Just One Day

If you know me at all, you know I have the most crazy, vivid, realistic dreams of anyone I've ever met. Sometimes it's horrifying, sometimes beautiful, usually fairly comical...my brain needs the day time to recover from it's nighttime activities!

Last night was one to commit to memory, though it was exceedingly painful...

I dreamed I died. Not so crazy, people dream of dying all the time, I know. But I dreamed that I died but was unaware of it until some gentle soul broke the news to me. I felt alive, but not present. I remember being so incredibly upset, telling her that I wasn't ready, that I hadn't had time to make sure my children knew how I felt about them. Ridiculous, I tell them every day, and hopefully show them in my actions. But I was absolutely heartbroken because I was sure I hadn't convinced them of just how much I love them. I was at peace with dying, but not with my feelings potentially unknown to my babies. I envisioned them growing old and always doubting whether I truly loved them or not. I wasn't ready...

Luckily for me, I was given one day to accomplish my impossible task. Although I wasn't alive, the kids could see me. I was afraid to touch them, afraid of how they'd react, afraid I'd feel cold, or simply not feel. They didn't accept my passing at first, argued that they could see me, that maybe this was all a sick joke. I did my best, I told them, I showed them, I gave them my best advice for the future. All in one day, all the things I've spent the last 14 years doing, I frantically crammed into one day, just to make sure it stayed with them for a little while longer. Just one day.

I woke up trying to convince myself they'd be ok, that I'd done all I could, that they knew just how much I loved them. And today, I've had more patience with them...we've talked, I've told them point-blank that they mean the world to me. I sent them off to school with an extra squeeze, trying to minimize the everyday fear in my heart.

Because today might just be that one day that we're given. And I don't want it to be wasted.

You smell

Getting ready for work one morning last week, 10 year old Ms. M wanders into my bathroom for some conversation and procrastination...

Me: Good morning baby, did you finish getting your backpack ready?

Ms. M: Yep, all done.

Me: Do you want me to straighten your hair for you today since we have time?

Ms. M: No thanks. Mom, you smell good...

Me: Thank you sweetie, that's very nice of you!

Ms. M: You smell like a store...like Walmart or something...

Me: Uh...thanks? (Vigorously reapply deodorant and body spray)

*sigh*
I smell like Walmart????

The sins of the mother...

Shall come back to haunt her when her children become adolescents with minds of their own, and attitudes on top of it.

I cannot believe Brandon is 13...I remember being 13, and let me tell you, I was not the most pleasant person to have around...just ask my dad and grandma. Surly, disrespectful, non-commital, not careful...

A few days ago, while putting dinner on the table, I called the kids to wash up. Brandon brought his taller-than-me self in, and slouched into a chair. Because I believe everyone has to contribute, I told him "What do I look like, the maid? Get up and get your own plate." He did, slamming everything he could in the meantime. "Relax," I said, "and lose that attitude. Do you guys have such attitude problems at Dad's house, or is it just when you're at home?" Imagine my shock, and hurt, when they both responded "Just here Mom." Seriously?? I'm a sucker for punishment, especially when it comes to emotional issues, so of course I pressed for an explanation. Mistake. Answers included "I don't know," "Because," and the like. One that came from Brandon related to how strict I am, which I fully admit to being. For a reason. I was a 13 year old in San Francisco, and I know the extent of trouble a kid can get into.

Anyway, the discussion went on, mutating into an argument, and I made mistake #2--I told Brandon he was going to spend some serious time at his dad's, so he could realize how great he has it at home. Never pass down rulings when you're pissed. More flip remarks from him, then my telling him to go pack a bag for the week. More slamming from him. Then my little breakdown at the table, quiet though, and Mariah comforting me and getting upset herself. Terrible mother.

So what do I do now, let him separate, or pull him closer, neither of which I see being helpful, and both with the likelihood of causing more pain and anger? Do I let him have more autonomy, knowing he needs to develop, but also knowing there are some serious freaks out there that would willingly hurt my baby? Or rule by force, and lock him down more? Both options stink, and I don't know who thought up this whole parenting thing. I do know that I wouldn't give it up for the world, but it may well kill me in the long run. Where's the manual??? I didn't exactly sign up for this gig, and the costs are much higher than I thought they would be. The rewards are amazing, it just feels like it will be a long time before I see another one of those...