I've tried over and over for the past hour and 45 minutes. I can't reach them by phone and I am alternately worried, outraged, and annoyed.
Worried: Did they make it home from school ok? Did something happen late last night? Is someone sick? Is everything ok? What if He is sick? I hope He is ok... no, don't go there... What if my son is in trouble at school? Did my daughter have a problem walking home from the bus all by herself? It's been raining, was there some accident?
Outraged: I can't believe it! He got them right after school and took them out and now they'll be late! He's done it before - I'm sure that's what he's done. I've driven 70 miles, it's taken over an hour with the rain and the Friday traffic and now I have to just sit... and wait... and it's one more thing I don't have choice or control or say in. Argh! I hate this whole thing! No, I know, he blocked my number and they can't get my calls. Like before... come ON!!! Aren't we done with this yet? What, did he hide the house phone, take away my son's cell phone? Is this such a joke to him?
Annoyed: Sheesh, they NEVER answer their phone anymore. I'm just "a mom" and my son ignores my calls and texts just like he does to his dad. They never answer the home phone or they can't find it or can't hear it. They were supposed to call me when they got home, this is soooo annoying! Forgetful, air headed, thoughtless teens! They know I'm coming, we just spoke last night and now I've called 5 times and texted twice... watch, they won't even be home or maybe they will but they won't be ready to go... Argh!
But then, as I am getting into my car to drive the half mile to their house from my friends house where I stay when I come to be with them, I try one more time and my son answers. I am short, terse; relieved and with no reason for outrage, I'm just annoyed. My son starts to explain and I cut him off. "I'll be there in two minutes. Be ready to go, OK?" "Yeah mom, we're ready!"
The sight of them coming out the door and down the drive makes my heart feel like it's actually swelling, rising up in my chest, filling up. And at the same time, at the sight of their faces I feel pain so peircing that my eyes well up with tears that burn like acid as I tilt my head back to prevent the spillover. Mustn't let them see me cry. I am the mom, the grownup, the safe stable adult whom THEY can cry in front of.
Our time together is full full full of chatter. Their first few days of school, their classes and teachers and friends and what they've been doing after school and in the evenings and this very day while I was trying to call them.
We eat, we watch tv, we talk. And while I am bitter that I have to impose on my friends hospitality just to have time with my kids, and am simultaneously bound by the limitations of her house and her time, I am oh so grateful that I have a friend so willing to open her house and her heart to three extra people on a Friday night when she is already tired and worn from her own long week.
My son falls asleep on the couch while I play Yahtzee with my daughter. I see his sleeping face morph from the thin cheeked, big nosed, distant eyed teenager into the soft mouthed, sparkly spirited little boy that my heart will always hold. My daughter and I whisper and try to shake our dice as quietly as we can. Her spirit is joyful and radiant as we share this private moment when it is just her and I. I am so unsettled, dissapointed, guilty even, that my son is tired and can't just go to his own room to rest, can't even go home because taking him home means taking them BOTH home and means me getting "in trouble" for not sticking to the committed time of 8pm. I am also elated, fulfilled, and cleansed by sharing this almost intimate time alone with my daughter, time we need, want, are desperate for - this time that is a salve on the wounds we both feel.
There is so much to feel and so little time to feel it in. We have three hours. My emotions are so wide and deep and go from one continent in my heart to another. Balancing that all out to feel the simple joy of mothering my children in the moment takes a heavy dose of denial, a generous amount of not thinking ahead, a foundation seated in not remembering 'before'. Staying present and focused without prejudicing the moment by adding guilt, remorse, and sorrow take effort that leaves me exhausted, drawn, empty.
And I haven't even begun to consider their emotions: those of my sleepy teenage son who has to balance normal behavior with the want and need of a boy for his mom and the guilt associated as he navigates those two huge places in his heart, seasoned with anger and grief; and those of my pre-teen daughter, so needing of me, so genuinely cheerful and open hearted that she'll welcome the attentions of any female in my place, and the guilt she tries to pretend isn't pricking at her sweet spirit, well marinated in confusion and unanswered questions, torn loyalties, and sweet love.
Balancing it all in my heart, tipping the weight of it one way or the other by smile, tone of voice, and the noncommittal even tempered, "mmmm..." until later. Balanced until they are out of the car and through the doors into their own home - the one that is still in my name but I can no longer go inside. Balanced until I am alone and all the work of holding it together comes undone.
I carry always though, the knowledge that my kids do their own unbalancing act. For that fact alone, I am the most full of self loathing.
I am their mom, still, and always. Unbalanced, balanced, and somewhere in-between.
Love, Mia
Showing posts with label teenager. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teenager. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 7
Saturday, August 28
Now (2)
We get in the car and drive into town for pizza. They are both full of chatter, interrupting each other, talking over each other, and then bickering about it. I am smiling and relieved and happy just to be with them, to hear their voices, but also bummed because now I have to run interference and one of them is going to be hurt or feel irritated and our time together is so short that I hate to have it marred by that. Experience has shown that one of the two has the unfortunate tendancy to hold a grudge and be upset for hours at the merest slight.
But that is what a mom does, runs interference between siblings, reminds children of manners (even amongst their siblings!) and doesn't let a childs moodiness ruin a moment for everyone. So I am the mom, and I hold up a hand, and I use my cowboy accent to call out a "hold up there a minute outlaws!" and tonight I am lucky because they laugh and we regroup and then we are pulling into the restaurant and everything is fine.
We bounce out of the car, the three of us, and collide in front of it. My girl leans into me for a hug and there is such need and want and ache rolling off of her that I can feel it. She closes her eyes and sighs deeply, a small curve of contentment on her lips as I wrap my arms around her and press my lips into her soft freckled cheek. I wonder if she can feel my own need and want and ache rolling off of me? My son stands, awkward and lanky, all gangly legs and arms right next to us, embarrassed that there is this hugging thing going on right in the parking lot and not wanting to be identified by anyone he knows.
We order and get drinks and find a table. Seated, the chatter begins again. My son had high school orientation and I drag the details out of him word by word - chatter about nothing is easy but to tell your parent about something they are asking about is teenage torture.
He's entering high school. He's grown and changed so much this year and I've missed so many of the tiny little moments that are normally taken for granted but matter in a foundational way. I think the missing of those things hurts more than the missing of the big things. He's taller than me, weighs more, shaves, has pimples, his voice sounds more like a mans voice now and I missed the journey that got him to this place. When I left, when I thought it was just a couple of weeks until he'd be with me again, he was smaller, lighter, younger, smoother - still recognizable as my little boy in most ways. Now I see my little boy only in brief glimpses; the flash in his eye when he teases me, the sound of his laughter.
My girl sits close to me, nearly on me, nestled into my side, arm pressed into mine. She too is different, having grown right into puberty full force, and the feel of her body is at odds with my memory of how she should feel, all pressed into me the way she is. She is not yet taller than me but it won't be long. She weighs more than me now though, is more solid and sturdy than a year ago. She is going to be such a lovely young woman. Her eyes are so beautiful and I love the crazy wild freckles so abundant on her face. She has skin that feels to me like I imagine a rain laden cloud might feel: full, warm, rich, comforting.
We eat, laughing like crazy at the pre-schooler sitting at a table behind us and his determination to drink the salt from the saltshaker. His mothers voice is hissing, "I said stop licking the salt shaker!" and we are doing that silent shaking laughter with the occasional snort or squeak.
It feels good.
The bookstore and some mindless browsing. I'm irritated but keep it hidden when my son is constantly texting with his friends. This is MY time, and its so precious to me, but he is a teenager and he is normal and he is just doing what teenagers do. He shouldn't have to spend every second focused on me just because I miss him so much. I know he misses me too, but his friends ARE the essence of his life and he has to separate and become this independant soul and I want to honor that. My daughter finds a book quickly but I am dismayed at the cost - I can't afford it - I am heartbroken at not being able to give her this gift, a book, something so reasonable. I simply say I'm sorry but she will have to find one for about half of the cost. She remembers that she has money at home and thinks maybe we can share the cost and I am thrilled to know I can do this. I smile, she smiles, we are both content with this. My son finds a magazine, turns his nose up at every book suggestion I make, and I remember my oldest daughter doing this at the same age. I am no less irritated though at the ridiculous snubbing of so many fabulous books I am offering to buy. He calls his dad and makes a deal so his dad will buy his magazine for him and he is smug with me. I have just been relegated to seriously unimportant and useless. I sigh. Oh buddy, I say. He has the sense to look ashamed of his ploy. We pay and I can't shake the little grief that has lodged again in my heart.
Driving home we chatter, tell jokes and stories, and plan for our next time together. At their house, the one that is still mine but that I'm not allowed inside of, we hug. And this time my son hugs me right there in the driveway, in public for anyone to see; he holds me for a while, lets me rub his back and smooth his hair and streeeetch up to kiss his cheek. We hug several times while trying to say goodbye, and finally I shoo them into the house and I climb into my car.
On the way home I cry.
But that is what a mom does, runs interference between siblings, reminds children of manners (even amongst their siblings!) and doesn't let a childs moodiness ruin a moment for everyone. So I am the mom, and I hold up a hand, and I use my cowboy accent to call out a "hold up there a minute outlaws!" and tonight I am lucky because they laugh and we regroup and then we are pulling into the restaurant and everything is fine.
We bounce out of the car, the three of us, and collide in front of it. My girl leans into me for a hug and there is such need and want and ache rolling off of her that I can feel it. She closes her eyes and sighs deeply, a small curve of contentment on her lips as I wrap my arms around her and press my lips into her soft freckled cheek. I wonder if she can feel my own need and want and ache rolling off of me? My son stands, awkward and lanky, all gangly legs and arms right next to us, embarrassed that there is this hugging thing going on right in the parking lot and not wanting to be identified by anyone he knows.
We order and get drinks and find a table. Seated, the chatter begins again. My son had high school orientation and I drag the details out of him word by word - chatter about nothing is easy but to tell your parent about something they are asking about is teenage torture.
He's entering high school. He's grown and changed so much this year and I've missed so many of the tiny little moments that are normally taken for granted but matter in a foundational way. I think the missing of those things hurts more than the missing of the big things. He's taller than me, weighs more, shaves, has pimples, his voice sounds more like a mans voice now and I missed the journey that got him to this place. When I left, when I thought it was just a couple of weeks until he'd be with me again, he was smaller, lighter, younger, smoother - still recognizable as my little boy in most ways. Now I see my little boy only in brief glimpses; the flash in his eye when he teases me, the sound of his laughter.
My girl sits close to me, nearly on me, nestled into my side, arm pressed into mine. She too is different, having grown right into puberty full force, and the feel of her body is at odds with my memory of how she should feel, all pressed into me the way she is. She is not yet taller than me but it won't be long. She weighs more than me now though, is more solid and sturdy than a year ago. She is going to be such a lovely young woman. Her eyes are so beautiful and I love the crazy wild freckles so abundant on her face. She has skin that feels to me like I imagine a rain laden cloud might feel: full, warm, rich, comforting.
We eat, laughing like crazy at the pre-schooler sitting at a table behind us and his determination to drink the salt from the saltshaker. His mothers voice is hissing, "I said stop licking the salt shaker!" and we are doing that silent shaking laughter with the occasional snort or squeak.
It feels good.
The bookstore and some mindless browsing. I'm irritated but keep it hidden when my son is constantly texting with his friends. This is MY time, and its so precious to me, but he is a teenager and he is normal and he is just doing what teenagers do. He shouldn't have to spend every second focused on me just because I miss him so much. I know he misses me too, but his friends ARE the essence of his life and he has to separate and become this independant soul and I want to honor that. My daughter finds a book quickly but I am dismayed at the cost - I can't afford it - I am heartbroken at not being able to give her this gift, a book, something so reasonable. I simply say I'm sorry but she will have to find one for about half of the cost. She remembers that she has money at home and thinks maybe we can share the cost and I am thrilled to know I can do this. I smile, she smiles, we are both content with this. My son finds a magazine, turns his nose up at every book suggestion I make, and I remember my oldest daughter doing this at the same age. I am no less irritated though at the ridiculous snubbing of so many fabulous books I am offering to buy. He calls his dad and makes a deal so his dad will buy his magazine for him and he is smug with me. I have just been relegated to seriously unimportant and useless. I sigh. Oh buddy, I say. He has the sense to look ashamed of his ploy. We pay and I can't shake the little grief that has lodged again in my heart.
Driving home we chatter, tell jokes and stories, and plan for our next time together. At their house, the one that is still mine but that I'm not allowed inside of, we hug. And this time my son hugs me right there in the driveway, in public for anyone to see; he holds me for a while, lets me rub his back and smooth his hair and streeeetch up to kiss his cheek. We hug several times while trying to say goodbye, and finally I shoo them into the house and I climb into my car.
On the way home I cry.
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