Tag: Motherhood

I miss my kids

It was April the last time I saw my beautiful Courtney, and my Stephen is in Houston.  While I’ll get to see Courtney at Thanksgiving in New York, it will most likely be Christmas before I see my son.

I miss my kids.  And it’s my fault.

When I was raising my kids I used to tell them that after high school they could go anywhere.  That was the time for them to see the world – there’s more to this life than Oklahoma.  I love the Sooner state, but I wanted them to have a choice – to see what was out there and then make the choice as to where they wanted to live.  If all else failed, they could always come home.

I admit, I was trying a little reverse psychology, and it didn’t work.  I thought if I told them to go, they would choose to stay.  I was wrong.

And now, as the holidays approach, I start getting sad.

That’s to be expected.  But I’ve also reached a place in my life where my kids are happy and they don’t really need me as much as they used to.  Whereas before I would get at LEAST one call a day from Courtney and a call or two a week from Stephen, now I’m lucky if Stephen has time for me once a month and Courtney does good to have time for me once a week.

I understand that they are living the lives I raised them to live, but I didn’t know it would hurt so much.  I LIKE my kids, I LOVE my kids, and I MISS my kids.  I spent 25 years being their mom, and now, they don’t need me.

So I’m baking.  I’m sending them all the goodies that they can’t get anywhere else.  I’m tempting them, enticing them, bribing them – whatever it takes – to remind them that there’s no place like home.  Caramel popcorn, fudge, party mix and puppy chow – all their favorites.

If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change anything.  I know they’re living the lives they were intended to live.  But I would suggest to other moms out there – make home the place that nothing can compete with.

Or, just drill it into their little minds that Mom always comes first.  Period.

Guilt works too.  That’s my next approach.

Stupid empty nest…

Ironing out the Wrinkles

Considering that in a few months I’ll be closer to 50 than I am to 45, I decided that I needed to bear some of the responsibility of growing old gracefully, share a few pointers, and reveal the TRUTH ABOUT AGING.

If you’re a young mother or a woman considering having a baby – no, your stomach will never be the same. Flat abs, forget it. My stomach looks like a road map, not to mention that if I squeeze the layers of skin and fat together, I can make my tummy appear to be birthing a baby through my belly button bottom up. Attractive.

The lean, sexy legs are replaced by puckering cellulite, or hail damage as I like to call it, and spiders. Spider veins that is. One of my nieces approached me a few years ago while I was sitting by the pool. It was a rare occasion for me to be unclothed and in swimwear. I try to spare my family the possibility of being ruined for life by exposing them to middle-age flabulosity. When she saw my legs, she remarked, “Nanee! You got tattoos!” I could almost see the wheels spinning in her 4 year old brain. Poor girl will never be the same.

And the worst thing about aging? Wrinkles. Not just your face – I actually like to see wrinkled faces because it speaks to maturity and life experiences – but wrinkles on your knees? Your elbows? Not so cute.

Tip #1 – When you step out of the shower or the tub, dry off in an upward, not downward, motion. Gravity is already doing it’s job, you have to counter it with something.

Tip #2 – There is no tip #2 because tip #1 hasn’t helped me at all.

Maybe it’s better summed up by someone else. Laugh if you can relate, laugh if you think it’ll never happen to you, just laugh. Make those wrinkles do the jiggly dance.

Guilt by Motherhood

What is it with American mothers?  American mothers say, “What am I doing wrong?”  European mothers say, “What’s wrong with this kid?”  ~Dr. Stephen Adelson

It started early and it seemed to come naturally.

No, not motherhood.

Guilt.  Guilt by Motherhood.

Dr. Adelson was our pediatrician.  We spent a lot of time in his office and now that his son is a politician, I have no doubt we were contributing to his campaign fund.  Anyway, after the third or fourth or seventeenth time of seeing the good doctor for the same, recurring ear infection, I felt like the worst mother in the world.  My son Stephen had so many ear infections the first 8 months of his life that he would drool at the sight of anything PINK.  Which may explain this now that I think of it…

Bodybuilding competition, 2006

And that’s when I asked him.  Dr. Adelson didn’t bat an eye or furrow his unibrow.  His answer has bounced around in my head for years.

What is it with American mothers?  American mothers say, “What am I doing wrong?”     European mothers say, “What’s wrong with this kid?”

Maybe it’s just me, thought I suspect I’m not alone, but whenever something went wrong with my kids, an illness or a bad grade or the VCR ate the tape with 8 episodes of Full House on it, it was MY FAULT.

Forgotten lunch money?  My fault.  Bad hair day?  My fault.

A few years ago my kids and I were talking about pregnancy and strange cravings.  I gushed about my first pregnancy with Stephen, telling him that I craved everything liquid – Coke, Hawaiian Punch, Tea, and of course, dill pickle juice.  He stared at me.  Then, he spoke.

“You drank CAFFEINE when you were pregnant with me?!”

The question hung in the air for what seemed like hours while I tried to come up with a lie compose myself.

And that’s the day I actually thanked God for cell phones because Stephen’s phone rang just in that moment and I didn’t have to explain the lie I was conjuring up in my head.

My kids didn’t blame me.  I did.  I apologized for EVERYTHING.

Don’t get me wrong.  I firmly believe that moms are human and we make mistakes and when we do, we should say we’re sorry.  But not EVERYTHING is our fault.

I’m trying to stop – really, I am.  Enough is enough.  And when the guilt becomes too much, then I do what appeases the guilt.  I bake.  I bake their favorite treats, buy their favorite snacks, put it in a big box along with a couple rolls of toilet paper (hey, you can never have too much) and ship it off to them.

I feel so much better, at least for a little while.  And then Courtney gets caught out in the rain in New York City without her umbrella and I apologize.  I feel guilty even though I had previously sent her not one, but two awesome umbrellas.  It’s my fault.  Time to bake.

Hmmm, maybe they’re on to me…

What was I thinking?

I’d like to be the ideal mother, but I’m too busy raising my kids. ~ unknown

Because my children are grown and have turned us into Eddie Albert and Eva Gabor – Stephen is a Texan and Courtney is in New York which means we will forever be torn between the two and could do our own remake of Green Acres – it’s not often that the four of us are together.  This past Christmas we were fortunate enough for that to happen.  Sitting around the dinner table that day, Stephen asked me a question that caught me off guard.

“What made you decide to have kids?  Were you bored and just needed something to do?  I mean, really, what were you thinking?”

Wow.  The truth is simple – we both wanted kids and it seemed the natural thing to do, and no, we weren’t thinking.  We weren’t thinking at all.

If I had any idea that being a mom would be so painful, that it’s a decision to forever have your heart exposed and subject to immense agony, if I had KNOWN?  I wouldn’t have chosen it.

There, I said it.

I would have done it differently.

If I had known that I would be wiping snot off a child’s nose onto my shirt while standing in line at the grocery store, I would have done it differently.

If someone had told me that childbirth would be the EASIEST part of being a parent, I would have done it differently.

If I had been able to see into the future and see the struggles my children would face, I would have done it differently.

If I had known that my children would grow up and vote for a Democrat, I would have done it differently.

There are times when I feel responsible for bringing two children into the world that have had to face life with a debilitating disease and had I known, I would never have subjected anyone to that kind of pain.

But my life would have been empty.  And the world would have missed out on having my kids in their midst.

If I had known that my son would shoot fireworks from his bedroom window and I would have to cover my face while I disciplined him so that he wouldn’t know I was laughing, I wouldn’t change a thing.

If I had known that the little girl who colored on my walls would grow up and make her mark on the world in New York City hundreds of miles from home, I wouldn’t change a thing.

If I had been able to see into the future and know that my heart would burst with pride every time I looked into their faces, I wouldn’t change a thing.

If I had known that my children would grow up and think for themselves and make their own decisions and LEAVE ME to go out and see the world and make their own homes, as adults, hundreds and hundreds of miles away from ME?  I wouldn’t change a thing.

Because my children are happy, my heart is full.  Because I have something to SHOW for how I spent the last 25 years of my life.  I have finally begun to experience a return on my investment and IT. IS. GOOD.

Being a mom is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  And I wouldn’t change a thing.