It's About Time

All it takes is a word of encouragement.  One word.  Sometimes a spoken word is even unnecessary.  A glance, a gentle touch of the hand or a smile can achieve the same outcome.

 

When I was a little girl, I thought 40 was such an old age.  Being the baby of the family with two brothers and a disabled sister above me, my mom was tired.  REALLY tired.  I honestly don't remember that many days of her life when she wasn't tired.  She didn't really complain, but it was evident by the dark circles under her eyes and non-stop coffee consumption.

 

What I didn't know at the time was that she wasn't only tired, she was stressed.  Absolutely and completely.  The efforts of running a household, raising children, running a business and pleasing her spouse had worn down the energetic, spry and sassy woman she was just a short decade before I came along.  She never really recharged her batteries, didn't really talk to any friends or family about her feelings, concerns or challenges.  She endured it all... privately.  She was brilliantly strong in that way. 

 

Over the course of the last six months, I have a much greater appreciation for how she felt.  Exasperated may be the only word I can use to describe it.  Life experiences have weighed heavily on me and my family lately.  I am not one to complain.  I don't really even want to talk about my own challenges.  I take responsibility for my own and just don't feel it's necessary.  It's nothing we can't handle. We always overcome.  Nonetheless, it's been exhausting.  Stress plays an incredibly powerful role over a human being.  It can be absolutely debilitating, leaving us feeling hopeless.  And tired.

 

A great friend of mine recently shared she is getting married this summer and it was the perfect conduit to create happiness.  My girlfriends and I assembled quickly to plan a gathering for us to celebrate with her.  As we sat laughing and crying this past weekend over our long friendship with one another and life events recent and past, I realized something really important:  none of us are really alone if we don't want to be.  All it takes is the ability to share our vulnerability with one another, to find those individuals that will give you that one word you need at the precise moment that you need it.

 

 

 

I found that this weekend.  I was enveloped with love and support from my girlfriends whom I don't spend near enough time visiting.  By the end of the weekend, I felt at peace.  Even with few hours of sleep, I finally felt rested. 

 

Sometimes you just need a girlfriend to giggle with and lighten the load.

 

I haven't blogged for a long time, mostly because I refuse to use my writing as a dumping spot for all of my trials and tribulations.  That's held in a private journal.  This space is my place of comfort and joy, to share moments of joy and sometimes moments of sadness and be true to myself.  I'm excited to get back though.  It's truly healing for me to write and gives me a slight feeling of control in an uncontrollable world.

 

So thanks for coming back to visit.

 

             Jen

 

 

 

 

Thankful for the Nasties

My first big Thanksgiving endeavor I was a brave, brave girl.  I invited not only my mom and her best friend over to our duplex with a 7 x 7 (maybe) galley kitchen, I invited my in law parents as well.

I insisted we cook everything.  From scratch, of course.

Oh, and I was 23.

I begged my mom to come over and help.  Believe me, there was no way I could get it done by myself.  Hubs hadn't developed his love of the kitchen yet and although he was always helpful, we needed the precious real estate to maneuver all these dishes in and out of the oven (which was across from the sink so mom and I could stand butt to butt for hours on end).

I did have an advantage.  I had watched my mom cook Thanksgiving feasts my whole life.  Not just "hung around the smells" kind of watching.... staring intently, trying to soak up the knowledge of how she could amazingly get everything perfectly cooked on the table at the same time.

That has always been my end goal as a cook - how to get it all done and presented beautifully.  I have to admit I'm a little bit anal about it and freak out when it doesn't go my way.

4 am, we started a pot of coffee.  Or maybe even another one, I can't remember.  My mother could drink coffee 24/7 and did.  She bequeathed that awesome skill to my bestie who gulps caffeine goodness all day and night.

I was insistent to handle the bird.  I wanted to be able to say I did it.  Pulling the bag from the inside, I turned to chuck it in the trash when my mom slapped at me furiously (yes, she did that a lot).

"STOP!  Don't throw that away!"

"Isn't it just the neck and insides, mom?  The yucky stuff?"

"It's the gold, dear.  We have to use it to make everything taste good.  Get me a pot."

Confused, I lean over to grab a stockpot.  I watch intrepidly as she fills it with cold water, empties the contents of the nasty bag into it and sets it on the stove over the flame.

"We have to make a stock, you know... broth."

Oooh.  Broth.  Okay, I think I'd heard of that somewhere.  

{I can't help but laugh as I type this... my daughter and I would laugh now at such foolishness.  Everyone knows all you have to do is Google it.....}

We played dice at the table, her drinking coffee with clouds and me I'm sure drinking a RED coca cola (my staple in my early 20's) waiting.  The bird was cooking, the nasties were simmering and all was good in the world.  Hubs and Bubba emerged for the morning to smells of goodness all around.

And then, it was time.

We entered the kitchen to deal with the nasties.  Grabbing a colander and a bowl, I strained the golden juice from the pan.  I have to admit, it did smell amazingly yummy.  She was right.  Damnit, she was always right.

As I stepped towards the trash with the icky remnants, she grabbed me once again.

"Little lady, where do you think you are going with that?"

"It's trash, mom!  I'm going to the trash!"

"Nope, get back over here with that right now."

I handed her the colander and stood back in horror.  Her hands sifted through the mess, pulling out the heart, the kidneys, the liver.  As she handed me back the colander with the neck and lungs still present, I pushed down the bile rising in my throat.  I turned and chucked the nasties into the trash, wishing I could just jam them down a garbage disposal (of which we didn't have at that time).

Yielding a knife, she went to work chopping the organs into teeny, tiny pieces.  I was horrified - what in the hell was she doing?  She scooped up her prize possessions and threw them straight into the pyrex pan holding the bread cubes.

The stuffing.  She put that icky crap into the stuffing.

"Mom, what are you doing?!  You can't put that nasty stuff in there!"

"My dear, you have eaten my stuffing since you were born.  Do you think I just made this up for your benefit today?  This is my recipe and has been for years.... and you love it."

Gasp.  I almost wanted to cry.  Actually, I think I may have.

All those years she had lied.  Well, did she?  She never told me that junk was in there but then again, I never noticed.

I watched as she ladled our golden juice into the stuffing as well, tossing it together and covering it with foil.  She smiled as she popped it into the oven and returned to her spot at the table, lifting her coffee with a final sly grin.

Ugh. 

The dinner was a hit.  We were cramped and crowded, with only one bathroom for 7 people and less than 500 sq ft.  We laughed, we ate and we loved.

And we even ate the stuffing.  All of it.  Oh, and the juice also went in the awesome gravy, too....

I am thankful for that experience and the other 18 Thanksgivings that followed it.  I have always loved this day and always will.  I miss my mom especially on this day but cannot help but reflect on our laughs, our jokes (almost always inappropriate) and our love for one another.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends and family.  I am thankful for YOU.

Jen

The Best of Days

Creative.  Obedient.  Open minded.  Positive.  Energetic.  A Reader.

These are the words little guy used to describe himself at Take your Kids to Work Day.  He stood in front of the rest of the group, around 18 or so plus adults, and spoke out loud.

Something he wouldn't have done last year.  At least not comfortably.

As a parent starting out, I had a few objectives and very little understanding of the true meaning of the words "flexibility and patience".  I honestly thought that once that precious little baby began to grow older you could mold them into exactly what you wanted them to be... much like my dolls that I had as a kid.  Dress them this way, stand them this way and tell them to act a certain way.  It's that easy, right?

I had no idea they were their own little people, independent of what they were told to be, say or do.  I often battled with my older son, trying to push and prod him into what I thought he "should do, say or be".  I didn't know.  I really didn't know.  But I do now.

Little guy has been given a gift.  With such a significant age difference between the boys I was also given a gift.  The ability to step back, reassess, adjust accordingly and proceed.  Something most parents aren't given as much a chance to do.  Most moms are way more comfortable with the second child simply by experience but I had a great 12 years of learning to get a head start on #2.

What a difference it has made.  I feel in some ways I am a completely different mother to the little guy.  And I'm still constantly learning from Bubba how to transition into a successful adult parental relationship, something that has been incredibly easy for the two of us.  I never take that for granted either - my father and had a very rough transition.  He had a very difficult time seeing his baby (and the last kid) move into adulthood.  Granted it wasn't nearly as graceful as he might have liked but I still grew up nonetheless.

I'm amazed at how much I still learn as a parent.  Bubba teaches me to respect the decisions and man he has become even though I didn't have any influence in them.  He helps me understand fair and healthy boundaries are part of any adult relationship but still comes to me occasionally for advice.  And he gave me the best gifts of all - his own family that I am invited to love and cherish right alongside him.

Little guy?  He teaches me true diversity every single day.  Last night we sat in a packed high school gymnasium (while it was 77 degrees and beautiful outside) and listened to the entire district 5th graders play 3 songs in a band recital.  Yep, 3.  The whole concert was over in an hour but the hour for me was profound.  As I sat in the bleachers listening to the music, I couldn't help but reflect on the young man he is becoming.  Pride swelled in me as I recalled a comment given to me just that morning from a co-worker.  Your son is an exceptional young man.  Wow.  Such a giant compliment.  I was absolutely speechless.

He plays the baritone.  He sings in the choir.  He loves to read and spell.  He loves math and science.  He plays basketball, baseball and football.  He is a willing helper to a good friend in school with special needs.   He loves being an uncle.  He befriends all the kids in the 'hood that are younger and actively engages with them.  He snuggles on the couch with me.  He still wrestles with Hubs and Bubba.  He tells everyone he has a sister, with a giant smile on his face.  He is kind to his grandparents and loves them wholly and completely.

He doesn't try to look cool.  He doesn't care if his clothes match.  He doesn't care where we live as long as we are always together.  He strives for perfection in all things that he attempts, accepts his failures as learning tools and doesn't seem to mind if someone doesn't like him for who he is.

He has a fantastic grasp on the real.

I'm a proud mom.  I make a million mistakes a day and I am real.  I ask for forgiveness and always forgive my kids when they make mistakes, too.  I allow them to be who they are, respect them for that and focus entirely on the best in them.  I allow myself latitude to grow as a mother and improve as I go.

It's truly the most rewarding responsibility I will ever experience.

I'll leave you with one of my fave new songs... I seriously can't get enough of this album.  I listen to the entire thing on repeat every single day.  Although a little bit sad and lonely (like John), the fact that life continues to move onward without our consent always gets me to thinking.  Click below for some melodies :).

Born and Raised (Reprise)

Enjoy and have a good day, friends.

Jen