What Do You Mean, She's NINE????

January 22, 2004. One of the most memorable days of my life. My sister with a video camera at just the right angle, my husband on my left side, holding my hand, saying “Push, Baby”, my mom on my right side, running her fingers through my hair, saying, “You can do this, Jennay, she’s almost here.” Then, at about 5:20 PM, I hear this little cry. Well, it wasn’t really a little cry, my little ChunkaMunk doesn’t do ANYTHING little. It was a wail. A wail that said, “I am here world and you won’t be the same.” And it hasn’t been. The same….the world, or me.

Where in the world does the time go? I mean, just yesterday, I was changing poopy diapers, wiping her snotty nose, and singing Barney songs. But today, well, today, I’m telling her that she needs to turn down the Taylor Swift CD, explaining why she is still too young to wear makeup to school and telling her to quit saying “that sucks” cause it’s not lady like. And even though she's turning nine, I still have to wipe her nose every now and then.

Nine years old. That’s how old my little ChunkaMunk is today.   I would say that I can’t believe it, but she has reminded me every day for the last three weeks that she is about to be nine and that she is “mostly an adult now.” She’s gone from loving Barney and Veggie Tales to loving iCarly and thinking boys are cute. She’s gone from singing nursery rhymes to singing Taylor Swift songs. She went from barely being able to balance herself to dancing around the room, spinning in circles and not even getting dizzy from it. She’s gone from being afraid to sleep in the dark, to wanting her door shut at night “so she can see the stars on her wall.” She’s gone from wanting me to walk her to her class every day, to wanting me to stay in the car while she is at the bus stop. All at nine years old. The only thing reminding me that she is so young is, 1) she's short....well not really, because she's a head taller than everyone of her classmates, but you get me, right?  2) she still sleeps with a blanky, 3) she still tries to sneak into my bed “to watch tv with you, Mom” only to fall asleep in five minutes with a smile on her face because she knows that she is too big for me to carry and I probably won’t wake her up to go to her own bed and 4) she still thinks I’m the most beautifullest mommy ever in the world.

She’s amazing, this daughter of mine. I know, I know….everyone feels that way about their child, but let me tell you why mine is so great. Well, first, I gave birth to her. That alone makes her ½ awesome. She’s smart. She knows that 2 + 2 = 4. She also knows that if there is one diet coke left in the fridge, not to drink it, because since it’s the last one left, it automatically belongs to Mom. I mean, come on, some adults don’t even think like that, so she must be a genius or something. She’s moody. I have no idea where this comes from. It must be Big Sexy's side of the family. She can go from spewing out her Cheerios from laughter, to crying because Sandy and Spongebob are fighting, to being mad because her brother got the last little bit of Cheezits that SHE was gonna use for snack at school that day. She is a loving child. When I had some pretty major surgery, she was so sweet and attentive. She made sure that I did my breathing thing on a regular basis, she lay in bed with me and watched movies with me, and she brought me all the cheezits that I could stand. She wants to make sure that everything and everyone is okay. And entertaining? Lawrd…that child IS entertainment, from singing, to dancing, to just talking nonstop about everything and nothing. She can go from talking about how weird it is that people’s feet are shaped the way they are to immediately being concerned about that commercial she saw 2 months ago about adopting the starving children in Africa. Give her a microphone and some music and she will put on a show for you like you’ve never seen before.

Everyone says to cherish your children while they are little because they grow up so fast. I know that she is nowhere near grown, but we got to the age of nine at lightning speed. Next thing I know, she will be thirteen and wanting to wear makeup, then sixteen and asking to drive, then thirty and asking to date. I’m not prepared. All I know is that I look at her and realize that since she’s been in my life, there hasn’t been a day that I haven’t laughed (or possibly wanted to pull my hair out).  This child has my heart. She’s had it since the moment she entered this world. She had it before I even knew she was a she. My Mom wished a child on me that was just like me. Well, Ma, you got your wish and I couldn’t be happier, just wish you were here to see it, even though I know that where you are, you have the perfect view of it all.   Happy Birfday, my little ChunkAMunk. I love you from the heart of my bottom and to the sky and back.

Perfectly Real A-holes

I wish I could be a perfect parent.  Let me re-phrase that....I wish I could be a parent who believes she is a perfect parent and tries to convince everyone else of that, too.  Okay.  Maybe not.  Because then that would make me the asshole person who thinks they are the perfect parent.

 

I'm just gonna admit it.  My children have irked my soul these last few days.  Not necessarily over "big" things, either.  It could be small.  Like, "Maaaaa, The Little Man got my bunny out and is playing with it and he didn't ask me first."  or "Maaaaa, please tell ChunkaMunk to not breathe so hard while she's eating."  or "Maaaaa, The Little Man farted and that's gross."  and "Maaaaa, ChunkaMunk isn't doing her homework." or "Maaaaa, I can't find my ballet slippers, do you know where they are?" and my personal favorite, "Maaaaaa, tell him to quit looking at me."  All of it...constantly going on.  Neverending.  From the moment they are awake at the same time, to when they go to bed.  I'm even having to deal with, "Why do you always tuck her in to sleep first?" 

 

       Oh.   My.  God.

These are not first world problems.  I know this.  But you know what?  The "perfect" parent would never admit to this bullshit getting on their nerves.  They would say, "oh, yes they argue but it doesn't bother me because I know that I'm gonna miss it when they are gone."  I cry "BULLSHIT"!   Please....please just say it so that everyone else can not feel like an awful parent for just once.  Please...just admit that you, too, have thought of duct taping them together until they get along.  Please admit that you have thought of just walking out the house, leaving it for someone else to deal with (not that, that is literally an option....but just admit that you've thought that.)  Please admit that you have wanted to scream to the top of your lungs, "STOP IT!  JUST FREAKING. STOP. IT!"  Please admit that you have thought "oh God, they're awake." because it has been nice to drink your coffee in the morning , without having to sit it down and deal with an argument, only to return to the coffee and it be ice cold.  Please admit that there are times that you lock yourself in the bathroom and saying that you are "using it", but really, you're in there on your phone Facebooking because you just want some time alone for just a few minutes.....only the bathroom is no good either because they stand, outside the door, waiting, like vultures. 

 

Do all of these admissions make you any less of a good or great parent?  No....no, they don't.  We all love our children and Gawd knows we would fight tigers and raging, red assed baboons for them.  But these admissions make you real.  Or, to you perfect parents it makes you think that  for us who admit to these things, we are the assholes.  So, maybe we are ALL assholes.  The perfect assholes and the real assholes.  I guess I'm admitting that I'm a real asshole.   A perfectly, real, asshole. I dunno.

 

Just some thoughts, I reckon.

Digging With a Spoon

It has been a while since I wrote something.  Over a month.  I guess it stems from the fact that I haven't felt funny and I feel like that's what people expect me to be or write, all of the time.  It's my fault really.  Because I tend to be funny.  All the time.  It's my thing.  But the holidays....God....they have just sucked it right out of me and it's taking me a bit to find my way back.  I mean, sure, I've had my little funny statuses on Facebook, looking all cheery, but Gawd....that has taken effort.  Real effort.  It was like I had to dig and search for something to find humor in and what I did find humor in was dark and noone was getting it. 

The last time I felt like this, it was the first Christmas after my mom died.  Why in the world I didn't expect to feel like this for the first Christmas without my mother in law, I will never know, but it hit me and it hit me hard.  Only, I couldn't let anyone know.  My mother in law took Christmas serious.  She shopped all year long for the entire family.  She even thought of the family pets.  It was very difficult to experience Christmas without her and even though my father in law tried, he fell short.  Way short.  It didn't have the magical feeling that it usually does and it was difficult to take.  My husband was struggling with all of that too and it showed, which is highly unusual for him and I didn't want to take away from his own grief by making him deal with mine.  My kids were also dealing with not having their Gran this season and it was tough for them, too, so I put my happy face on and dealt with it.  I wanted to support them through it.  Crafts, cooking, playing.  In the words of Sweet Brown.....my grief....."Ain't nobody got time for that."  I could cry and grieve in the bathroom when I was by myself.

Everyone deals with grief differently, I guess.  My husband goes and gets lost in the woods, losing himself in that silence.   I wouldn't say that he shuts me out.  He just needs space and when he comes home after that time in the woods, he opens up to me and talks about what he was thinking about.  I tend to internalize and not share my frief.  I would rather be branded with a hot poker than to have you see me crying.  It's not because of a pride thing.  I don't care if you know that I'm sad or upset.  It's because I don't want to burden you with it.  I don't want you to worry about me.  I would rather focus on what's going on with you, because I don't want you seeing my insecurities and my weaknesses.  I will give you all the love and affection and care that I have in my being, but you giving it back to me makes me uneasy, makes me feel undeserving.  I don't know why that is.  It just....is.  Even when I sink into this.....this....depression, I guess you call it, I think, God, Jennay....what are you so down about?  You have an amazing life.  An amazing husband, children....things are not that bad.  So what, you lost your mother.  So what, you lost your mother in law.  Big fucking deal.  People deal with far worse than that. People lose far more than you have ever dreamed of.   And yet, even though I feel that I don't deserve to have moment of sadness, I still can't shake it.  Because even though there are people who have lost far more than me, I've still lost something.  I've lost it twice.  I have no way of replacing it.  And you know what?  I don't want to replace my two mothers.  Two was enough.  I can't bear the thought of attaching myself to another one and losing that, too.

And so, Christmas came and went and New Year's showed up and for that....I am thankful.  A new year to have and make new memories.  I'm gonna place that smile back on my face.  I'm gonna grieve privately (or not so privately, since I am sharing it here.).   And I'm gonna be that support for everybody else.  I'm gonna find my funny, again.  Not that it was really lost.  It's just buried and I'm having to dig a little bit to find it.  I'm hoping that I don't have to dig, too far.  Because I only have this spoon and it's not working very well.