missed field hockey or high school events; it is totally ok that I'm not getting emails from school or having to fill out forms for you. This is the progression that every parent (every rational one, anyway) welcomes.  

I think you've adjusted to college. You were anxious your first semester, but you managed to pull all As and seem much more relaxed about second semester. You are enjoying your Philosophy in Science Fiction class (which I, your ever wise mom, recommended you take). It is fun for me and your dad to hear you talk about your classes. College can be a really cool time for you to figure yourself out (or at least begin a process that, if you're anything like me, will take until you're about 25 before you have a clearer sense of what you really want). 

You have gone through the friendship transition that takes place for most people after high school. Everyone goes in different directions, and you learn to make new friends or hang out with yourself for awhile. Those friendships were meaningful and served their place and time, but they often fade away. It can feel sad, but it can also feel liberating. I think for you it felt like both. 

I hope you know that I think you're a pretty marvelous young woman. You're bright and friendly, responsible and good-natured. You're the type of person it is easy to be around. You are, like me, a little addicted to books, but if this is your worst habit, I'm a lucky mom. We share weird cat videos via Instagram all the time; it is our love language, I think. I'm excited to go to Scotland with you and the rest of the gang this summer to explore and see some amazing things. I love that we are travel buddies, with you always happy to send me suggestions for the "next place."

Continue to work hard, be yourself, and try to think things through to their logical progression (which can be hard when that prefrontal cortex is still cooking). 

I'm really glad you came into my life 19 years ago.

I love you,

Momma

A first for this family: ISAP

When I was attending Catholic school, ISAP referred to In-School Atonement Program, but now it is In-School Adjustment Program. Whatever the acronym, my kid has it. 

Last Friday, before I'd fully pulled the car in the garage, before the motor was off, M had his head sticking out the door. Now this isn't necessarily unusual; he sometimes pops his head out if he has just beaten me home. The clue that something was up was the verbal diarrhea that was coming out of him.

It went like this:

M: "Did you get a call from school?"

I knew something was up. 

Me: "No, why?"

And so the long story of what went down with his table of goofy-ass 7th grade boys proceeded. It involved a milk carton and a fist. And stupidity. 

The entire time he was telling me the story of the assistant principal and his Social Studies teacher and what they said to the boys, I was thinking to myself:

YES! YOU ARE AN AWESOME FUCKING MOM BECAUSE THIS KID LISTENED WHEN YOU SAID THAT IF YOU EVER GOT A PHONE CALL HOME FROM SCHOOL ABOUT SOMETHING STUPID HE DID, YOU WOULD SHOW UP AT SCHOOL AND SIT NEXT TO HIM. HE KNOWS YOU FOLLOW THROUGH ON STUFF SO HE TOLD ON HIMSELF. THIS IS A VICTORY! 

When I didn't hear anything from the school on Friday or Monday, I wasn't sure what the situation was, and he wasn't sure what the situation was, but I could tell he was upset about a possible pending disciplinary measure. So I emailed the AP.

And after chatting with her, I talked to M about when he would get his time in ISAP and whether he really wants to get in trouble for other kids doing stupid stuff. (Technically, he touched the milk carton since the boys passed it around the table. He said he barely touched it because he knew it would explode if he hit it hard. I said to him, "You touched it; you're an accessory. You gotta do your time."

I'm hoping that this is a one-off because I was getting pretty used to coasting with my kids. I'm too old and tired to deal with 13-year-old boy hijinks.