Growing

I have been growing. Not really by choice. Growth is painful. It requires introspection, quite reflection, willingness to hear and see criticism of oneself. These are all very difficult ways to spend your time if you are by nature easily distracted and have become too comfortably numbed by the little life you have carved out for yourself that never requires you to challenge your beliefs. Teenagers will if nothing else, challenge the status quo. I have one, and she has rocked my paddle boat the last few months and made me wish I were instead piloting a freighter in the turmoil of her emotional ocean.

I haven't checked in, I haven't posted or taken photographs or replied to congenial emails for quite some time because I have had very little that is perky or inspirational or in any way constructive to communicate. It is as though someone pushed the pause button right in the middle of my all day movie marathon and I just stopped being for a while. I have spent a lot of time in my pajamas, questionable amounts of time in the bathtub reading, bizarre amounts of time watching VH1 reality TV and a little bit of time at the local police department. Mostly I smelled bad, nothing I wore made sense, all foods consumed were of sandwich material and I memorized the various buttons on the remote control so I could navigate the channels in the event someone left me in the living room on the couch with the lights out as they went to bed.
I spent some time in the fetal position. I cursed. I cried. I created a new universe around my spot on the sofa. I was in mommy hell.
We are still working on things. There is more to come. I wish I were stronger and could say I'll never let my life take such a turn again, I'll never let myself get so emotional about something I have so little control over. But it's only Monday, and I just can't make that kind of commitment right now. I know I still have growing pains -a - commin'.
I missed my blog world.. can't wait to get back on track again. I will pray for all the mommies.

Rest

I rested this week. I slowed down just a little. Spring teases me into thinking I am invincible and tireless and I can do it all, right NOW. My body reminds me to be more patient. So I listened.

Change

As the parent of a teenager, I keep thinking that there are so many things I should have figured out by now, some things should be second nature by now, that this parenting thing should be easier, come to me more naturally, I should have developed a parental instinct. But I feel so out of synch, so one-step behind. I can't seem to anticipate what might be just around the corner. It used to be that I knew when my daughter was up to no good, the house would get really quiet and still, or she would think she was being clever about something and I could follow her trail of deviousness that laid so clearly like bread crumbs on the forest floor. I could anticipate her needs, her fears, her anxieties, I knew what troubled her. I could control and prevent and intervene and gaurd and protect and teach and demonstrate right through whatever the danger might be. She is fifteen. Her world is different than mine was at fifteen. Just as my mother's was different from mine, and her mother's before her. Just so much bigger and more dangerous and more deadly. I have become my mother many times and in many different ways these past few years and I see from her eyes, hear with her ears, feel with her heart what it was to love me, to fear for me, to watch me make mistakes. My daughter does not know how much we are alike yet. I did not know how much I was like my mother. I did not know that I would one day grow up to love her as my friend, count on her for laughter and a good dose of reality now and then. I did not know. How mothering changes us. How loving so much changes the life we lead.

Grace

I think I am in love with things of old because they are a physical reminder of what life was like when the pace was just a bit slower. I see an object from the past and my mind questions how was it used, was it loved, did the owner just accept that the appliance or apparatus was the best there was and marvel at it's technology, never imagining that in a few decades future generations would laugh at it's limits, it's simplistic nature, it's uselessness in this new world?
But also I think I like to pretend that people were nicer, had better manners, cared about people on a deeper level, were more truthful, had principles, followed rules and had integrity. Honestly, that really is what these things mean to me. As if by collecting and loving and using them, those ideas might come to life. They are a wish for what I want life to be like. Those concepts were no more universal or true than now, but the fashion, the photos, the literature, the implication is that they were. By refusing to acknowledge ugly things, ugly words, ugly deeds or ideas, ugly didn't exist.
Yesterday my friend Debbie was physically pushed with a shopping cart while standing in line by a nasty old man behind her who was in a hurry at the checkout at the grocery store. He didn't like the pace of the line, that he had to wait, that Debbie didn't crowd the person in front of her, impose her will on someone else for his convenience. Poor baby could hardly tell me the story without crying. I thought I was mad about the pre-school mom's leaving out a fellow blogger, but this.. OUTRAGEOUS. She asked what would I have done in that situation? I think the little man would still be in surgery having the shopping cart removed from his urethra and I might be in jail waiting for my husband to post bail, but there would have been a brawl. I am having trouble with my reaction, his reaction, that a situation like that even occurs! Debbie, quiet and sweet, pleasant and giving, helpful and kind.. She kept her temper, she completed her transaction with no more than a glare back to her tormentor - who in the eyes of the law committed battery! The worst is that she keeps going back to that moment and playing out all the scenarios of what she wished she had said or done.. it's exhausting me thinking about it! I just say, let karma have him. I am sure there will be justice. But thank you for being a lady, for being brave, for keeping yourself together, for showing him that he cannot force you to be less than you are, loving and peaceful and gentle and graceful. I still think you should carry a bigger purse in case you need to swing it very brusquely over your shoulder (and into your tormentor's face) if you ever need to carve out some personal space in line, but that's me.

Fashionista

This morning I had on a wonderful outfit. It was trendy, it was brave, it made a statement. My daughter came up from her room in the basement, eyes still crusty with sleep, barley able to see, in my opinion. And her first words were, "what are you wearing?" It was the tone, it was the confusion, it was the implication of my poor judgement spooling out and coming to life, landing like a brick next to my slipper-shod toes that made me jump. I felt ready for the runway, much like this gal. But perhaps just looked ridiculous instead. I quickly changed, rather than sit in doubt all day, that's like being stuck in wet clothes in a cold room. Ucky.
Rather than be grumpy, I asked my daughter to go to my closet and select 4 or 5 outfits that she liked, "choose from anything I own, anything you own", I begged. I loved every choice she made. My favorite was one I wore last week to church. We picked the same combination and she didn't know it. I got one out of four, I guess. Good news is I have three new outfits and a daughter that will be seen in public with me. When I came home from work today, I had coffee spilled all down the front of my shirt. But there's nothing she can do about that. Grace doesn't come in my size.

This picture is from Vogue, Hommage A Paris, June, 1985 pg 347. It is entirely written in French, I speak and read not a word. The symbol is the artist's signature, but I do not (shamefully) know who it is? The magazine was an exciting gift from a dear friend who got into the garage sale spirit one day and fell upon it.. and thought of me. I love it even if it is beyond my understanding on more than one level.

How Lucky..

I don't feel lucky to the point that I'm purchasing a Lotto ticket every week KNOWING it's going to be the winning ticket, the answer to my financial woes. Not lucky like that. But I am lucky. My luck exists in the form of keeping me EVEN. If I lose ten dollars this week, next week I'll find five dollars in the laundry and someone will buy me lunch. EVEN STEVEN. My husband is luckier. If he calls on the radio to win the free tickets the DJ is giving away, he'll be the right number caller, so will my son. They have better luck at winning randomly in life. My daughter has the worst luck. She gets caught anytime she breaks a rule, breaks something I love, or loses something imortant. She has the worst luck.

What is nice, though is that we get to enjoy the lucky bonuses as a family and when I feel on the down end of my luck, someone reminds me to wait a minute and it will repair itself and I'll be even again soon. We fill the gaps for each other, my daughter may not win the lottery, but if her dad does, or her brother does, they will share, because I'm even-steven and I'll make them share.

A fine example of my luck this week was having a friend who works in the retail industry giving me donations from her company. I won't say what company or what goods they were, but it was a generous windfall. I picked up the goods and all week long gave things away like Santa Claus. I felt so good and giving felt so wonderful. I received from another contact eight bags of clothing donations that I could divy out to friends and family and use for sewing scraps, I received from my aunt a jewelry box full of trinkets and brooches that she selected from my Grandmother's belongings when she passed away last month. All of this happened on the same lucky day. Then, delivering my goods this week, I got a ticket for speeding. EVEN STEVEN. What I gained in goods, I lost in fines. EVEN, but not at a loss. I laugh every time it happens. If I won the lottery, I would lose the check after I singed it. And then I would think, at least I won.

The photo insert is a book cover "The Luckies Girl". Beverly Cleary. I love the graphics, the colors are soft and sweet.