It’s Senior Year.

Dear Senior Moms and Dads,

Here were are, summer of Senior Year. We’ve all started to look at each other a little differently, haven’t we? We wonder how we arrived at this place so quickly. I’ve been here once before, so I have a bit of a memory on how this next year will go and, if it’s ok, I’d like to say some things to you.

First, thank you. You’ve been along for this ride with my kid and, for some of you, from day one. Thank you for the times you fed my kid, gave him a ride, gave him a drink at the game, gave him the stink-eye if he needed it, or gave him a sincere compliment for whatever you had just seen him do well. I appreciate it more than you know. Even though I live in my hometown, I don’t have a lot of family. So you’ve been that many times over, probably more often than I want to admit. For that I will be eternally grateful.

It’s been a long road to get here and we’ve shared some bumps along the way. I remember that thing you said to or about my kid. I remember hearing you yell at him from the sidelines, I remember when you said he only got whatever it was because of his last name or because of some kind of strange political or sports conspiracy. You may have heard the same from me. In the heat of a moment, in the midst of watching your child be hurt, we all say what we shouldn’t say, we all react before we think, it’s the nature of being a parent.

Our kids have been best friends and worst enemies. They’ve competed for time with a teacher, a position on the field, a girl and just about everything else you can compete for in a childhood. Our kids have done wonderful things for each other and they’ve done terrible things, too. Children can be so sweet and so mean all on the same day and all at the same time.

Our little boys have grown into tall men. They have learned to drive, they’ve learned to think for themselves, they’ve learned how to make good choices and bad. This year, they will learn just how much all of that really means. This is the year they will take a long look at themselves and each other and start to remember all of the good times and bad that have happened along the way. Old friendships will find new life, old enemies will become a little less threatening, and they will start to take notice of each passing first. Last first day of practice, last first game, last first day of school, last first semester, first block, last time at just about everything they have depended on as a normal, regular day.

This year will be full of lasts and full of emotions, for you and for them. Try to be patient. Try to be understanding. It’s hard to decide to be a grownup when it’s right in front of you and doesn’t look as enticing and fun as you thought it would. College choices and future plans are scary for anyone, they are almost debilitating to a 17 year old. And you’ll be scared too. What if they aren’t ready to be on their own? What if you aren’t finished with all the lessons you had hoped to impart before they leave you? It’s enough to put everyone on edge, to make even the most level-headed parent become dramatically un-level.

Now back to what I need to tell you on a personal level. I love your kid, too. This year I’ll look at them just like you do. I’ll still see that little guy or that cute little girl. I’ll remember their endless chatter in the back seat of my car on the way to whatever it was. I’ll remember the time they fell down playing outside and I tried to comfort them until you could get there. I’ll worry they’re not ready for the big scary world and, just like you, I’ll swell with pride when they do something really great. I’ll do my best not to get emotional when I hug you after the next last we’ll go through together but just know that, when I give you that quick squeeze, I’m telling you that you did a good job. We all did the best we could do and the most we could do to get our kids to this place as healthy and happy as possible.

It’s Senior Year. And just like our kids will hold each other a little closer, we should do the same. We’ll need each other this year. We’ll forget about the times that were rough and instead we’ll be celebrating that we made it here in one piece. All of us together.

Happy Senior Year Summer Moms and Dads. Deep breath. Let’s do this.

Once a Tornado, Always a Tornado.

My little town is covered in Keyser Pride today. So many businesses covered themselves in black and gold today to show support for our high school and it’s football team. It’s such a simple thing and so very small, but it makes me swell with pride for the people here and their simple willingness to do something just because. Because they were asked, because they care about a kid on the team or the band or a cheerleader or maybe none of those things but they still wanted to stand up and be counted among the folks who cheered for our Keyser High.

I started this day with a quick text to my Junior. He probably didn’t need to hear it, I think he already knew, but my text was to please enjoy this day. Celebrate your little town showing you some love and even more than that, celebrate the senior boys that you love so much in their final Mineral Bowl. At the end of the day, your team will have won or lost and while winning will certainly be more fun, when you look back at today, it won’t matter as much as  you think it will. What will matter is the memory you made. The love that you felt, the brotherhood that can be found on a football field.

This football season isn’t over yet, but even so, I know the memories that have been made already. The Zak Kerns kickoff return that sealed the Fort Hill victory, the rainy awful night in Romney when the Miracle in the Mud was a harsh, cold reminder that no matter what the scouting report says, games are played for a reason,  the long slow walk taken by two very terrified freshmen called up to dress during the Bridgeport game who prayed earnestly not to be asked to take the field; those are memories that the players and parents won’t soon forget.

It’s times like this when I love my little home town. When they are helping to make a memory. The kids may not remember that their little town dressed itself up to cheer them on for this game, but I hope the town remembers and sees that, when called upon, we come together, we show our pride, we stand up and are counted.

Once a Tornado, always a Tornado. #KeyserPride

A Shout Out to my Motherless Mommys

Maybe that should say Sisters without Moms or a broader Parentless Peeps. I don’t know, I only know it feels like it’s all the motherless moms that I need to reach. Not the fatherless, although I suppose I could write about that, too. And it’s not that I need to appeal to your understanding or ask for your support or any other thing. Call this a gentle nod to you, you motherless children; a nod that says I know you get me and I get you, too.

I know we tell each other it gets easier when that’s what we need to hear.  I know we offer the kind words to remind each other that our mother lives through us, through our children. I’ve been the one to tell you that your mother never really leaves you and that no divide is great enough to break that connection. I’ve hugged you when I knew you were really missing her; either because something really good or equally bad had happened and you just knew you would have turned to her if she’d been there. We’ve shared that all-knowing glance that says I saw that you just had a moment, you just caught yourself thinking I can’t wait to tell mom about whatever it is you would have loved to tell mom about. I’ve seen you pretend to be fine when you really aren’t fine and all you can think about is how much you miss her, how much you’d give anything to have her back for just this moment. I get you, I really do. And you get me.

September is always a bit melancholy for me. Mom loved the fall. She loved football. She loved the start of school. My birthday is in September. She died in September. Every day is filled with something that makes me miss her and when you string all those days together into one long and getting cooler in the evening months, it’s almost more than I can stand.

I’ve started to coach myself a little. I have three sons who love me. Every time I find myself surrounded by the wide open vacancy where my mom should be, I fill it with the knowledge that I have kids who love me like I love her and that’s a pretty amazing thing to know. It really is. I am someone’s mother and I’m still here and so are they. It’s not a perfect replacement, the love from them, but it’s doing a pretty good job of getting me through September.

So a shout out to the rest of you motherless moms. It will always be a comfort knowing you’re out there and you get it.

A Warning to the Bad Fans

Three children. All boys. All playing sports at some point. All three with differing levels of talent in different sports but all three fairly athletic. All three are also under the looming protection of their mother. But not in the way you think.

I don’t rush to the sidelines for an injury. I know that in sports, injuries happen. I don’t live and die with a win or loss. I know that in sports, you will win and you will lose and it will almost never be life changing either way. I don’t “coach” my boys, they have had many coaches, some good, some not so good. Regardless, my speech is always to respect your coaches, do what you’re told, do your job. I never root for others to fail. If our team wins, let it be while playing a team that did their best. I don’t wish starters would be benched so my kid can play more. I don’t (for the most part) go crazy at referees because I’m convinced they don’t deliberately try to control the outcome of a game. I allow for a few human mistakes and accept that it’s a part of the game.

But I am someone’s mother. I know my kid. I know how hard he’s trying. I know that more than anything in the world he wants to do better than his best every minute. I know he’s lost sleep over the desire to do better. I know he’s missed fun trips to stay and play a game or attend a practice. I know how he feels about the boys that play on his team. I know that even the teammates he’s not close to, even those guys, he would rise to defend and protect. I know that he wants them to know he cares about them and wants to do his best to make them successful together. I know that he questions his coaches sometimes but that even in those times, he’ll do whatever he’s told to do even if he knows there’s a better way.

My sons have heard only some of what I’ve heard sitting on the bleachers, walking on the sidelines. And I’ve heard plenty. The adults, the fans, who sit and scream and criticize and make remarks like “Tell your kid to make his foul shots”. My sons aren’t allowed to respond to what they do hear and neither am I, I suppose. But I can respond here. I can say whatever I want here. I hope some of them read this post to hear me loud and clear:

Fuck You Fan. You don’t get to tell my kid to make his foul shots or throw strikes or any other of your useless bullshit. I don’t care to hear your input nor does he. He doesn’t need to feel he disappointed you because the soccer ball hit a rock and bounced over the goal instead of into it. Trust me, he’s disappointed enough. What you could do is remind him it’s just a game and that so long as he did the best he could and continues to do the work to improve, this loss will be a memory and not a legacy.

With the last of my two sons in high school, I know I’ve still got a long few years to hear what I hear from the frustrated athlete never made it to the pros fan. I hear you and your legacy loud and clear. Unless you plan to pick up a whistle and contribute to the development of these kids, I’d suggest you swallow your arrogant comments rather than attempt to show off how much you know about a sport. Throw strikes. Make your foul shots. Kiss my ass bad fan. And pray that I can contain my enthusiasm for your remarks for another 4 years.

Broken. Hearted.

This kid broke my heart today. Well, not that one, that little one right there caught a really good game that day and his team won, even though you can’t tell by the look on his face. My guess is he was hot. Because at 9, hot is way more important than winning, even for this kid. While it wasn’t this cute little kid that broke my heart today, it may just as well have been. The thing no one tells you about being someone’s mom is that you never really see them as anything but this cute little kid. It’s like somehow the image gets permanently imprinted and can’t be over-written. I logically understand that this kid, is now this kid.

That’s him, proudly holding his brand new driver’s license. Gulp.  I’ll willingly admit that over the last few days, during the countdown to test day, I’ve been conflicted about what outcome to wish for. Certainly, I want my son to grow into a mature, independent young man complete with all the benefits of being that. And, yes, I can absolutely feel relieved that the amount of time I will now spend waiting in the parking lot for practice to end or the bus to return will now be almost none. Yay! I have spent A LOT of time waiting for practice to be over and I have noticed that my kids always seem to be the last ones out of the gym/field/school whatever. 

However, today, none of the positives matter and all I can see is (and pardon the analogy but it fits), all I can see is the end of the toilet paper roll. There’s nothing more daunting and dreadful than being near the end of the roll with no back ups anywhere. That sucker spins really fast when it’s almost done. Really fast, and you know you have to take care to use only what you must because one square too many could cause real problems in the future. You can’t help but regret how careless you were spinning away the beginning, wasteful with what should have been just as important to you as these last few squares.

Truth be told, my heart hasn’t recovered from the first time my newly licensed son drove away from me. To this very day, I point to that day as the time that he started packing to move out. He drove away from me and never looked back. In an instant, he was grown up, then graduating, then moving out and  over a spring break when I was asking when he’d be home with a befuddled head shake he was saying to me, “Mom, you understand I’m not going to be moving back to your home, right? I love ya, but I’m not going to live with you again”. Heart. Broken. And all because I let him get that damn driver’s license.

And, now, I’ve done it again. In an instant the next few years flash in front of me and I know in a deep dark place I don’t like to acknowledge, that this will go so quickly I won’t be able to control my complete and total emotional collapse.  I’ve tried consoling myself with the idea that I have one left, one bright shining just now finishing 8th grader who is years from even a permit. Some quick math tells me that he will get his permit just as this middle one graduates high school. Won’t that be just fantastic. I’m sure I’ll handle that gracefully. And the two of them are so close, such good friends, that the youngest must surely have celebrated today knowing that this means big brother will take him everywhere, too. So now I’ve lost them both. In one fell swoop as my mother would say.

I’m heart broken. Still. Too soon my kids will all be grown and moved on. It’s the end of the roll that I can see and I’m tearing each square with such intentional purpose that someone must be wondering what I’m doing so long in the bathroom. I’m trying not to cry on the remaining squares, no need to waste them. But it won’t be easy.

All because the state of West Virginia says my kid can drive.

Acting Accordingly

I like this quote. I like it enough to have printed it out and framed it onto my office wall. I read it probably twice a day. It sounds like something that comes from a person who has lived a long life, learned the tough lessons, and has reached back into themselves to leave us with some sage advice on how to proceed. I like that it reminds me that things end much more quickly than we expect them to and that it’s important to make the most of the experience, not just the results.  I also appreciate that the author reminds me that it’s all on me to act accordingly, no room for blaming someone else for your lot in life. Touché, Colin Wright, I feel ya.

I read this quote during the midst of an existential crisis of sorts lately and got a little pissy with Mr. Wright. Just who was this dude, anyway, demanding that I act accordingly. You don’t know me, you don’t know what I’m up against.

So I did a little research.

Turns out, Colin Wright is an author, a world traveller and describes himself as someone who has fun every day. Every. Day. That’s pretty much something. Anyway, Colin has a website, exilelifestyle.com that hosts his blog which is pretty much filled with essays about his life and his opinions which, by the way, all fall into the same uplifting go make your life better themes which I tend to agree with. All good.

Except: Colin, ladies and gents, was born during my sophomore year of high school. He is just turning 30. Just a baby. I am shocked. Here I am, 40something, writing about all I’ve learned and all I know as if 40something was the ripe old age of knowing somethings when out of nowhere this KID seems to have it figured out a full 10 years ahead of schedule.

And then I remember me at 30. I thought I had it pretty much figured out then, too. I assume at 50 I’ll chuckle at my 40something ramblings realizing just how nutty they really were. However, his quote is still a good one. He’s right. There is only the one time through and I really do have to give it the right amount of attention and purpose or I’ll have missed the chance to do everything I ever wanted to do. Although, 10 or even 20 years from now, I’m certain that the things I wanted to do will be different than those I regret not doing. But still, it’s a good reminder, even from A CHILD that unless I take aim, I’ll never know.

I’ve been letting some things go lately, watching them drift by with the idea that I had time to pick them up the next time through. Forgiving myself that you can’t be fully on it all the time, that you can’t get it right every day. Colin says to act accordingly and he says that in doing so, he has fun every day. Every. Day. Which is something. Sometimes the kids can still teach us, can’t they.

Touché Colin, I’ll be acting accordingly more often thanks not just to your quote on the wall but to the reminder that it now serves that I was just turning 30 once and that if I want to, I can have fun Every Day.

Future Daughter in Laws, You are a terrifying reality.

It was just like I remembered. Sweaty palms, re-checking the outfit (don’t want to try too hard, don’t want to be too casual), wondering if it would go well, worrying she wouldn’t like me, conflicted on whether to hug or not, nervous that we wouldn’t hit it off. That’s exactly how I remember feeling when I met a boyfriend’s mom back in the day. And there I was, feeling it all over again in spite of the fact that this time I was the mom meeting the boy’s new girl.

I hate meeting girlfriends. I am terrible at meeting girlfriends. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to act. It’s all very first day on the job. For years I’ve had to meet new girls and for years I’ve wondered why I was so, so very bad at doing it. Until this time. I finally realized what my big problem will always be.

What if she doesn’t like me?

Not just what if we aren’t best friends forever, I mean, like, what if she really doesn’t like me? At all. Ever. What if I don’t like her comes second to what do I do if she manages to steal him away in the ways that girls can steal boys away and how do I fight back if he loves her and she doesn’t like me?

I have three sons. That’s three opportunities for me to have a daughter-in-law that will be like the daughter I never had. Or, three chances for evil females to convince my otherwise loyal sons that they would be better spending the holidays with her family. I’ve begun to consider what grandchildren will be like (someday, no rush). This leads me to the idea that this new girl who does not have to like me in spite of my obviously adorable sense of humor and she very possibly may bring forth grandchildren and then play keep away with them.

Evil wenches, no wonder I have an attitude.

Typically, I really am a glass half full kind of person. I’d go so far as to say I’m not only a glass half full, I’m glass half full but moments from pouring out over the top. Regardless, in this area, I am a wreck.

From the outside, it would appear that I have the no-one-is-good-enough for my kid attitude. While I believe my guys are simply amazing, I also see their faults, the ones that make them not quite perfect to everyone else. I get it, they smell a little funny, they aren’t exactly conscious of holidays and birthdays and maybe they take people for granted now and then. Nonetheless, they are certainly still swoon worthy and none have had trouble finding a female willing to swoon. My point is, I not only think there is someone worthy of my sons, I look forward to each of them finding that someone. If I haven’t taught my guys how to love someone so much it hurts, what the hell have I been doing?

Hence the angst and fear. The pacing. The nervous chit chat with the newest girl who may or may not cause the rest of my days to be filled with joy or overfilled with pain. Check the outfit, pray it goes well, and choke back the nervousness and the emotions so the new girl can’t see just how much power I fear she may have.

To the new girls, the ones that look like they are here to stay for a bit, here’s what you don’t know yet: You just think you’re dealing with his heart. What you don’t know is that his heart and mine, they are permanently connected. If you break his, I can fix that, I have enough love to repair whatever scars and damage you create. But if you take his heart away, you’ll be taking a part of mine, too. I know I can’t survive that way.

So here’s the offer: I promise to think you are good enough for them if you promise to let me keep them. I want him to love you, I really do; but I really need to him to always love me, too.

I’ve never really called myself a writer. But if I were to actually do that, recently I would call myself a broken writer. Sometimes real writers get blocked because of a lack of inspiration; sometimes it’s due to a confusing amount of material whirling around. I like to write as a way to break down thoughts and dissect issues. Some issues are too scary to break down, too nerve-racking to dissect. There are times, and this was one, where it’s more important to let time heal you a bit before you do the work of recovering from something and moving on. Those days, sometimes weeks or longer, are necessary to put things in a proper perspective.

I’ve been asked by a few friends who say they looked forward to reading my latest essays, they wonder why they’ve stopped coming. It’s hard to explain quickly, it’s not even something I really understand. I attempted to kind of limp along. I didn’t like it. I need this exercise of writing because it expunged the demons so to speak. When I could write it all down and look at it again, it usually made more sense. I wasn’t ready yet.

When they tell you time heals all wounds, they leave out that time can be one slow son of a bitch. They also forget to tell you that life will roll along regardless of how much time you think you need to prepare yourself to be living it. Which is INCREDIBLY frustrating. So it goes, though. Which brings me to this place.

This random, sort of goofy essay saying, “Hey, I sort of tapped out for a while which some of you noticed which I strangely appreciate and now I’m kind of back. I’m going to ask that you just go along with me and not really ask me to fill in the blank time with questions about what and how and why. Just assume I was on a very long cruise and now I’m back on land.”

Hi. Hope you’ve been well.

I Do Know How to Fix an Ankle

My people seem to be under attack lately. Who knows why the perfect storm of nothing’s even close to perfect comes along now and then and just seems to keep pouring and pouring but it does and, usually, dries up just as mysteriously. I’ve written plenty about knowing that this too shall pass and that things get better just like they should and when they should.

It occurs to me I’ve never preserved my own thoughts mid-storm. And here I am. Mid-storm. Writing. Sometimes this blog has served to promote me as a deep thinker of thoughts, a profound thinker even. Most of that is self-serving. In truth, the deepness is far more internal than I should admit to or even allow. My self-evaluation is well-known by those who well know me and, for most of them, it’s not their favorite of my qualities.

Yet here I am. Deeply questioning just how much more storm I can handle and searching desperately for the ray of light that could mean the storm has passed. My comfort zone of sports injuries reminds me that if you don’t properly treat an ankle that’s been sprained, you will weaken it and possibly further along an injury that could have been mild had you listened to your body and taken the time to repair. But how do you repair a broken spirit? I reviewed the lyrics of my Bee Gees from the 70s...How Do You Mend a Broken Heart? http://youtu.be/2sN05AMV9gY? As much as I think they understood what I’m feeling, they didn’t seem to have a solution.

I hear my mother’s voice remind me that you can’t hurry time. That’s not good enough, not right now.

So I’m stuck staring at the blinking line begging me to put words to paper that will somehow drag me out of this darkness.

I don’t have them. I do know how fix a sprained ankle. It’s all about the PRINCE:

Protection. Use a protective brace for support. I’m doing that. I’ve closed up ranks and now almost completely depend upon my spouse and a very small circle of people for support. Really small, like, so small they can barely move around inside the circle. But braces only work if they are tight enough to hold things together.

Rest. You may need crutches until walking is not painful. I hope this means I’m allowed to let my fragile show. Because it is showing. I will need crutches for a bit longer, I think. As right now, it’s still really painful.

Ice. Apply 10 to 20 minutes every 1-2 hours during the day. I can only assume that is in reference to the ice to freshen my drink. Done.

NSAIDS. Drugs as needed for pain. I can only assume this means when the ice fails. So far, the ice works nicely but it’s good to know there’s backup need be.

Compression. A brace should be worn to decrease swelling and if you are going to bear weight. I think I have this covered as I am now holding closer to me than ever before the people that have surrounded my heart. I suspect I’m beginning to put a little more weight on them than they’d prefer, but they seem to be holding up so far.

Elevation. Raise your ankle above your heart to prevent swelling and bruising. I can’t physically raise my heart above anything so I’m concentrating on raising my faith. My heart knows it will recover, it’s my head that is battling the most. It’s my fears and doubts and dark thoughts that wonder how much more there will be to battle back from, how much longer the storm will continue. How many more of my people will come under attack while I’m not ready to defend them.

I live to protect the people that I love. When I can’t do that, it breaks my spirit and darkens my mind. I know I can’t protect anyone until I’ve repaired my own injury. I’m on the mend, but you can’t rush time. Until then, I’ll remember PRINCE.

Sometimes weird can’t be avoided.

You never know what’s going to make you weird. I distinctly recall demanding not to be forever changed by my early 20s divorce. I swore I wouldn’t allow anyone to look back and suggest that’s where it all went wrong for me. “She was fun, but then she got divorced and she was just never the same.” No, thank you.

I made the same self-pact when my mom died. I allowed myself a brief period of not-quite-fully-together but insisted that I pull out of the funk as quickly as possible and continue to move along. In both cases, I turned to my friends and family and made them promise to kick me in the ass whenever necessary to force me not to wallow too long or change for the worse. I thought I had mastered my emotions.

Two back surgeries altered my physical abilities forever but that was an easy transition. Learning how to bend, walk, clean the house, sit at the desk. Little things that I had taken for granted forever, now forever changed. From the outside though, I appeared relatively physically unchanged.

Maybe it’s my age, maybe it’s that it’s almost September and I get a little bit weird every September, maybe it’s just that I’ve tread water through too much already. But this is making me weird. This latest thing, this personal gut check, this one is making me go way too far inward. It is making a difference, a change to my personality.

And it is making me weird. And I don’t want to be permanently weird.

It doesn’t matter what the thing is, not really. Everyone has some kind of personal drama that weaves itself into our daily lives at some point and then hangs on for a while. Sometimes that drama is obvious and public, other times it is much more private and unknown. I’m not sure it makes a difference. In the midst of whatever won’t leave you alone, it feels like the whole world knows, even if that isn’t possible.

Change is exhausting. Emotional change is exhausting because, like back surgery, you know you are forever altered even if you are the only one that can tell. It’s been two years since my back surgery. I am still careful getting out of the car, I still do whatever I can to not lift something I don’t have to lift, I still stretch a certain way every morning just to make sure I’m doing everything in my power to stay away from the operating room for as long as possible. I’m forever altered but it doesn’t bother me, doesn’t feel weird. I’m counting on feeling emotionally “normal” again soon. I’m absolutely counting on it. I’m also certain that with my new normal there will be some caution, some protective measures so I don’t come back here again. I don’t want to be weird forever. But for now, I’m still learning the new way to walk, to sit at my desk. For now, this has made me weird.