Something I don't understand, and will never understand, is how people can be so small-minded. It baffles me that they can get through life efficiently and semi-successfully.
I heard a saying a little while ago, and when I say "heard", I'm pretty sure I mean repinned on Pinterest. It said "Don't pass judgement someone who has it harder than you. You don't know what storm God asked her to walk through."
Well, just 30 minutes ago, I went outside looking for our cat. I noticed a magazine stuffed in our white picket fence gate. It was an OK magazine and said in big bright yellow letters on the front cover "diets that work!" Oh, did I mention these words were framed by two voluptuous bikini-clad celebs?
This is not news to many of my friends, but my mom is overweight. She has been her whole life, and will always struggle with it. She has accepted it, she has addressed it, and she does work on it. Medically speaking, she is actually in great health. She has low cholesterol levels, her heart is fine, her blood pressure is fine, and she is not close to being diabetic. She's healthy. But people see her exterior, and think she is just lazy and needs to lay off the sodas (of which I have seen her drink 0 in my entire life. Zero.)
I'm deeply saddened and hurt for her because this was one of our dear neighbors whom we all adore. We don't know who left if because they ripped off the address label on the magazine.
When I saw it, I was immediately angered. How dare someone pass this kind of judgement on MY mother! How dare someone think that Kim Kardashian's diet will work on my mom... a middle-class, single, working mother. (No offense to KK. Their show is one of my guilty pleasures! Shh!) But honestly ... according to this neighbor, they think they have the answer for my mom in the latest tabloid to her weight loss.
I took offense to this and have lost respect for whoever left it in our gate. They couldn't even say "Oh, hey! I saw this great new diet in this magazine, and I think I'll try it. Want to try it with me?" It's less offensive than just cowardly leaving it in our gate for us to find. Man up and tell us she's fat. It's not like she doesn't know.
So while I'm fuming about this for my mom, because I know how much of a struggle it is for her, she starts laughing the minute I show her.
I'm speechless, and she's saying "I wish I knew who this was so I could tell them 'THANK YOU! I didn't know I was fat!'" with a grin on her face the entire time she's saying this.... completely un-sarcastically.
I sat down and started writing this blog post, and I hear her over on her computer burst out laughing. I asked what was so funny and she said "I just can't imagine... why does someone think Kim Kardashian's diet will work on me?! They're just so close-minded! Those poor people."
I wish we could all just laugh things off like my mom does. It's wonderful. She's like a duck. She lets shit roll off her back because it won't do anything but weigh her down in life. Like laughing at someone when they say she's fat.
So, the moral of this post is please think twice before you judge someone based on what you see or hear. Because we're all handling a different battle, and we're all handling our battles differently.
...and my mom is awesome.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
A Trip Downtown
Things I want...
I want a new car.
I want a new phone.
I want to move out.
I want to lose weight.
I want a new computer.
I want new boots.
I want to stop wanting.
I cleaned out my closet/room months ago and had two big boxes of crap that I don't use or don't need in the back of my car. One of my friends took a lot of the clothes that she could use, which is awesome, but there was still a full box just riding along in the backseat. (I can't even remember what the hell was in that box now.) I kept meaning to take it to St. Francis and donate the rest but because it's on the other side of town, I just never got around to driving the extra 2.3 miles.
I was finally on that side of town this morning, or at least close enough with fluff time to jet over there and drop it off (which took a whopping 4 extra minutes of drive time that I just couldn't make previously...)
I have been to St. Francis many times before, so I knew pretty much what to expect ... homeless people walking around, biking around, or sitting on the sidewalk with their dog that has a dirty camouflage bandana around it's neck. It's dirty, it's quiet, and yet it's busy and bustling with people trying to cross the street, businessmen and women catching lunch at a hole-in-the-wall but delicious deli, the volunteer fire fighters washing the truck, and the inevitable man with dreadlocks down to his butt with 6 layers of dirty and ripped clothing on.
None of this was a surprise to me. I've worked downtown near (and in) the homeless shelters and I've seen some things I would rather un-see. I'm not saying I know EXACTLY what to expect, as I'm more often than not taken back at some of the scenes, but most of it isn't surprising considering the area.
Anyways, with that picture in your mind, I pulled into the drive for donations, rang the little doorbell with a sign that said "Please ring for general donations" right next to the sign that said "Food donations ONLY" on the slightly propped open blue-gray metal doors. I grabbed the "box of the forgotten and unknown" and opened the door because no one had answered my doorbell. I handed the box off to a man who seemed to be the um... main head guy (?) of donations, got back in my car, and started pulling away.
As I was pulling out of the drive, I looked to my left in a gated area that looked much like a dog kennel (a patch of grass, a slab of concrete, and a picnic table or two). But this dog park was a little different, because it had about 4 or 5 people walking around in it. The one person that caught my eye was a woman who looked to be in her late 40's, early 50's digging fervently in a thick and deep plastic blue bin on wheels. She had a drink (coffee?) in a small styrofoam cup in her left hand while she dug her way through items she deemed useless for her to the very bottom of the bin. Now, this image wouldn't normally spark anything in me... it's a woman looking for things she can use or wear ... not too out of the ordinary, right?
I kept pulling out of the drive and started turning onto the one-way road that lead to the main street and right in front of me on the opposite sidewalk was a man who was struggling to put on a sweatshirt. We locked eyes for a nanosecond, and I smiled politely and waved to him. He didn't acknowledge me at all, and went back to trying to put on (maybe take off??) his dusty green sweatshirt. He had a longer shirt on underneath this sweatshirt, and it had a massive hole on one side of it and I can guarantee that if you had put any of this clothes in a bin of water, the water would have turned a gross murky brown color, similar to iced tea.
Again, this is all normal to see downtown, and especially around a homeless shelter. What finally got to me and made me tear up slightly as I pulled away was how embarrassed I was of myself. But how embarrassed was the guy standing in front of me? His dreads were matted and not really dreads anymore, but rather matted kinky hair with years of filth knotted in, he was putting on a dirty sweater over an even dirtier shirt. The woman digging in the bin was literally caged in, and digging through stuff that people got rid of because it's unworthy of their ownership anymore but apparently good enough for the lower class ... her. How humiliating it must be to look through their eyes, watch a young woman in a clean Nike hat, nice sneakers, and a warm clean sweater drive way in her clean car with a full tank of gas? I would feel less than human.
I looked in my rear view mirror at the digging lady, back to the man, back to the woman, to the man, and then I look at myself. I am driving away in a fairly good car that has served me well for over two years, I have a wonderful home, and all the "realization of goods" stuff. Fill in the blank and use your imagination.
I felt guilty for having as much as I do and not appreciating it as often and as greatly as I should. The fact that I have multiple schools to choose from is more than most of these people will ever be able to say. The fact that I have a college degree is more than these people could probably ever say.
I like to think I really appreciate all the fresh, healthy food I have, the fact that I have money for gas, I am usually able to take the trips I want to, and I know for a fact that if I was ever in need that badly, I have so many family member who would be willing to take me in at the drop of a hat.
I know you're probably thinking this is a typical "appreciate what you have" blog post, and if it is to you, then fantastic. Take away from it what you will, I'm not lecturing anyone on how to be thankful for what you have. I do that plenty already. But that's not what it means to me. What I want to say ultimately is ...
Stop wanting.
Stop wanting phones. Stop wanting new clothes. Stop "needing" coffee. Stop "needing" alcohol. Stop wanting new shit that you will use for a little while and then upgrade, give or throw away. Stop teaching our kids to want new electronics. Stop teaching our youth to "need" crap that, in all honestly, they REALLY do not need.
You probably have everything you need. You probably don't NEED anything you WANT. I think your "crappy and slow" iPhone 4s with a $50 case that won't upload the picture of your new nails will call 911 when you need it to.
Stop it.
I hereby swear that I will make a conscious effort to stop wanting stuff and be more grateful for what I have, use what I have, and be happy with the plain fact that I HAVE IT.
I want a new car.
I want a new phone.
I want to move out.
I want to lose weight.
I want a new computer.
I want new boots.
I want to stop wanting.
I cleaned out my closet/room months ago and had two big boxes of crap that I don't use or don't need in the back of my car. One of my friends took a lot of the clothes that she could use, which is awesome, but there was still a full box just riding along in the backseat. (I can't even remember what the hell was in that box now.) I kept meaning to take it to St. Francis and donate the rest but because it's on the other side of town, I just never got around to driving the extra 2.3 miles.
I was finally on that side of town this morning, or at least close enough with fluff time to jet over there and drop it off (which took a whopping 4 extra minutes of drive time that I just couldn't make previously...)
I have been to St. Francis many times before, so I knew pretty much what to expect ... homeless people walking around, biking around, or sitting on the sidewalk with their dog that has a dirty camouflage bandana around it's neck. It's dirty, it's quiet, and yet it's busy and bustling with people trying to cross the street, businessmen and women catching lunch at a hole-in-the-wall but delicious deli, the volunteer fire fighters washing the truck, and the inevitable man with dreadlocks down to his butt with 6 layers of dirty and ripped clothing on.
None of this was a surprise to me. I've worked downtown near (and in) the homeless shelters and I've seen some things I would rather un-see. I'm not saying I know EXACTLY what to expect, as I'm more often than not taken back at some of the scenes, but most of it isn't surprising considering the area.
Anyways, with that picture in your mind, I pulled into the drive for donations, rang the little doorbell with a sign that said "Please ring for general donations" right next to the sign that said "Food donations ONLY" on the slightly propped open blue-gray metal doors. I grabbed the "box of the forgotten and unknown" and opened the door because no one had answered my doorbell. I handed the box off to a man who seemed to be the um... main head guy (?) of donations, got back in my car, and started pulling away.
As I was pulling out of the drive, I looked to my left in a gated area that looked much like a dog kennel (a patch of grass, a slab of concrete, and a picnic table or two). But this dog park was a little different, because it had about 4 or 5 people walking around in it. The one person that caught my eye was a woman who looked to be in her late 40's, early 50's digging fervently in a thick and deep plastic blue bin on wheels. She had a drink (coffee?) in a small styrofoam cup in her left hand while she dug her way through items she deemed useless for her to the very bottom of the bin. Now, this image wouldn't normally spark anything in me... it's a woman looking for things she can use or wear ... not too out of the ordinary, right?
I kept pulling out of the drive and started turning onto the one-way road that lead to the main street and right in front of me on the opposite sidewalk was a man who was struggling to put on a sweatshirt. We locked eyes for a nanosecond, and I smiled politely and waved to him. He didn't acknowledge me at all, and went back to trying to put on (maybe take off??) his dusty green sweatshirt. He had a longer shirt on underneath this sweatshirt, and it had a massive hole on one side of it and I can guarantee that if you had put any of this clothes in a bin of water, the water would have turned a gross murky brown color, similar to iced tea.
Again, this is all normal to see downtown, and especially around a homeless shelter. What finally got to me and made me tear up slightly as I pulled away was how embarrassed I was of myself. But how embarrassed was the guy standing in front of me? His dreads were matted and not really dreads anymore, but rather matted kinky hair with years of filth knotted in, he was putting on a dirty sweater over an even dirtier shirt. The woman digging in the bin was literally caged in, and digging through stuff that people got rid of because it's unworthy of their ownership anymore but apparently good enough for the lower class ... her. How humiliating it must be to look through their eyes, watch a young woman in a clean Nike hat, nice sneakers, and a warm clean sweater drive way in her clean car with a full tank of gas? I would feel less than human.
I looked in my rear view mirror at the digging lady, back to the man, back to the woman, to the man, and then I look at myself. I am driving away in a fairly good car that has served me well for over two years, I have a wonderful home, and all the "realization of goods" stuff. Fill in the blank and use your imagination.
I felt guilty for having as much as I do and not appreciating it as often and as greatly as I should. The fact that I have multiple schools to choose from is more than most of these people will ever be able to say. The fact that I have a college degree is more than these people could probably ever say.
I like to think I really appreciate all the fresh, healthy food I have, the fact that I have money for gas, I am usually able to take the trips I want to, and I know for a fact that if I was ever in need that badly, I have so many family member who would be willing to take me in at the drop of a hat.
I know you're probably thinking this is a typical "appreciate what you have" blog post, and if it is to you, then fantastic. Take away from it what you will, I'm not lecturing anyone on how to be thankful for what you have. I do that plenty already. But that's not what it means to me. What I want to say ultimately is ...
Stop wanting.
Stop wanting phones. Stop wanting new clothes. Stop "needing" coffee. Stop "needing" alcohol. Stop wanting new shit that you will use for a little while and then upgrade, give or throw away. Stop teaching our kids to want new electronics. Stop teaching our youth to "need" crap that, in all honestly, they REALLY do not need.
You probably have everything you need. You probably don't NEED anything you WANT. I think your "crappy and slow" iPhone 4s with a $50 case that won't upload the picture of your new nails will call 911 when you need it to.
Stop it.
I hereby swear that I will make a conscious effort to stop wanting stuff and be more grateful for what I have, use what I have, and be happy with the plain fact that I HAVE IT.
Monday, October 22, 2012
True Life: Season 21, Episode Pathetic
Serious post coming your way...
We all have fears. Some of us special ones have true phobias.
Just to catch you up on the latest phobia news...
The top 5 normal phobias are:
Let me just point out that my phobia is no where NEAR the "top 10" list of common fears. In fact, it doesn't have a "-phobia" name.
True Life: I have a phobia of planes flying over my head. (Plane-fly-over-head-o-phobia?)
My friends taunt me all the time about my off-the-wall fear, but in fact, it is all too real for me. I deal with this fear almost daily.
The size of the plane doesn't matter if it's low enough. But small planes (Sesnas, single-engines, under 10 seats) freak me out period, whether they're on the ground, in the air, on the runway... anywhere.
I don't even know what it is that I'm truly afraid of happening. Crashing, falling apart above me, crashing on me, even touching a small plane. I constantly have recurring nightmares of planes crashing around me, dropping things around me, sometimes really gruesome things.
Worst fear:
I watched a show yesterday called "My Food Obsession". I know... what the flip does food obsession have to do with an weird aviation problem? Just go with it. A (white) girl (named ...Shiseido...) on this particular episode was terrified, and I mean shaking and crying if she's near it terrified of... mayonnaise. This is not a joke. She was butt crazy scared of mayonnaise! As I was watching this, I realized how much my fear is impeding on my daily life and how important it is to get over it, or at least learn how to cope with it.
My reaction to a plane flying overhead isn't similar to that of someone seeing a large spider. Don't get me wrong. I am a whole-hearted advocate for spider conservation because they really are important to our environment. But yes, I hate spiders. No, I will not kill them. Yes, I have had multiple people come rescue me from my own shower because a pinky-nail-sized spider is trying to attack my vulnerable and naked body. It's like they know!
I have had two particularly bad reactions to Planes Flying Overhead (to save time and my fingers, I'm just going to refer to this from now on as "pfo") that I vividly remember.
Story time!
This was January of... 2009? I think? My mom and I were going to the annual Medieval Faire in town, and of course it's held about 200 yards away from our Regional Airport. I knew this going into it, but nothing had ever really happened that was bad enough that I didn't want to return. Well, this year was a little different. They had started busing patrons in from the parking lot instead of having the local JROTC conduct the traffic for parking. So we get in line and are waiting for the next few buses to load up. This line was fairly long, maybe about 50 people. I notice a little red bi-plane that was flyin' around the fair ground. I kept my eye on it and was just making sure it wasn't going too low. Everything was fine. It changed direction and started to fly away from the faire and I began to relax a little. But, that would be too easy, right? Instead of leaving like a normal plane would, it did a 180 degree turn and headed right back for us. Well... sh*t. The stupid thing was coming directly for us. And I don't just mean it was going to pass over us at a respectable height. It was buzzing the freaking field. It was diving towards us. Literally. So I see this, and I hide behind my mom's back. I was so terrified and I was crying so hard all of a sudden that nothing was coming out of my mouth. Not air, not words, not sobs. I was so petrified that I was shaking and felt like I was going to throw up on the little girl dressed like a fairy behind me. I probably looked like an autistic child having a panic attack. I don't mean that in a funny, ha-ha-mental-retardation-is-hilarious kind of way, because trust me, you will never find me laughing about that. I was holding onto my mommy for dear life. If this WAS 2009, let's just say I was a tad old to be holding onto my mommy's hand.
If you're still awake, this is the more recent, slightly scarier story.
I was on my way out of town about a year ago. On this route that I had never taken before, I had to drive behind the runway of an international airport. Little did I know, there were two runways. Surprise of a damn lifetime. I drive past the first one thinking it's over and that I don't have to expect another plane encounter. Picture this... I'm driving alone, windows down, bopping along to Country Grammar by Nelly (brownie points for Erin), and I see a plane that is getting ready to land. Holy poop, didn't know there were two runways... Okay, no biggie, as long as it lands before I pass the runway. Well, in my head, the trajectory of me and the plane was such that I would pass DIRECTLY under it. My thoughts, "Well, I'm on a highway. 80 mph. No shoulder besides a ditch or a guardrail. Great." As we were getting closer together, me and this nice large "Continental Airlines" plane, I notice my breathing is a little more shallow and less controlled. Fast forward what feels like 5 whole minutes but is probably 12 seconds, the plane lands on the strip just before I would have passed under it. Or passed out under it. I keep driving because, what would I do... park behind the freaking runway? Once I assess the situation, I realize that I had been hyperventilating for the first time in my life. Hyperventilating while on a busy highway, while your eyes are fixated on a plane that is about 400 feet above you, while you have Nelly blasting on your radio, AND you have no "out" just in case you need to pull over is a little stressful. I'm actually very surprised I stayed on the road.
There are many other stories that I could bore you with, but my point is, I've had full blown panic attacks as an adult and nearly driven off the road multiple times. I need to get this taken care of ASAP.
This isn't something that just started. We have home videos of toddler Erin screaming and crying saying "ehpane!" as you can hear a PFO. This isn't something I joke about because it's very real for me and very very scary. The weird thing is, I love to fly! I love taking flights on regular airplanes. Keyword, regular.
My heart is pounding just looking at this picture...
I have recently contacted a therapist who deals with phobias. I'm absolutely beside myself terrified that I will have to undergo "exposure therapy" where you have to physically face your fear and do the extreme to get over it. Petrified. And my heart rate is climbing just thinking about the soon-to-be fateful day...
But I can't go through life not doing things or going places just because I'm irrationally scared of something. Time to nut up or shut up, put my big girl panties on, go balls to the wall, put on some lipstick...you get the picture... and do it.
I will be posting the nitty-gritty on my progress through this whole deal, to show what it's like for someone to go through this. Just so you think twice next time you want to make fun of someone's fear of a condiment. For some people, it's very real.
We all have fears. Some of us special ones have true phobias.
Just to catch you up on the latest phobia news...
The top 5 normal phobias are:
- Arachnophobia (fear of spiders) Seriously. Who doesn't have this?
- Ophidiophobia (fear of snakes)
- Acrophobia (fear of heights)
- Agoraphobia (fear of leaving one's home)
- Claustrophobia (fear of tight spaces)
Let me just point out that my phobia is no where NEAR the "top 10" list of common fears. In fact, it doesn't have a "-phobia" name.
True Life: I have a phobia of planes flying over my head. (Plane-fly-over-head-o-phobia?)
My friends taunt me all the time about my off-the-wall fear, but in fact, it is all too real for me. I deal with this fear almost daily.
The size of the plane doesn't matter if it's low enough. But small planes (Sesnas, single-engines, under 10 seats) freak me out period, whether they're on the ground, in the air, on the runway... anywhere.
I don't even know what it is that I'm truly afraid of happening. Crashing, falling apart above me, crashing on me, even touching a small plane. I constantly have recurring nightmares of planes crashing around me, dropping things around me, sometimes really gruesome things.
Worst fear:
I watched a show yesterday called "My Food Obsession". I know... what the flip does food obsession have to do with an weird aviation problem? Just go with it. A (white) girl (named ...Shiseido...) on this particular episode was terrified, and I mean shaking and crying if she's near it terrified of... mayonnaise. This is not a joke. She was butt crazy scared of mayonnaise! As I was watching this, I realized how much my fear is impeding on my daily life and how important it is to get over it, or at least learn how to cope with it.
My reaction to a plane flying overhead isn't similar to that of someone seeing a large spider. Don't get me wrong. I am a whole-hearted advocate for spider conservation because they really are important to our environment. But yes, I hate spiders. No, I will not kill them. Yes, I have had multiple people come rescue me from my own shower because a pinky-nail-sized spider is trying to attack my vulnerable and naked body. It's like they know!
I have had two particularly bad reactions to Planes Flying Overhead (to save time and my fingers, I'm just going to refer to this from now on as "pfo") that I vividly remember.
Story time!
This was January of... 2009? I think? My mom and I were going to the annual Medieval Faire in town, and of course it's held about 200 yards away from our Regional Airport. I knew this going into it, but nothing had ever really happened that was bad enough that I didn't want to return. Well, this year was a little different. They had started busing patrons in from the parking lot instead of having the local JROTC conduct the traffic for parking. So we get in line and are waiting for the next few buses to load up. This line was fairly long, maybe about 50 people. I notice a little red bi-plane that was flyin' around the fair ground. I kept my eye on it and was just making sure it wasn't going too low. Everything was fine. It changed direction and started to fly away from the faire and I began to relax a little. But, that would be too easy, right? Instead of leaving like a normal plane would, it did a 180 degree turn and headed right back for us. Well... sh*t. The stupid thing was coming directly for us. And I don't just mean it was going to pass over us at a respectable height. It was buzzing the freaking field. It was diving towards us. Literally. So I see this, and I hide behind my mom's back. I was so terrified and I was crying so hard all of a sudden that nothing was coming out of my mouth. Not air, not words, not sobs. I was so petrified that I was shaking and felt like I was going to throw up on the little girl dressed like a fairy behind me. I probably looked like an autistic child having a panic attack. I don't mean that in a funny, ha-ha-mental-retardation-is-hilarious kind of way, because trust me, you will never find me laughing about that. I was holding onto my mommy for dear life. If this WAS 2009, let's just say I was a tad old to be holding onto my mommy's hand.
If you're still awake, this is the more recent, slightly scarier story.
I was on my way out of town about a year ago. On this route that I had never taken before, I had to drive behind the runway of an international airport. Little did I know, there were two runways. Surprise of a damn lifetime. I drive past the first one thinking it's over and that I don't have to expect another plane encounter. Picture this... I'm driving alone, windows down, bopping along to Country Grammar by Nelly (brownie points for Erin), and I see a plane that is getting ready to land. Holy poop, didn't know there were two runways... Okay, no biggie, as long as it lands before I pass the runway. Well, in my head, the trajectory of me and the plane was such that I would pass DIRECTLY under it. My thoughts, "Well, I'm on a highway. 80 mph. No shoulder besides a ditch or a guardrail. Great." As we were getting closer together, me and this nice large "Continental Airlines" plane, I notice my breathing is a little more shallow and less controlled. Fast forward what feels like 5 whole minutes but is probably 12 seconds, the plane lands on the strip just before I would have passed under it. Or passed out under it. I keep driving because, what would I do... park behind the freaking runway? Once I assess the situation, I realize that I had been hyperventilating for the first time in my life. Hyperventilating while on a busy highway, while your eyes are fixated on a plane that is about 400 feet above you, while you have Nelly blasting on your radio, AND you have no "out" just in case you need to pull over is a little stressful. I'm actually very surprised I stayed on the road.
There are many other stories that I could bore you with, but my point is, I've had full blown panic attacks as an adult and nearly driven off the road multiple times. I need to get this taken care of ASAP.
This isn't something that just started. We have home videos of toddler Erin screaming and crying saying "ehpane!" as you can hear a PFO. This isn't something I joke about because it's very real for me and very very scary. The weird thing is, I love to fly! I love taking flights on regular airplanes. Keyword, regular.
My heart is pounding just looking at this picture...
I have recently contacted a therapist who deals with phobias. I'm absolutely beside myself terrified that I will have to undergo "exposure therapy" where you have to physically face your fear and do the extreme to get over it. Petrified. And my heart rate is climbing just thinking about the soon-to-be fateful day...
But I can't go through life not doing things or going places just because I'm irrationally scared of something. Time to nut up or shut up, put my big girl panties on, go balls to the wall, put on some lipstick...you get the picture... and do it.
I will be posting the nitty-gritty on my progress through this whole deal, to show what it's like for someone to go through this. Just so you think twice next time you want to make fun of someone's fear of a condiment. For some people, it's very real.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
A rite of passage
So, this will be a thoughtful, sentimental post, compared to the "Cat's ringing" and other fun posts to come!
I watched Erin drive away yesterday afternoon, off for a fun weekend in Jacksonville. As she packed her bags, debated about what to take and carried loads of stuff down to her car, I was feeling such mixed emotions about this. While I was going to miss her, I was also kinda looking forward to a quiet weekend - a 4 day weekend, no less - all by myself without any noise, distraction or interruptions. I have a book I've been dying to read and now I can read it straight through without any interruptions. And I can watch whatever I want on tv without having her burst through the front door, toss her shoes by the dining room table, flop down on the sofa and change the channel without asking. I can cook what I want for dinner without scrambling to find a clean knife or the measuring spoons.
Erin is 19 years old and most of her friends are off at college - sleep-away college, too, not at campuses less than a mile from their mommies, and they are all experiencing their first out-of-mommy events (first break-up without mom, first hang-over without mom, first bad grade, etc.) Erin is not. Since she attends a college within walking distance from home, and since we don't have the money to rent a separate apartment for her, she lives with me. She is an accomplished college student, holds down 3 part time jobs, participates in 2 dance companies, and yet she comes home every night to me, shares food with me, watches tv with me, checks in with me, calls me to find out where I am if I am late coming home. We haven't strayed far from the relationship we had when she was in high school.
I don't know if that is good or bad, but I am trying hard to make the most of it for both of us. I am relishing every moment I get with her even while I try to let her go and live her life without mommy breathing down her neck.
My son left for college when he was 19 and he attended a college that was a 12 hour drive away. He went through momentous changes without me hovering nearby for involvement, guidance or support. He went through rigorous military training, he found new friends, he struggled with a math class, he found and wooed the love of his life and he even proposed to her, all hundreds of miles away from mommy. And he did fine. He is in a happy, stable marriage with a healthy son and a successful career. I am so proud of him, and yet I know I missed all those pivotal events in his life and they can never be relived. As much as I feel the loss of those years with him, I am trying very hard not to take that out on Erin and be TOO involved in her life as she moves so deliberately and maturely into her adult years.
After she left yesterday, I straightened up the whole house. I picked up all her shoes dumped by the front door and put them in her closet. I picked up all the papers and magazines she left splayed across the coffee table in the living room and put them in a neat stack on her bed. I washed and put away all the sports bottles she left sitting by the kitchen sink. I took all her clean laundry she left on the dining room table and put it on her bed. And I've been enoying a neat and organized household for these hours she's been gone. It's refreshing to go out for my power walk and come back home to find the entry way still cleared from scattered shoes and backpacks. And to go into the kitchen to make some dinner and find the sink still cleared of dirty dishes.
But, when she bursts through the door Sunday evening, dropping shoes, purses, keys, water bottles and clothes in her wake, I will be oh so happy to have her home again.
I watched Erin drive away yesterday afternoon, off for a fun weekend in Jacksonville. As she packed her bags, debated about what to take and carried loads of stuff down to her car, I was feeling such mixed emotions about this. While I was going to miss her, I was also kinda looking forward to a quiet weekend - a 4 day weekend, no less - all by myself without any noise, distraction or interruptions. I have a book I've been dying to read and now I can read it straight through without any interruptions. And I can watch whatever I want on tv without having her burst through the front door, toss her shoes by the dining room table, flop down on the sofa and change the channel without asking. I can cook what I want for dinner without scrambling to find a clean knife or the measuring spoons.
Erin is 19 years old and most of her friends are off at college - sleep-away college, too, not at campuses less than a mile from their mommies, and they are all experiencing their first out-of-mommy events (first break-up without mom, first hang-over without mom, first bad grade, etc.) Erin is not. Since she attends a college within walking distance from home, and since we don't have the money to rent a separate apartment for her, she lives with me. She is an accomplished college student, holds down 3 part time jobs, participates in 2 dance companies, and yet she comes home every night to me, shares food with me, watches tv with me, checks in with me, calls me to find out where I am if I am late coming home. We haven't strayed far from the relationship we had when she was in high school.
I don't know if that is good or bad, but I am trying hard to make the most of it for both of us. I am relishing every moment I get with her even while I try to let her go and live her life without mommy breathing down her neck.
My son left for college when he was 19 and he attended a college that was a 12 hour drive away. He went through momentous changes without me hovering nearby for involvement, guidance or support. He went through rigorous military training, he found new friends, he struggled with a math class, he found and wooed the love of his life and he even proposed to her, all hundreds of miles away from mommy. And he did fine. He is in a happy, stable marriage with a healthy son and a successful career. I am so proud of him, and yet I know I missed all those pivotal events in his life and they can never be relived. As much as I feel the loss of those years with him, I am trying very hard not to take that out on Erin and be TOO involved in her life as she moves so deliberately and maturely into her adult years.
After she left yesterday, I straightened up the whole house. I picked up all her shoes dumped by the front door and put them in her closet. I picked up all the papers and magazines she left splayed across the coffee table in the living room and put them in a neat stack on her bed. I washed and put away all the sports bottles she left sitting by the kitchen sink. I took all her clean laundry she left on the dining room table and put it on her bed. And I've been enoying a neat and organized household for these hours she's been gone. It's refreshing to go out for my power walk and come back home to find the entry way still cleared from scattered shoes and backpacks. And to go into the kitchen to make some dinner and find the sink still cleared of dirty dishes.
But, when she bursts through the door Sunday evening, dropping shoes, purses, keys, water bottles and clothes in her wake, I will be oh so happy to have her home again.
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