Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

All my life I thought I was a resolution girl.  For the past two decades -- without fail-- my resolution come Jan 1 has been to lose weight, exercise more and to create more balance.  A big kick in the ass to get my shit together. Fortunately or unfortunately, the last 2 years have been stressful for many different reasons.  Among them a complex health issue for myself -- along with stress -- has lead to a me not needing to focus more on my weight this January 1.   With the sky wide open for resolution picking ... I came up blank. I had nothing.  No clue what to resolve to do in 2018 without the stand by of "losing weight".  It comes as no surprise to realize that the 20 years I have resolved to reduce my calories and increase my exercise coincided with the first 20 years of raising my sons.  When your focus is parenting, mothering, wife-ing, partnering, working ... many parts of you take a side step. Resolutions become basic, survivalist and ...

I believe in words. I believe they have the power to heal, to foster hope, to cause pain, create fear. I use words to convey my feelings, I use them to empower me and provide emotion. I have used words to inflict a wound and to make a point. I believe in words. I love to read them, to write them, to change them and to fight with them. I love to speak them and to hear them.  I love quotes and the way a small number of words can be arranged to impact a day, a week, a life. I gravitate to words, finding solace and comfort when I need it most.  I was texting with a friend the other day and I sent her the following message: I love when words speak to us and create a path for moving forward. She sent it back to me as a quote. "I love when words speak to us and create a path for moving forward" - You  I was taken back, in all my years of collecting and loving quotes -- it never occurred to me I might have a gem or two of my own to share. Words have been my crutch, my he...

I see you struggling.  I know it's hard. It's one of the most difficult times in life, ironically one of the times that adults repeatedly frame as "the best years of your life", although we know that isn't true. You aren't the only one trying to figure this shit out.  I promise. We just don't talk about it.  And that's ok.  As long as you know you aren't alone.  Searching for your happiness in this world, settling on a career and a partner and a life path is hard.  There is nothing easy about it, despite what anyone says. I try to be helpful, provide you with words of advice you can hear, but you aren't always ready to listen. And I know, sometimes you just need to learn for yourself. As much as it pains me. So instead of continuing to talk ... I am doing what I do best. Writing it down. One of the biggest surprises of my life -- as ridiculous as it sounds -- is that there is no coast. Over the last four decades I've had a success...

Her face was tight. Stern creases edged between her eyebrows. Lines etched across her forehead, promising to deepen over time.   Sylvia! I told you to stay here. Why can't you fricking listen? If you can't listen you can't come with me anymore.   She grabbedSylvia's hand, reefing on her arm in anger. She readjusted the baby on her hip. Sighing. Gasping for collective parental patience and air. She was being swallowed alive by life in the middle of Meijer. I recognized her. I recognized the sideways glances she took once she exploded on her daughter. The did-anyone-see-me-i-am-not-always-like-this look.  The one that begs people to not judge, to understand, to be patient with her in ways she wasn't patient with her child. My instinct to say, It's okay, momma. She won't want to go with you very much longer.  was squashed by her sharp edges. She didn't want my help. She didn't want solidarity or patience.  She wanted the hell out of there, yesterday...

People have long told me I would be so happy that I didn't have daughters, that the drama and chaos of daughters in the house far outweighs the joys and besides, boys are so much easier. Bullshit. I am a believer that it depends more on the kid's personality, brain chemistry and environment and not on their gender to determine how difficult their journey to adulthood (and beyond) will be. And here's the thing, when you tell me that my sons are easy, when you tell me your daughters are harder, you undermine you.  You undermine me.  (And when you tell me girls are so much harder and such a pain in the ass with your daughter standing right there it makes me want to punch you in the face and give her a high five for being difficult for you). For God's sakes if you think boys are easy - you aren't paying attention. Our boys are struggling with anxiety and depression at alarming rates, being a boy does not preclude you from pain, drama or chaos. It does not isolate ...

Much of raising babies, toddlers and even young elementary kiddos is simply survival. Surviving crying, pooping, puking, ear infections, coughing and croup. Managing day care and nursing and bottles and biting and teething and crawling and sassy toddlers who shriek with independence and shrivel with fear. You try and survive with your marriage in tact and maybe a friendship or two. There were days, probably weeks that grew to months, that I believed that if we made it through the day and no one died it was a success.  It's on those days where I would lay my head in bed at night exhausted from filling sippy cups and changing diapers and watching Bear in the Big Blue House and singing "I see the Moon" 13 times before bed that peace and contentment would find me. The fatigue of the day's work, mixed with relief from sleeping babies (albeit knowingly temporarily sleeping) was the perfect cocktail. Sure, there were nights when anxiety snuck in (many of them), where I w...

I drive down the street where he's been staying since Saturday. The duplex is small, practically the size of his bedroom and bathroom at home. My car moves slowly, I search the windows looking for shadows. I see none. He's supposed to be at school, but I don't know if he is. The landscape of my life looks surreal, something out of the Dr Phil show. Not the life I imagined, or the life we have worked so hard for.  This is the life for someone who didn't care, someone who didn't try, someone who didn't give their kids everything they needed. My secret is out. For two years we've been fighting depression, anxiety, ADHD, substance abuse with this kid. For two years we have fought and begged and pleaded for a change in behavior. Some days it worked, never for long. I have lived day to day, hour to hour, moment to moment, text to text. Waiting, always waiting, for the other shoe to drop, for it to turn around, for it to fall apart. Never knowing what was aroun...