Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

I have been up four times already.  I had good intentions. I laid my head down at 9:30.  I took two melatonin and began reading - my third book in two weeks - and I waited. Sleep never came.  Restlessness did. The first time I got up was for chap stick. The little cup that I hoard my favorite sticks from the boys, hidden behind a picture on my bed side table, is empty.  I venture all the way thru the house, put up the garage door head to my car parked outside, and find a blue raspberry stick that was a favorite until it melted in the heat of the sun. I scoop some out of the cap and carry it with me back to bed. The second time I was up I had to go to the bathroom, or at least I thought I did. The third time, I thought I might die without water.  The fourth time, I was so hot I had to change clothes. Now I am cold. I'm up again, this time searching for a the perfect sweatshirt - not too hot not too cold not too heavy not too light not too small not too big. I...

Wind whipped our hair and froze our noses as we scraped our way through the fallen snow as we skated on the pond. Mucking through the soft, marshy edges to get to the hard ice in the middle, the ice so rough it chattered your teeth with each stroke. Long tendrils of branches camouflaged the nook in the willow tree where I went to read, dream or write. My imagination carrying me away, the gentle swish of the leaves a back drop to day dreams. The back bedroom was mine for a spell. I loved falling asleep with the windows open. Hearing the crickets and bullfrogs serenading me to sleep from the pond, hidden in the darkness.  I was safe, nestled in, cradled by my blankets and the warmth of my bed. We built Homecoming floats in my barn. I never felt included in the activities, I skirted around the edges. Hovering around the edge of the crowd for small jaunts of time before heading back inside, happy to have my class mates there, unsure of how to join them. An ice luge was cons...

Aiden sailing ahead of me There are times the universe speaks to me, lands in my lap the lessons I need to learn, what I need to know to grow. This week I had an email, a book and a conversation that conspired together to get me thinking. Raising teens, and young adults, has been the most trying time of my mothering journey. I look backward when they were babies and toddlers, in elementary school and I know the struggles were significant, the feeling of being bone tired was real, the panic and worry when a fever struck, or a bully challenged their days kept me awake many, many nights. But this. The physical work is so much less. My boys can feed themselves, wash their clothes (although I still choose to do it for them - don't judge me please), take themselves to practice.  They are independent in their physical need of me. The toll I pay now is one of mental clarity and emotional peace.  Of sleep in a way that makes me crave a newborn crying and needing to nurse. ...

A photo of Jacko's feet on the edge of the roof top of the Hog's Breath Saloon in Key West. He sent it to me while I was enjoying a cold beer and hadn't realized he had slipped away... His eyes search for roof tops the way my soul craves sand and sun. He seeks adventure, I seek safety. He darts from thought to action. I take my time, mull my options, weigh my thoughts.  He eats horse radish from a spoon and loves flaming hot Cheetos. I think ketchup is spicy.  Want to hear a Russian accent? He can do it. Irish? Absolutely. English? Scottish? Aussie? Yep, yep and yep.  He is even fluent in chipmunk. Puns roll off his tongue as easily as sarcastic remarks, he craves knowledge with his body and shirks reading or writing. His eyes sparkle with mischief - no really, they actually sparkle. He doesn't just think out of his box, he dances on it. Daily. Loudly. He craves risk, excitement, speed, danger. He is bold. He is fearless. My son.  My magical, beautiful, noisy,...

I went to Meijer three times this week.  It took until the third trip for me to remember what I needed on the first trip - ink for my printer.  I needed to scan some documentation to send to school, but the scanner on the printer was broken, no problem I will just copy it and send it in.  Except there was no ink.  And for three days I forgot there was no ink.  When I finally remembered I sat down, nearly giddy that I was this close to marking this task off of my to do list (after an embarrassing length of time) and the effing printer function was broken, too.  Eric asked me if I had done a few computery things and I said, the message on the printer literally says, "If you get message blah blah blah, your scanner/copier is broken and can not be fixed."  Now I have $40 worth of ink in a printer that only prints and won't copy or scan ... sweet. I have an "Approval Request" that has come up on my iPhone every three days and I glance at it, hit "ok"...

I believe the universe speaks to me.  At least, I believe there are times I am supposed to be learning lessons, growing from moments and situations and that the universe has a way of leading me, like a horse led to water. Cooper has been living in another state for six months now.  For six months I haven't tucked him in - save for the few nights he has spent at home (yes, he still lets me tuck him in) - or known where he is and what he's doing, what he ate and who he was with.  Not that I always knew those things when he was home - certainly that wasn't the case - but if I wanted to know, or thought I needed to know - I could know. Over the past six months I have learned a lot.  I have learned that he is a pretty capable kid. Not that I didn't have that inkling - but let me tell you there is a flush of panic as you launch them on their "own" "Did I teach him enough?" - I certainly believed he was capable, but it is a thing of beauty and plea...

I always imagine my aged feet will feel cramped, strapped in, painful when I slip them into my skates.  But, they never do, the worn, twenty year old leather feels snug, like home.  Even the ragged edges and the worn down lambs wool don't scratch or tug. I am Cinderella, the slipper always fits. The ice slips under my feet, I am not unsure. I am not nervous.  I am home. No matter the fact that it has been 2 and a half decades since I could lift this body off of the ice and my muscles are a shadow of what they used to be, my steps feel strong.  I don't jump. I don't spin.  Too many miles on these joints to do that, but I do get lost in the movement. I  feel like a young girl, a young woman, a young mother.  All the me's that I no longer am, all the me's that wore these boots.  Somehow in someway in this space, I am all of those women, all of those souls are dancing out of my blades, through my finger tips and I smile. I smile so much I start ...