What do you write?

There is a common thread among people who learn of my writing. “What do you write?,” they ask. . .sometimes I immediately want to say, what don’t I write but that does not satisfy the answer. I feel as though I write everything, so to me what matters most is why I write. I am a very spontaneous person in my every day conversational life. I say things unfiltered, I have my foot in my mouth half of the time and I mostly prefer that things be that way, with my foot as far away from the brakes as possible. I guess because at the core I am after all open to most people who ask questions with the right intention, however that is a very raw version of me. Yet, there are times when I like to sit back in my thoughts and let things process and do all the feeling that 100 mile a minute me does not give herself the opportunity to sort through.

Have you ever seen a movie that has that one scene where everyone else is doing one thing but one particular character stands out. There they are moving around aimlessly while everyone else in the scene is either frozen in time or on the flip side, the whole world is moving around them and they are stagnant. That person is me. Not left behind so to speak or going in one direction without a particular goal. . .but merely in observation of everything and everyone. Right now what I am sorting through is perspective. We all have them. . .good, bad or illogical our perspectives make complete sense to us but sometimes it is good to see things from another point of view.

There are two reactions I receive whenever I tell people I have a son in high school. . .it is either “Oh my god, you don’t look old enough to have a teenager,” to which I always smile in delight, or there is the, “Oh wow, sorry must be tough.” I guess with the way that a lot of kids act lately the latter response is warranted however it is sad. Why do people have such poor expectations of teenagers, they must forget who raised this generation.

As my son has gotten older, we have developed a different kind of relationship, one that I myself am amazed with. I understand him better than I ever have. He can articulate his feelings and without using these exact words he knows how to let me know when I am being a jerk. I am definitely one of those moms who takes no crap, however, I am human. I have yelled too much, or expected too much and even at times shared too much. I hurt feelings, I brighten his day, I am sure I even inflict terror but those are all things of a very wide spectrum of parenting.

The first time I held him in my arms I was so afraid. How could someone trust clumsy little me with such precious cargo? I will admit, I dropped him a few times but never on his head, (Jon if you read this, sorry, I love you, forgive me). Yet somehow we have arrived at the age where I can say, in 4 years I will be done. Eighteen is not too far away but from here to then and from then and beyond there is no such thing as done. I cherish every moment with this boy. I could spend hours with him, recording videos on snap chat and playing them in slow motion just because it makes him laugh. . .not just any laugh but this bright smile straight from the heart laugh that makes anyone lose their breath because it feels so good to feel so alive in that moment. Moments go by so fast but I notice everything and there is nothing comparable to what I feel for my son. I look at him in awe because if not for me he would have never been born, I am responsible for him, but also I would not be here and happy if not for him.

I remember his face on my graduation day, it has only been about 8 months since then. I went back and forth in my mind for years. There were nights where I studied for hours, moments when I had to tell him, “not now,” long nights and early mornings and they all led up to that day. I always felt like I was taking something from him, the time and attention he deserved. I felt guilty and even still sometimes but the beauty of life is that you get what you get when you need it most. I walked across the stage as they called my name and in the crowd there he was with a group of my closest family and friends. I held my composure and my excitement. I crossed my tassel the the left and I made my way outside to meet my friends. I hugged everyone as they came out, and anxiously awaited my sons arrival from inside the stadium. Suddenly there he was, he rushed to me, hugged me and as he cradled my head in his hand he said to me, “everything you have done, has been for me, I am proud of you mom.” . . .and then I lost it. Why? Because perspective. We tarnish a lot of things because of perspective. I felt like a bad mother because of my perspective but Jonathan’s perspective was all I needed to realize that mine was clouded. I am so thankful for my son and happy to be filling the pages of our lives with irreplaceable moments.  

 

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Mommy did you fart?

I can’t even begin to count the amount of times my son has said something that has left me wishing to be swallowed by the earth. Sometimes I wonder where he gets these things?

Well he has a whole gene pool to choose from but lately I’ve come to realize that he gets a lot of his antics from me. When I say that I’ve come to realize, what I really mean is that people point it out so often I can no longer ignore it.

See it all started when I was walking around at Belles Outlet one afternoon. Jon was three years old, and at this point he was not allowed to go shopping with mommy anymore after he threw a fit a Babies R Us because I didn’t have a quarter for the tiny carousel. This lovely afternoon Jon’s dad wasn’t available so I had to take the kiddo shopping. Jon wasn’t telling full blown stories at three but he’d say a phrase here and there. So I was walking down the isle minding my own business looking for some stretchy clothes to accommodate my still struggling post baby lady lumps when my lovely little cherub asks at the top of his lungs, “mommy did you fart?”

What? You’ve got to be freaking kidding me! No I didn’t fart but if I did I don’t want an all call announcement to be made about mommies flatulence! Fart or no fart, all of the outlet store looked at me as if I had farted because clearly children don’t lie and as perfect as we are, mommies do fart! Believe me I know I fart but that moment wasn’t one of those times, or was it?! Had I become one of those mommies too busy to realize she farted? I mean some of us miss or forget a period but a whole fart…nah, those things don’t just go without being noticed. After questioning my capability of gauging the pressure and air in my body I came to the conclusion it MAYBE wasn’t me, so I did what any logical parent would do, I accused the kid of farting, he giggled and I capitalized on his new found giggle guilt and kept shopping.

Then there is the time at Sweet Tomatoes when I asked my son to get me a refill and just as he steps away, I say, “not diet Pepsi.” He then waits to be what seems like 20 yards away to yell back, “regular Pepsi, I know mom! You’re not on a diet anymore!”

Or the time he was sitting across the table talking about how much he looked like his dad but he was fat like mom. It was an innocent as a matter of fact statement, he of course meant no harm.

My son is so full of energy I believe the synapses fail to provide him with filters and he just blurts random things and then realizes they perhaps lacked sensitivity or tact.

I, unfortunately have had my fair share of similar moments.

A couple of weeks ago we got a brand new puppy named Sunday. She is a chihuahua mix and from what I have read thus far, they can be pretty territorial of their owners. I am Sundays’s primary pet care giver so naturally she took a liking to me. On occasion if Jon or someone else tries to pick her up off of my lap, she will growl or bark. Nothing major just a warning shot I suppose. She is also a little dramatic and as of recently yelps if someone grabs her. Over the last few weeks Jon and I have been getting used to the little fur ball.

I occasionally leave the room for Jon to bond with her because otherwise she is all over me and in my face. Second week in I heard Sunday squeal maybe three times in an hour. She was super tiny and I walked to my living room concerned that something had happened. My son said, “I was just holding her.” I immediately frowned and said, “oh god Jon please don’t tell me you’re one of those weird kids that likes to hurt animals!”

Wow! I seriously went from 0 to a thousand. Luckily Jon chuckled and made some reference to Dexter (showtime, Michael C. Hall).

I on the other hand was mortified. Clearly not getting mom of the month for that, who says or asks their 12 year old that??! Me, that’s who. . .because sometimes moms say the dumbest things too!

Ps: no Sundays were hurt in the writing of this blog, or at home. Jon, Sunday and I are getting along famously!

My Neo

I was driving home the other night with my son. We were just strolling along with the music in the background, it was one of those rare moments that we were completely silent. When out of the blue Jon says, “I got it!, she is not the one” (he’s speaking of a particular person who is dating someone important in his life).

So I say why not and he replies, “if she were the one they wouldn’t fight that much. . .the one is special and meant to be. . .she would be pretty and wouldn’t get mad about everything.”

Interesting. . .

“Okay Jon, what would “the one” for mommy be like?”
“he’d be respectful and nice, he’d never yell at you, oh and he wouldn’t interrupt you. . .women don’t like when men interrupt them, even I know that!”

Hahaha. . .I love my son so much. In moments when things get a little rough and I feel a little down I am glad he is the age that he is. He can reverse days of sadness with a single smile. He is my cure all. He is so kind and makes me proud to just hear him speak. He gives me hope for the future in just knowing that I have taken part in the growth of an amazing human being.