I am so blessed…

I didn’t do the whole thirty days of thankful thing this year. Life’s been a little nutty. I’ve barely seen my adult kids. My teenager goes through all of the moods and emotions daily. Sometimes twice in the same day.

Our house has been on the market for a couple of weeks now. Had a handful of showings followed by a handful of insultingly ridiculous offers. I mean who seriously thinks someone is going to kick $60,000 off a home that’s been on the market four days??? Ludicrous I tell you. But, the longer it stays on the market, the longer I must live in a show ready house. It’s a touch difficult to do with a teenager who refuses to understand the function of a hamper or the mechanics of making a bed.

Managed to get smacked in the face with a head cold after Thanksgiving. That’s fun. You never know how much mucus the human body can produce until you find yourself constantly expelling heaps of it from your own nose. I sound like a cross between Joanie Mitchell and Minnie Mouse trying to rehearse the songs for Sundays worship set. That oughta be interesting.

My book project, my story, the one I’ve been anxious and excited to finally own, has been tabled indefinitely. Between the constraints on my time, random house showings, and the other things circling my life, I haven’t had the time or mental fortitude to tackle it. I’m trying to give myself grace but some days I snatch it back and berate myself for not being able to manipulate time to my will and want.

Still haven’t spoken to my wayward child. It’s been almost six months since I’ve physically laid eyes on him, wrapped my arms around him, heard his voice. Seeing a picture of him having Thanksgiving dinner forty minutes from me, so close, without so much as a text, was a knife to the heart.

Yet, even with the insanity of selling the house, packing our things, wrangling teenage emotions, worrying over wayward children, being sick, and still trying to hold the world together, I can’t help but feel blessed. No, I don’t need a sanity check. It’s long gone. LOL.

I’m blessed to have a beautiful house that will host family this weekend for our combined Thanksgiving Christmas (Thanks Christmas) celebration. This house has seen such joy and I can’t help but be happy. I have children who don’t avoid me like a dead carcass in the sidewalk. Each one anxious for a mom’s hug and fresh baked cookies. And nothing like grand baby snuggles to make me giddy with anticipation. I do work with amazing people, and making their lives easier makes me happy.

Yep. My life is chaos. Organized chaos but definitely chaos. I’m tucked into a holding pattern as we wait to shift into something new. I’m juggling the whirring chain saws life is tossing my way with a smile. Because when I really look at it all, I’m truly blessed beyond measure.

Now, I’m just somebody…

That you used to know.

Sigh.

Being a mom is challenging. HA! That’s like saying Chernobyl was just a little meltdown. Being a mom is like juggling lit sticks of dynamite that are stuffed in blocks of C4 with canisters nitroglycerin taped on for good measure. One false move, one odd step, and things blow up.

That’s how I feel tonight. Double sigh. I’ve been pretty quiet here because life is lifeing hard right now, but tonight my spirit cracked a little bit. My husband showed me a picture of our wayward 18-year-old son tonight. Before I knew it, every emotion I had managed to stuff way deep down inside welled up and spilled over as hot tears. Anguish. Angst. Hurt. Fear. Fury. Pain. All bubbled up in one swift cut, stealing my breath and robbing me of my steel-cut resolve.

I haven’t laid eyes on my son since May. I haven’t heard his voice or wrapped my arms around his skinny frame in five months. Not a text message. Not a phone call. Not an email. Not a smoke signal. Nothing. So, to have a picture tipped under my nose smacked me back a few steps. I’ve heard whispers handed down third and forth hand that he’s still alive and breathing, but no direct contact.

I’ve become someone that he used to know. Or, that’s how it feels inside my throbbing heart. My hubby, man I love his face, just wrapped me in his arms while I pulled myself together. I can only imagine the looks that flash across my face as he watched me take in our sons image. If I don’t say it, my face will scream it.

I find myself going over the last six months, the last year, the last few years, trying to figure out where things went left instead of right. Where I misstepped and bobbled the C4 wrapped nitro-laced stick of dynamite that walked away without a backward glance. I can’t see it. I don’t know. And not knowing hurts as much as his absence.

I know tonight, after I settle the girl-child in for the night, as my hubby snores lovingly next to me, my momma mind will recall that quick picture again. My heart will ache. My eyes may water. And my mind will run a race around the last weeks, months, and years.

Yeah, parenting is fun. Just don’t bobble the human bombs.

How many roads…

Must a man walk down…

Before you can call him a man?

How would you define a grown up? I know when I was a kid I thought being a grown up meant having my own space, and my own money, and making my own decisions. Now, being a grown up, I know it’s a million times more.

As a parent, even though my kids hate it, part of my job is to teach them things they’ll need to know as a grown up. My daughter hated my lesson on proper dishwashing until she had her own house. Then she realized my insistence on making sure they’re clean and taken care of before bed wasn’t just because I was insane. I take pride is being that parent.

Our newly minted 18 year old has found himself run aground. This kid is setting fire to bridges without a single thought. Until the smoke from one fire blew back at him. Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by smoking bridges, caused by fires he lit in his quest for adulthood.

It hurts my momma heart, but he has to learn from this. His dad and I aren’t going to come charging in to the rescue. Now, he has to take stock and fix what he broke. Suddenly, he’s faced with all the bad choices he’s made in the past five months. People who’d typically come to bat for him are hanging back, uncertain if they want to get in deeper.

My kid is in a rabbit hole. The bottom is looming awfully close. As mom, I want to dive in and drag him out. But, then he wouldn’t learn anything.

I sure there are those wondering why, if he’s struggling so much, we don’t insist he come home. Well, his questionable choices and inability to be honesty, have created a chasm the size of the Mississippi River in our family. I have to consider the young and impressionable teenage girl growing through life in our house. Her health and well-being are top of my list. And she’s a lot of work!

I don’t know what’s next for my kid. He set fire to a lot of family bridges. I hope he puts them out before he finds himself surrounded by ashes with no one to help him. I hope he knows regardless of what happens, his dad and I are here. Like we’ve told all the kids, when the fit really hits the shan, we’ve got his back.

Momming ain’t easy

Help me…help you…

Help you…help me…

You know what I love? I love being mentally exhausted after a long day of doing the things, not sleeping well, having an hour of my life disappear because of daylight savings time (thanks Ben Franklin) and then having my newly minted adult child text me with nonsense. Yes. Those truly are the moments that make my life complete.

NOT!!!

Ugh! I worked my hind quarters off, trying to be the mom I wished I had. The present mom. Compassionate mom. Tough but fair. Reasonable expectations but flexible. Open. Honest. Dependable. By no means am I perfect. I’ve yelled at my kids out of frustration. Secretly wished they’d disappear at times. Hidden in my bedroom pretending I didn’t hear them trying to deconstruct my house and each other. All in all, I figured I did pretty good.

Every now and then, one of them makes me question my mom-ability and my tenuously held sanity. Yesterday was a good one.

Tell me why my child, whom I painstakingly grew from scratch, copped attitude because I didn’t automatically invite his blatant disrespect back into the house….I must admit small shock that he accused me of gaslighting him! Insert loads of incredulity here. This child packs up and leaves out three days post 18th birthday. No real explanation. Just I’m out. Crushes his baby sisters heart. Leaves me hurt and questioning. Ticks off his dad. But, when I ask why, I’m gaslighting him.

Oy! Motherhood does not get easier as they get older. You just trade one set of issues and worries for another. And each one of my kids presents me with different issues and worries. And I’m sure some people will be all “you shouldn’t be putting all that out there – that’s your child – you should love him”. Blah. Blah. Blah.

I share because there are tons of moms and dads dealing with the same nonsense losing their ever loving minds thinking they are the only ones. Yea. He is my kid. Will always be. And I love him with every fiber of my being. Even when he’s being a buntificating butthead. Believe me, I spent a very restless night replaying the conversation in my head.

Should I have just tossed aside all of the lies and disrespect and welcomed him home for a week (because that’s all the time he’s willing to spare us)? Should I have asked even tougher questions? Believe me there are plenty. Should I have insisted he call and actually speak to his dad and I? Nothing annoys me more than important conversations via text message. I have no answers. Only more frustration. Yay.

How do you allow someone who constantly withholds the truth, openly disrespects everyone, and refuses to own up to their own malarkey back into your space that finally started settling down? Well, we don’t. It breaks my heart. Shatters it. I want him home. God knows I want him home. But, until he can see just how many things need addressed and dealt with, sorry Charlie.

Now, excuse me while I replay that conversation again and imagine the other ways it could have went.

Pardon my French…but seriously…!

Is it just me….

Or has the whole word gone mad!!

Or at least the 18 year old boys…men…boys….young men…heck I don’t know! They’re technically adults by the numbers but acting like large children so it’s hard to put a title on them. Ya know??

Since my own freshly minted 18 year old has come of age and take life by the horns, I’ve been chatting with other mommas. Funnily enough, I’m not the only mom I know struggling to understand just what is going on in the mind of our new adult children. What thoughts run across their minds in the crazy decisions they settle on. What sort of processing systems are the using. Is all of the brain engaged or only a small portion?

I don’t say this to be mean. I love my kid tremendously! Always will. He may have hurt me and his dad and broken his little sisters heart, but I’d still burn the world down for him. But, I have questions. And other moms I know seem to be wondering the same things about their kids.

You see, I get it. In all of the conversations I’ve had lately, there’s a common thread. We moms wonder what the heck did we do that steered them down these crazy paths. We’ve loved them, cared for them, tried to guide them, and stood up for them. Where there were lessons to be learned, we tried our best to make sure they were learned and hoped they stuck. Then the 18th birthday rolls around and BAM! we get hit with a truck load of ‘what the heck!’ I’ve spent the last six week trying to fully wrap my head around my kid’s decisions. Want to know what I’ve discovered?

His decisions are his decisions. He will have to live with his choices. WOW! Let me tell you, those are some hard things to reconcile as a mom. I’ve spent years taking care of him, leading him, guiding him, helping him. Suddenly, I’m cut off at the knees and left flopping around like a fish out of water, gasping for air.

It hurts that he won’t trust me with the truth of what’s going on in his life. Guess he forgot I do better work than the FBI/CIA/NSA combined and that people love him and will fill in the gaping holes in his stories. But I will always hold on to hope.

Hope that my kid will stop crafting stories and trust his dad and me with the truth. Hope that he will make a whole hearted effort to make amends with his baby sister. How that he will remember we love him unconditionally and always will. Some think me crazy for it but I don’t care. Hope springs eternal and I will always have room for it.

Get yourself some…

Praying friends.

Anyone keeping up with the crazy that has wrapped itself around my family these past few weeks knows it’s been rough. All the emotions and then some have worked through this place and I’m really over them all. Hurt. Betrayal. Anger. Sadness. Denial. Too many of them, often at once, circling like bats at feeding time. It’s been rough.

The one common constant has been the people in our lives lifting us up in prayer. They’ve watched the story of our teenage son unfold over the last few years. They’ve seen our struggles. Some even shared similar ones. And we all do what comes most naturally when life throws bricks at us; we pray. We pray for our own issues but we also pray for one another.

When I cried all over the women’s event, prayer came from all directions. It truly helped. It didn’t take away the big feelings I kept trying to stuff down. But, it helped me move toward a place of functioning peace. You see, prayer isn’t about asking God to instantly fix the things gone wrong. He’s not a genie. It’s about giving him what’s burdening our hearts. This whole situation has been weighing my momma heart down and it has been incredibly heavy to bear.

Now, I never claim to be perfect. By any means. I’m as flawed as the next person. But, I pray. Funnily enough, I tend to pray for everyone but myself. Still working on that whole idea of being worthy enough to ask God for anything for myself. I’m a work in progress. In this whole situation, I’ve prayed.

Prayed my kid was safe, healthy, eating and sleeping like he should. Prayed he wasn’t doing anything stupid that would get him arrested or worse. Prayed my daughter, who feels so hurt and betrayed, would find a way to accept and forgive her brother. Prayed my other kids wouldn’t harangue and hold my son’s idiotic selfishness against him. Prayed my husbands hurt over everything that’s happened would lessen and start to heal. But, I haven’t prayed for myself.

Today, I received the most amazing voice message from an amazing prayer warrior. I count her amount the few people I actually call friend. In this message, she didn’t just say she was praying for me – she actually prayed for me. Right there, in that message, she spoke words over me and my family. She prayed for me. Thats huge. And it means more than I would ever be able to express.

How many times do we say “oh, I’ll pray for you” but never actually do it? I know I’ve done it. It’s so easy to say. Rolls off the tongue as if second nature. But, do you? Do you actually pray for that person? Do you comment on that social media post seeking prayer with an actual prayer? Do you stop them in the hallway and literally pray for them? Send a message of prayer? Add them to your personal prayer list?

That two minute voice message filled with spirit lifting words meant everything to me today. A friend took that time during her meal prep for her own family to lift me up in prayer. And Ill play that message many times over the next few weeks as we fly through the holidays. Not knowing what will happen, I know her words will help my momma heart find peace. Those are the kind of friends everyone needs. If you don’t have praying friends, get you some. Quick.

Prayer comes in many forms

It’s been one week….

Since he left.

Yes, I’m still heartbroken. Actually, to be incredibly transparent, I am not sure what the heck I feel!

I feel like someone cut off my hand. I know it’s gone, but I still feel like it’s there. I go to see him, talk to him, hug him, but there’s just empty space in his place.

I feel like I’ve cried myself dry. I’m not a crier unless something really hurts. I don’t get all weepy over movies or tv shows. I shed a happy tear or two at the birth of my kids and grandkids. But, I don’t cry. Friday night a random statement during our nightly wind down time had me crying all over my husband. Hair plastered to my tear soaked face, runny-stuffy nose, puffy eyed, headache inducing cried all over him. Saturday, crazily thinking I was fine, I went to our church’s women’s event. And cried through two breakout sessions, dinner, and half of worship. Then I cried all over two amazing women who held my hand, hugged me and prayed over me.

I feel like breaking into hysterics and laughing until my sides ache. Because when all else fails, laughter is always a great back up plan. The whole situation just seems so surreal that I can’t quite come to terms with everything that’s happened.

I feel like curling into a ball and sleeping for a week. I am beyond exhausted. Mentally. Emotionally. I want so badly to turn off my momma brain but I can’t. Questions like is he eating and sleeping plague me? How are his allergies during this temperature shift? Is he remembering to wear his glasses when he needs them? Is he alive? And the answer of I honestly don’t know drives me insane.

Life looks very different right now. I don’t know what the future holds for him. He’s either going to figure it out and fly, or fall perilously and hopefully come home if he does. I don’t know when I’ll see him again and that hurts my heart. So, yeah, I have no idea what I’m actually feeling.

All that’s left…

The shoe dropped….

And the whole closet went with it.

Today, our youngest son, freshly minted age 18, sat down in front of me and told me he was moving out. He couldn’t find the right words to break my heart with, but eventually, he said them.

I knew it was coming. The writing has been splashed in neon graffiti all over the walls. Whispers of it have reached me ears, whether I wanted to believe it or not. But, I held out hope the rumors were wrong.

I have this problem where my face says what I’m thinking without using actual words. My kids tell me the looks on my face cut them down far worse than the words I use. It was todays look that stalled his words. And the longer he fumbled for the right ones, the worse my heart hurt. But, I made him say them.

I suppose I should be proud of myself for not melting down completely, begging him to stay, telling him what a huge mistake he’s making. I even managed to pretty cry, not ruining the mascara I actually applied this morning. I remained calm even though I was screaming on the inside.

He’s not the first to leave the nest, but he’s the one I worry about the most. High school has been a rough road and it sits perilously unfinished. Differences in thought on future plans have carved ruts into the dynamic of our family. My momma heart has been through the ringer.

I won’t get the early morning head nods as he makes his way to forage for cereal before school. No more random after school conversations about crazy things that happened during the day. The sounds of him and his sister doing odd Tik-Toks and laughing like maniacs won’t shake my walls. There’s no human tree to elbow out of the middle of my kitchen as I cook.

He’s been gone fifteen minutes and there’s a hole in my heart. He was the first human I grew from scratch. The first boy who ever had my whole heart. The first time I ever really understood what true love meant was when he was placed in my arms. And now that piece of my heart has packed his clothes and left.

No one ever prepares you for moments like this. There’s no instruction manual to being a parent. You pretty much wing it and fly by the seat of your pants. If there were a manual, this chapter would be titled “Man does this suck”. Sigh.

I guess today wouldn’t hurt so much if I thought he was ready for the world. Lord knows his dad and I tried to prepare him. Did any of the lessons stick? That’s anybody’s guess at this point. But, regardless of whether he flies and soars or falls flat, he knows where home is and the door is open if he needs us.

How can you mend….

A broken heart 💔

Y’all, my momma heart is aching. Tiny pin-pricks of hurt ribboning through my oversized heart all weekend. When people tell you there’s no heartbreak like the ones your children create, believe it.

My high school senior had homecoming this weekend. After being denied the excitement of high school events for the past three school years, I was giddy with excitement at the prospect of senior events. My momma heart bloomed at the thought of homecoming, senior pictures, graduation meetings and prom! Oh prom!!

Now, while my high schooler has not adopted my keen ability to plan ahead, despite my best efforts, he knows he’s gotta have a plan if he wants to do something. Don’t come to me without a complete plan including how you are getting there and back, who you are going with, and if you need money. The answer will be no. Failure to plan is a plan to fail; and not my fault.

In sidles my high schooler, Thursday night, grinning and calling me his favorite person. He’s as transparent as glass. I know he’s up to something. Laying on the sugar in inch thick layers, he eventually asks for funds to attend the homecoming football festivities. My momma heart skipped happily because he actually wanted to go! Of course I said yes!

Then he hits me in the mom feels and asks if he can go to the homecoming dance. A dance!!!! I had to put on my cool-mom face and tell him he’s gotta talk to dad about that one. Meanwhile, I’m dancing on the inside. I couldn’t wait to tell the hubby we were finally going to get to do high school parent stuff! A dance with dressy clothes and pictures and all the things!!!

This kid waited until two hours before the dance to approach his dad about going to the dance. His plan included skateboarding to a buddies house, picking up his date, having dinner, then going to the dance. Wait! Hold up! Did I miss something here? Where are the obligatory pictures? The gushy mom noises I’m supposed to make? Where is the part where I get to be teary-eyed as I watch him pose with a cute girl then ride off laughing with friends?

I got nothing. No pictures. No gushy mom noises. No teary-eyed send off. I didn’t even get the promised cell phone pic at the friends house. I feel cheated. Disgruntled. But mostly, I’m hurt. All up in my feelings. And my happy reactions at the rolling feed of friends kids all dressed up and off to the dance are colored slightly by my own sadness.

My hubby, man I love tremendously, pointed out the fact his lack of picture hurt my heart. True to form, my kid shrugged and brushed me off. Sigh. Heartbreak stinks when it comes from the humans you grew from scratch. It’ll take a few days but I’ll eventually get over it. For the rest of the year, perhaps I’ll expect disappointment and I won’t be disappointed.

No pictures for mom……

I’m friends with the monster…

Inside of my head!

I love social media. Sometimes. I love watching former students grow into awesome young adults. I love seeing their academic accomplishments. Watch them get their drivers permits and licenses. Seeing them compete in sports and excel. It makes my preschool teacher heart shout when I know I had a tiny part in the success of a child’s life. I firmly believe preschool is the foundation academic excellence is formed on. Fight me on it😎

And yet, as I watch former students become honor society inductees, learn to drive, hold down jobs, letter in sports, and dress to the nines for prom, a small part of my heart weeps. It’s a little corner that hides behind the joy. It’s shady and enjoys poking holes in my joy for others. It’s a green and it’s well-placed barbs hit me where it hurts.

I’m generally not a jealous person. I truly enjoy watching the joy in the lives of others. But, when I feel like I should be joining in on sharing those same milestones yet am not, that little green monsters starts poking at me with her sharp sticks. It’s in those moments that it gets hard to type well wishes and congrats on those joyous social media posts.

When the current teenager of the house hit freshman year, I was excited. I prepared myself for hectic basketball seasons, drivers lessons, Friday nights football games, and loads of friends in and out of my fridge. I was eagerly anticipating our color-coded family calendar being full, juggling schedules and sporting my school pride. Somewhere in there, a sharp left turn happened. And I’m left holding a bag of expectations wearing a sad expression.

Some days I feel like the kid who’s mom promised her chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and was handed a cheese stick instead. What I was hoping for when the kid hit high school is very different from the reality. I sit and wonder, were my expectations of his high school life too high? Perhaps. Maybe I should employ the philosophy MJ uses in the new Spider-Man movie—“If you expect disappointment, you can never truly be disappointed.”

It makes me sad for my kid that he isn’t taking high school by the horns and doing the things. No Friday night lights with friends and pizza afterward. No cheering teammates on from the sidelines itching to get into the game. No cheesy drivers license picture. No fun prom pictures to look back on. Nothing.

We tell our teen constantly we can’t want it for you. We can’t want his future for him. We want him to do the work. We want him to want to play ball, learn to drive, go to school events, graduate high school. We want him to want a life that leads to the bright future we always hoped he’s have.

Being his mom is frustrating at times. God knows I love him with every fiber of my being. But, doggone if parenting him isn’t the most frustrating practice in juggling patience, persistence, and tough love. I’d rather juggle flaming swords blindfolded at this point. As he draws to the close of his junior year, with four summer school classes to look forward to, I can only hope his final chapter, senior year, will be better. Because, at this rate, his graduation cake won’t say “congratulations” it’ll simply read “you’re done”. And that is a sad thought.

Are we done yet?