14 to 44

How is it that I can lay (or is it lie??, crap, I should really know the difference) in bed at almost midnight as a 44 year old and still feel 14?

It's a Saturday night, my last 'free' night of the weekend and I am beyond sad that it has come to an end.   Where did my fun time go?   I drank coffee, ran a lot of errands, painted a closet, and did dishes and laundry.    I also ate out with my cute hubby and drank a cocktail.  I should feel okay.

The bed feels good, sheets cool and smooth under me, but my legs can't be still.  They squirm and wiggle and dance and dream.

How is it that at 44, when I have essentially lived a mostly full life, I lay here and still get excited by the same man that sparked me when I was 14?   Don't ever tell this hunk beside me this, but John Taylor of Duran Duran still makes me smile.   When I think about the videos on MTV and his bass playing, I still blush.   Yes, tonight, I may have thought of him a time or two.  I posted a link of his bass playing on my Facebook page.  It is actually really, really good.  He is very talented.   His band is coming to Austin soon and I am beyond excited about that.   He still makes me feel 14 and deep, deep down...that makes me happy.

But, it's more than just that.

Mostly, I try to figure out when I became the grown up.   When did I become the one who made a point to change the oil in the car, put food in the fridge, make sure everyone had clean undies for Monday, and pay the bills?

Again, how did 14 suddenly become 44?    In my mind and heart, I still feel young.  It's only when my body betrays me or I happen to look in the mirror longer than it takes to tuck in  a shirt that I realize I'm not the teenager I once was.

There are lines on my face that give me away.   There are crevices, craters almost, around my eyes that scream..."this girl has laughed...the hearty, raucous laughter of one who appreciates humor and knows how bitingly close to home it hits when it's really good."    Those same creases tell of the time a little girl spent outside in the sun making her own way, her own fun, with whatever she could find.   They tell of tears that gouged out their own lines of sorrow as they suffered through acceptance of difference and the need for change that manifested itself in the ways of divorce and remarriage.

There are hardships on this face that are unspoken and locked away, but still carry their own heavy toll, forever.

There is life and death, and love and loss.  There is newfound hope and resilience and faith.

But the understanding and acceptance that 14 has now become 44 is very hard to grasp and not ever fully understood.

Who is this person?  Who am I?

As parallel as it now may seem, at 14 I was quite lost.   Or at least I believed I was.   The same could easily be said for me now.  I live each day as fully as I can.  I know there is a bigger me, a bigger picture out there somewhere.  And yet, I carry on.  The 14 year old inside the 44 year old body.  Moving forward, remaining hopeful, knowing there is a me out there yet to be discovered, yet to be realized.

But I have to believe that someday I will move on.  The 14 year old me will escape and run free or will marry the age I happen to be and find peace in a new space.

Until then, I will be me.  The age I am and the age I dream of being and feeling once again.   It is my hope that the two can live peacefully and productively together.   Until then...

Macy

Dear Summer

Dear Summer,

I'm so sorry it has come to this,  but we have to talk.  I've tried to put this off for days, weeks now, but ultimately, the time has come.

I have to stop seeing you.   I know, it's horrible.  It really is.  I don't want this at all, but we have to end this.    And I don't want you to feel bad about about yourself.   It's SO not you, it's totally me.

You are incredible!   With your long, sunny days, your blue sky outlook and your "I don't give a care" attitude, you are what every girl wants.  Trust me.  

I loved how we slept in together, just savoring the sunlight as it slanted across our bedroom, teasing us to taste the day as it unfolded outside.   I remember thinking that if I wanted, I could defy any and all rules with you.   You gave me such freedom!  Such beauty!  You opened a world of possibilities for me and for that I am eternally thankful.   You showed me what I could truly be.

It's just that I can't play around anymore.   I thought I could.  I dreamed about all the ways to make our worlds never have to part.   I wanted you forever.  I did.   I thought that maybe the carefree, fun-filled way of living was for me, but I guess it's not.

You see, when I'm with you, as the day comes to an end and your sky is ablaze with pinks that look like tulips, and oranges that make me taste cantaloupe on the tip of my tongue, I know that I can't give you everything you deserve, everything that is rightfully yours.   You are far more than I am able to offer right now.   You are better than me.

What?   Is there someone else?   No!  Never!  I wouldn't ever choose anyone or anything over you.  

Intentionally, that is.

The truth is, sadly, that I don't get to choose.   Even though I would take you into my arms and love and cherish you forever, I don't get that choice.

There are forces, even bigger than our love, that guide and yes, control me.   They've come and ripped you from my heart and that is why I am here, telling you goodbye, begging you to forgive me for having to let you go.

Please know that I love you, will always love you, and long for the day when we can be together again.

Until then, we shall always have our long days of shopping, our afternoon naps under the handmade quilts, and our warm kinship with your sun glistening upon my face.   I truly do glow in your presence.

Forever yours,
Macy

Happy Birthday, Robert Redford

Today is Robert Redford's birthday.    He is 78.    He was my mother's celebrity crush.  I am ashamed to admit this, but apparently she liked him so much that she took me to see "Three Days of The Condor" in the movie theaters.   I can't admit that I remember it explicitly, but I do know that I saw it on the big screen in the darkness and ominous of a cinema.   According to IMDB, it came out in 1975, which means I was five when she took me to the theater to see it.

In all honesty, that doesn't make me proud of my mom.  The best I can come up with is that she REALLY wanted to see this movie and she couldn't find a sitter.   Maybe she knew I was mature enough to handle a movie like that.    I find that doubtful.   But who am I to question what moms decide to do?   I know I have made decisions that others might find questionable, but I made because I knew my kids and their temperaments.    If I am 'messed up' today, I can assure you it is NOT Robert Redford's fault.

If anything, he is now my connection to a memory, a tug on my heart, that only a few can provide.   At an early age, I also was witness to "The Way We Were", another Robert Redford "classic" that my mom loved.    I recently made Richard sit through this movie and felt such a twinge of guilt I had to apologize and justify my reasoning.  I wanted him to see a movie that truly made me think of my mom. He never had the chance to meet her or know her and any chance I can get to show him an insight into her, I jump on it.  Even if it means we cry and have questions about love that is lost that we can't answer.   To be fair, that is a hard movie to stomach.

 Last week, she visited me.   When she first passed away, I  just knew I would see and feel her constantly.  She was a part of my daily life forever and  I refused to accept that she wouldn't be there after she was gone.   But, she wasn't.  I wasn't one of those who constantly talked to or saw their passed loved ones.   I never felt the urge to force it.   Once she was gone, I wasn't able to fake whether she was there or not.

What happened is that she began to visit me in dreams.   In the first years after she was gone, they seems so incredibly poignant and vivid.   She gave me messages about Ellis, about Chris (my ex husband), and about myself as a young woman vs. me as a seasoned wife and mother.   Each of those dreams were moving and breathtaking.  I knew exactly what she wanted me to focus on.

When life gets difficult, I am not ashamed to say that I have laid in bed at night asking for her to 'visit' me to give specific wisdom.   I needed her in my life and when she wasn't a phone call away, I wanted a tangible way to connect.    I have to confess that rarely do those specific wishes come true.   Sadly, it just doesn't work that way.

So, back to last week.   The dream started off innocuous enough.   I was in a shopping center parking lot and I encountered a woman.  In the dream she was African American, but I ended up in her car, driving to an undisclosed location.   As we were driving along, the sun was setting outside my passenger window and as the magnificent golds, ambers, pinks, and purples blazed across the sky and into the vehicle, I looked her way and in that instant, I saw my mom driving.

My breath stopped and the tears began to fall.   I couldn't breathe, so I inhaled and let the tears stream down my face.   My left hand moved over to find her right hand that was outstretched to mine.  Our fingers clasped and she squeezed me tight.     I exhaled and sobbed.   I was riding with my mom.  In those brief moments, all was right with my world.

When I awoke, I was short for breath.  It took a minute to gather my thoughts, my emotions, my reality.   Sadly, it was the reality that includes the fact that she is no longer with me in person.  

I searched for her message.   What was she trying to tell me?    My kids weren't in the dream.  Richard was no where.  Neither was Chris.  The people who make up the tapestry of my life were absent.

Then, it dawned on me.

All she did was reach over to me in a moment of beauty.    Her hand grasped mine and squeezed.  

I think what she was telling me was "I love you" and "I am here for you".    It was as simple and straightforward as a message could be.   In that moment, that was it.   She was telling me she is still here.

Thank you mom.   I needed that.  I always need that.

  And thank you Robert Redford for making me bring her to the forefront of my overloaded, stressed, ADHD, tired mind tonight.   It's a happy birthday for us all.

The Hourglass

If I ever stopped long enough to sit and watch an hourglass, I feel certain that try as I might, I couldn't isolate one single granule of sand.  The flow would be consistent and steady until those last bits slipped through to the other side.

As silly as it sounds, that visual is what keeps coming to mind tonight as I think about my oldest son and his life to this point.   This washed over me as I helped him pack for a trip to L.A.  He's headed there to celebrate a film he and friends made being accepted into the Hollyshorts Film Festival.

In the blink of an eye, he's practically grown.   At 6'1, he towers over me.   He's 17 going on 25, except for those rare moments when he's so vulnerable he seems 4 again.

The thing is, how did we get from 4 to 17 so fast?   The void of any acceptable answer causes the breath to catch in my throat.  Disbelief is the overwhelming feeling.

He was my firstborn, the baby whose tiny toes danced across my heart and in my dreams well before he finally arrived.   He was the child who made me a mother, who showed me how the heart can grow so big that just when you think it will burst you find more room to love, who taught me more than I ever dreamed possible.

In those early years of his life, it was just the two of us during the days and we spent our time practically inseparable.   He slept in our bed, I wore him in baby carriers, we played, we worked, we laughed, we grew.

If I stop long enough, I can remember the feel of his wispy blonde (yes, blonde) hair against my cheek as we read books and rocked to a rhythm all our own.   I can remember the questions and observations he made from such an early age, and the sweet, squeaky baby voice he had.

 He's always seen the world through a pair of eyes that amazes me.   I foolishly forget that he's his own person, with his own opinion and oftentimes it's quite opposite of mine.   It's a good thing.   I'm glad he's that way, but I can't say it is always easy.   This mom is a worrier.

Lately, though, my little buddy is doing something that is very hard to accept.   He's growing up, and by up, I mean away.   He doesn't need me like he used to and my 'smart' brain knows this is normal and good.  My 'heart' brain though is grappling with my new place in his life.

As my first, we've always had the task of carving out our path.  It hasn't always been a piece of cake, but we have managed well.   Of all the milestones we've passed and overcome, for some reason, this one is exceedingly hard for me.

He is a model teenager by all accounts.   He's smart (the proud Mama in me is going to tell you he scored a 34 on his ACT recently), he gets *most* of his work done,  and he still talks to me and tells me he loves me.  He handled my divorce with grace and has accepted a new step dad and two MORE brothers into his life.   But increasingly he prefers his friends over his family and I miss him.

 And that's it, plain and simple.  I miss my boy.   I miss the chubby fingers wrapped around mine, the cards with "I love you" scrawled across the front, the loose teeth, the skinned knees, the Santa lists, and the snuggles in bed on Sunday mornings.

I'm hoping those of you who are on this path, but a bit further down the road can enlighten me to the good things yet to come.   I know our relationship is evolving and progressing and still growing into something just as beautiful and meaningful.  I just can't see around that curve.

But, I can hope.    Because I certainly can't capture a grain of sand and hold onto one moment in time.  I also know I don't want the sand to ever stop either.   It's just hard.

Everywhere at Once

Welcome to my first (not really) blog!   This is THE FINAL place (for now) that I plan to write and host my thoughts and feelings.

Tonight, as I try to compose myself to write, I am quite conflicted.  There are so many things I want to write about.  So many things I want to say.   But, I can't just do it all at once.  I can't just explode my brain onto the blog.

I have to focus.   If I want to garner readers, I know I should probably specify the topic of this blog.  I could write about being a teacher.  I could write about being a mom.  I could even write about being a second wife and a step mom.   The truth is, I don't want to specialize.  I want to write about what I want to write about.

So, that means that sometimes I will write about teaching.  And sometimes I will write about mothering.  Sometimes I might even write about wifing.  Yeah, I think I made up that word.   It's the verb for being a wife.   But, other times, I might write about the voices inside my head or the women I wish I could be.  If you aren't following along, what I am saying is that  I think this blog might just be a bit of everything!  And, to tell you the truth...that excites me.

I am tired of writing what I think people want to read.  I'm tired of editing myself because I am afraid of offending people that I'm not sure even really care about me to begin with.

When it's all said and done, I have to just be me.

So, having said that...here we go!  This is my attempt to just blog and write about all the things I am thinking and feeling.  Hopefully, at some point in time, you'll recognize a glimmer of yourself in me and my words and decide to check in pretty regularly.   That would be totally epic.  And, if not...well, that's okay too.  I plan to write and keep being me either way!


Moving along,
M