Today Elizabeth turned nine. It's difficult when I look at this half-grown girl not to see all the children she was before to me. I still see the shadow of the little one who wore her favorite Bob the Builder shirt every day to school. Or the four year old who requested to have her hair cut into a buzz cut, so she could be just like her best friend Robbie. The Star Wars fanatic who wouldn't wear pink, thus eliminating most of the hand-me-downs in her closet. The stubborn child who has ever refused to hold my hand for any reason other than affection, the child who takes her time and the world be damned, the child who seemed born knowing how to stand up for what she believes. And someone who is possibly the happiest person I have ever met. While the rest of the world broods, Elizabeth sings. Elizabeth, who was born Erin, but decided that she wanted a different name and sticks stubbornly by that decision.
Happy Birthday, Elizabeth. I hope she's just as happy these next nine years.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
offspring
Some mornings I wake up, and momentarily I forget where and when I am. On those mornings, it comes as such a shock to have my children walk up and call me "mom." I have one of those split second panics, as in "oh my god, someone thought I should be raising children?" It's the same panic I felt holding Katie in the hospital, and wondering how they could possibly just let me walk out with this innocent life. She didn't even come with directions. I can't make toast without burning it; how was I supposed to ever keep her safe?
But I brought her home, lived through that first afternoon. Set her down in the crib, and thought, "what now?" But she and I lived through it together, and we taught each other what to do next. I taught her how to blow spit bubbles, she taught me how to make it through a week on 2 hours of sleep and do it with a smile. All because I was so glad to be her mother, so completely in awe of this unbelievably special person I had out on loan.
It must have been a pretty good first 18 months, because that's when I found out I was pregnant with my second child. Katie started Mother's Day Out, right about the time I started growing daughter number two. By that point I was feeling pretty good about my ability to take care of one child and, well, I never did like to pass up a challenge. Child number two came home without incident, for about 8 months. Then I learned two new words - sibling rivalry. But all-in-all, it's been a great ride these last 11 years, 2 months, and 21 days.
Today I realized that I'm right back on that shaky ground again. I've spent 4100 days getting to know this person who grew inside of me, only to find a stranger staring back this morning. This gawky girl wearing a Twilight t-shirt, Converse tennis shoes with no socks, hands on hips, eyebrows raised, saying, "you're not going to wear that are you?" All the time I have invested, the books we've read, the songs we used to sing, the nights I rocked her to sleep, played Candyland...none of it means a thing to this stranger in my daughter's room. Suddenly I'm just wrong, like, all the time, you know? We're having to do the same dance we did the day I brought my baby home - at the time my dance revolved around, "do I pick her up right away, or let her start to fuss?" Now it's more like a tango with a porcupine, but the principle remains the same. "Do I step in and try to help, or let her work it out on her own?" She doesn't care. She's too busy texting all her friends to even notice.
Oh, I have no doubt that we'll find some middle ground and get another comfortable routine. But I'm scared of the stranger who will show up next, and oh god, I guess that one will probably want keys to my car. All I can do now is hope that enough of the invested time sinks in that the eye-rolling teenager in my immediate future makes some half-way decent decisions. While I'm waiting, I guess I'll practice taking out the spark plugs - just in case.
But I brought her home, lived through that first afternoon. Set her down in the crib, and thought, "what now?" But she and I lived through it together, and we taught each other what to do next. I taught her how to blow spit bubbles, she taught me how to make it through a week on 2 hours of sleep and do it with a smile. All because I was so glad to be her mother, so completely in awe of this unbelievably special person I had out on loan.
It must have been a pretty good first 18 months, because that's when I found out I was pregnant with my second child. Katie started Mother's Day Out, right about the time I started growing daughter number two. By that point I was feeling pretty good about my ability to take care of one child and, well, I never did like to pass up a challenge. Child number two came home without incident, for about 8 months. Then I learned two new words - sibling rivalry. But all-in-all, it's been a great ride these last 11 years, 2 months, and 21 days.
Today I realized that I'm right back on that shaky ground again. I've spent 4100 days getting to know this person who grew inside of me, only to find a stranger staring back this morning. This gawky girl wearing a Twilight t-shirt, Converse tennis shoes with no socks, hands on hips, eyebrows raised, saying, "you're not going to wear that are you?" All the time I have invested, the books we've read, the songs we used to sing, the nights I rocked her to sleep, played Candyland...none of it means a thing to this stranger in my daughter's room. Suddenly I'm just wrong, like, all the time, you know? We're having to do the same dance we did the day I brought my baby home - at the time my dance revolved around, "do I pick her up right away, or let her start to fuss?" Now it's more like a tango with a porcupine, but the principle remains the same. "Do I step in and try to help, or let her work it out on her own?" She doesn't care. She's too busy texting all her friends to even notice.
Oh, I have no doubt that we'll find some middle ground and get another comfortable routine. But I'm scared of the stranger who will show up next, and oh god, I guess that one will probably want keys to my car. All I can do now is hope that enough of the invested time sinks in that the eye-rolling teenager in my immediate future makes some half-way decent decisions. While I'm waiting, I guess I'll practice taking out the spark plugs - just in case.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
traffic jam
traffic at a sudden standstill
frozen on the freeway
car's just about to stall
just like my crazy life
frozen in my own roles
going nowhere fast at all
time ticks by; minute by minute,
hour by long drawn hour
all alone in a traffic jam
year by year, decade by decade
mistake by crazy mistake
brings me closer to who I am
looking in my rearview mirror
worn eyes looking back at me
watching how or what I see
looking at nothing happening
no movement, no breath, no wind
caught up in the great ennui
traffic's creeping slowly forward
past the scene of a burned out car
ambulance racing to the pile of ash
my own accident lies in ahead
hindsight failing as I race around the curve
bracing for the massive crash
frozen on the freeway
car's just about to stall
just like my crazy life
frozen in my own roles
going nowhere fast at all
time ticks by; minute by minute,
hour by long drawn hour
all alone in a traffic jam
year by year, decade by decade
mistake by crazy mistake
brings me closer to who I am
looking in my rearview mirror
worn eyes looking back at me
watching how or what I see
looking at nothing happening
no movement, no breath, no wind
caught up in the great ennui
traffic's creeping slowly forward
past the scene of a burned out car
ambulance racing to the pile of ash
my own accident lies in ahead
hindsight failing as I race around the curve
bracing for the massive crash
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