It's time to start writing again; well, I should clarify that by saying that I'm always writing, but, I think, I know it's time to start writing here again.  I tried to reinvent the way that I approach writing, but the cynical, egregious, malicious side of me won't allow me to, maybe it's just the way I'm programmed. It goes back, far back to those moments in childhood when I didn't want to disappoint my parents, or anyone for that matter. I avoided conflict as if it were a bubbling, angry, fire laced lava pit that I had to jump over every single day of my life.  It changed when I was in high school, when I made lifelong friends and when I discovered that being cynical, like having blue eyes, was programmed into me and that I would just have to find a way to manage it. I still struggle with that today.

I abhor intolerance and stupidity.  I can withstand many intolerable things, particularly those social injustices against which we continue to fight, but which the intolerant and stupid individuals in society don't recognize.  And, sometimes it is the simplest of these that leave me wondering: a lack of basic manners, a feeling of entitlement, a narcissism that shadows every other practical sense that most human beings, at least one would hope, should have...

I've been angry and distraught by the "newer" models of young people that I am seeing as of late.  While I realize that my seemingly generalized notion of evaluation may appear to be a stereotype, I assure you, it is not.  That is why I am not focusing on any one group in particular.  Rather, I can only formulate my judgment based on what I see and hear every single day, in more than one scenario. You see, deep down, I am an optimist and I am hopeful.  I believe that one day things will get better, hopefully for us all, but the other side of that coin is that I also believe that, inevitably the human race will destroy itself before we ever get the chance to forge peace and move forward together. This is quite a dilemma, both internal and external. Maybe it is the attempt to balance out the juxtaposing sides that causes me ire.  Or, maybe, I just want to be mad.  I hate to think that is the case...

I have been flying on airplanes since I was a small child and I love to fly.  It doesn't scare me.  I can easily sleep on a plane.  I don't even mind sitting in between total strangers, honestly, it's not my favorite thing about flying, but it doesn't bother me.  I've told this story many times on occasion because it sums up how I see life and these people to whom I refer.  I always say that I never worry about flying because statistically, logically, if the plane goes down, there is almost a 100% chance that I will die.  That's it, sad perhaps, but realistic.  Now, if I'm in a car accident, there is a very high percentage of probability that I will be maimed, paralyzed, require surgery or some other horrific rehabilitation that may leave me completely incapacitated.  I do not want to choose between the two, but, for me, life is a flight on an airplane.  I'm not going to open the emergency exit unless necessary, but I'm not going to stand in the airport, fearful to move forward either.  I already have my ticket so I'm going to order a drink, say hello to the person next to me, shift my position accordingly and wait for the ride to someday end...

Maybe it is the times in which we leave, or technology or despair.  There is a lot to be fearful of and sad about these days; there are stories in the news every day that would and, sadly often mentally cripple many of us.  Shootings, mass violence, Trump running for President, had to throw that in for good measure, but the impetus is for us to sit, listening, reading about these horrific instances and then to come to expect more of the same; some of us choosing to isolate ourselves from the world and other people, fear pervading lives that were once full.  Sadly, as of late, the world has  not disappointed. It all continues...

A student asked me the other day if I'm afraid to die.  An interesting question to ask your English teacher, especially on the second day of class. It gave me pause for half a second, but I feel strongly on this topic, so it is easy for me to answer it.  I already have. I can honestly say that I'm not.  I've said that before.  I've also said that may change when the moment actually comes, that is, if I have a moment to think about it.  But, I'm not.  I make mistakes; I've made many and I will continue to make them, but I know that I make them with a clear conscience and an honest heart.  I know that when I look you in the eyes and say what's on my mind that it is the truth and not some invented story, an embellishment, intended to make me look better. That has not mattered to me since I was a child nor does it now. Ironically, that same honestly has lost me a lot in my life, and, like those who recede from life, avoiding people, places, life in general because they live in fear, I realized just recently, that I am doing the same thing. I have been, not out of fear, but out of frustration and a touch of hopelessness.  I have let myself down and it's one of the worst feelings ever...

It has been 7 months since my diagnosis and I had convinced myself that it wasn't real.  I was feeling so much better and the medication is still working, keeping me in "remission," the symptoms minimal, really, the side effects from the meds are sometimes equally as bad as the minor symptoms of the illness. As a result, I've isolated myself again.  Sure, I go to work, I ride bikes with the kid, I take Nick to guitar lessons, I laugh, I smile, I happily greet my co-workers and guests; that is genuine behavior.  But, the joy is gone.  I hate to say that.  I felt sick inside just writing that.  I have become a recluse of sorts, a homebody, but it's not fear that keeps me here, it's, I, don't know exactly what it is. Futility, fatigue, disinterest, lethargy, all of these? It's easy for me to say "I don't feel well" or to just accept that there are days when I don't have any energy.  There is an acceptance that comes with knowing that the medication that keeps you out of pain has also caused a depressing weight gain and a puffy face that is almost unrecognizable.  There are days when I don't even want to look in the mirror, not that that was a priority before, but every time I look now, I don't even recognize myself.  My clothes don't fit, my skin isn't the same and I'm tired so much of the time.  And if you know me, you know that even if I'm tired, you wouldn't know it.  I decline invitations and I've lost touch with more friends, even the ones who call or contact me regularly.  All I could think about as of late was getting through the day.  Even Facebook depresses me.  Honestly, now when I look at all of the happiness, it makes me even more sad.  That's why I deactivated it, except in certain situations. People who I like and/or love, looking at their daily joys and successes should make me happy; it used to, but now, it just makes me feel worse.  And I know it's not them, it's me. I know that so I continue to look, to wish them well and I mean it, every single time I say it, when I smile, when I offer my help.  But deep down, I feel empty.  I don't know what that means exactly, if it will go away if I just keep plugging away, or, if it is a feeling that I will carry with me the rest of my life.

I have tears in my eyes now as I continue to write this.  The Eagles are playing and that certainly doesn't help...I feel old.  For the first time ever, I don't just feel older and happy with where I am, but I feel old, outdated, useless.  I know in my head that isn't true, but this illness and the overtaking of my body, something that is out of my control is having a greater impact on my life than I thought it would.  Maybe I need to reconcile that before anything else.  I'm just not sure where to start. Writing this may very well be the start.

It has been three years since Coach Scott died.  It has been almost a year since Jessie died and it would have been Pops' birthday this month. While it was so difficult to watch these wonderful people pass on, I find a certain amount of solace knowing that they are out there, waiting, for me? For all of us, and, if someday I am able to see them again, then it will have been worth it, along with all of the other friends and family we have lost over the years.  I guess I just wish for a morning when I wake up and don't think that I just want to get through the day.  I was never like that.  Of course I want to be symptom free and pain free, but sometimes I wonder what the cost of that is.  So far it has cost me far more than I ever thought that it would. 

I miss Yvette. I know she's there; I see glimpses of her in conversations with my co-workers and in my boys' laughter, in long walks at sunrise and in books - always in books.  But now, I need to see her in others again.  I need to reopen the page that I left off on, the one where friends were a priority and being involved in their lives was as equally as important as my own.  It's Pat Benatar now... shadows of the night.  How apropos... Enjoy the night...

Accept no substitute.

I told myself that I wouldn't continue to write here after Jessie died and although I want to hold to that promise, I swear, I can see her waving at me as if to say "Really? Come on Yvette, why would you let something like that stop you..." It's not that, honestly, it doesn't even remotely feel as though I am breaking the promise that I made to myself.  She would want me to keep on writing, so, I make no promises Jessie, to you or to myself.  But, I am working on another project, one that won't allow me to continue to write in this free-form forum for much longer.  Then again, what the hell do I know about anything? Stop laughing Jessie...

Death has not been an integral part of my life, not yet anyway; I know it's coming, that it has already begun to seep its gnarled claws into the periphery of my somewhat complacent existence.  My grandparents have passed, our family dog, relatives, distant friends, sadly, a child or two of loved ones. But death has spared me any type of real grief until this year, just a few months ago when he claimed Jessie.  Thinking of her makes me sad. Thinking of her brings me pain and I feel that empty hole open itself up again.  Thinking of her makes me feel fear and isolation, loneliness, suffering and yet, ironically, every single time that I picture her face, she is smiling.  And then I smile.  I can imagine her memorial service and I can feel the tears welling up, but when I actually think of her face, her eyes are lit up and she's wearing her glasses, looking at me, happy to see me, to chat for a minute, to laugh at something stupid that I said or did.

When Jake graduated from high school last week, I thought of her, especially when he walked down the track toward the stage.  I walked that path and Jessie did before me.  I missed her a lot that day.  But I know that she was smiling, laughing at all of the joy, singing the alma mater along with us, congratulating Jake in her own way. Love has no structure, no definitive shape, no limits.  I miss you Jessie.  Keep reading... there is more to come.

I thought that I was being rather indulgent today when I actually sat outside, in the sun, to read for two hours. I almost felt guilty.  How pathetic is that?  My life has become such a constant stream of work, kids, obligations, work, kids, obligations... that I felt guilty for reading? Pause... okay, I had to slap my own face for such an asinine application of guilt to an activity that I could, hypothetically write off as work... nonetheless, I lay here now, unable to sleep, thinking about life and death, babies, movies, chocolate, yes, chocolate, always, new friends, places, endeavors, change...

I continue to search for meaning in the trivial, but, again, somewhat ironically I suppose, the trivial doesn't really interest me.  The big, loud, kick you in the ass moments interest me and I have lived my life from one to the next, leaping, arms akimbo, head thrown back, eyes closed, relishing in the newness of whatever was about to take place: a job, a baby, a wedding, a vacation.  And then, as with everything else, the newness began to wear off and I felt deflated, bored, uninterested, sometimes for a short moment, sometimes for months, but then, as if the Fates were fast weaving, another momentous occasion or job interview or child's milestone revealed itself and I was in mid air yet again... Recently, those moments have become fewer and further between.  I am always telling my students to avoid cliches in their writing and here I am using them.  At the very least I recognize that I am doing it, doesn't help though.  If I had any common sense, I would edit this before hitting publish, but, I won't because I'm already getting distracted and Hotel California just came on my playlist and it is making me sleepy.  Makes me think of my parents and the 70's, even though I was just a kid growing up then, I remember hearing this song and wondering what the hell it was all about... but, famously, I digress...

I like to think that there is something new around every door jamb, out every front door, at every stoplight, in every greeting, birthday card, first day of school.  I try to imagine that life is one big pencil box, filled with all of my favorite things, the worn and loved, the decorated, the loaned or borrowed pieces, the gifts, the favorites that I keep only for myself.  Life is a pencil box, when opened, a tool kit to help you do anything that you want to, from the simplest to the most complex task; when closed, it is a safe harbor, padded, protective of those same tools, waiting for an opportune time to once again contribute, to be utilized.  I may use that analogy in summer school this term.  We'll see.  It really depends on my mood that day.

I turned a new corner, well, I turned back onto a corner that I had driven away from long ago, but to which I recently returned, only this time, with new faces, new stories and a new experience that is already leaving its very specific and indelible impression upon my well being.  I have thought of myself as resilient, strong, capable, smart and I have been, on more than one occasion, able to prove those things.  But this past 5 weeks has called into question everything that I thought that I was capable of, or maybe once was, but that has subtly, slightly shifted.  The change isn't noticeable unless you knew me before, or, if I make it clear that a change has taken place, but, for the first time EVER in my entire life, I have felt the impact of taking on a challenge for which I was perhaps unprepared.  I am chipping away at it and I will find my footing eventually, but this experience has shaken me to the core because it calls into question every quality, every characteristic, that I have felt though the years, has made me who I am.  I mean, seriously, when you reach that point in your life where you know who you are, what you want and you are living the life you carved out for yourself and all of those ideals are based upon the qualities that have held you together as a woman, an employee, a mother, a wife, when those qualities are put to the test, well, it's more than disquieting, it's frustrating and, on some level for me, it's a sign that I need to acknowledge my age.  I know, people say, "You are only as old as you feel" and "40 is the new 30" and, well, fuck those people.  What the hell do they know about how I feel after 8 hours of work or after running 26 miles? How do those idiots who come at us with cliche ridden fodder that attempts to pass itself off as "psychology" know how we feel, or, more precisely, how I feel?

I've said it, I've written about it.  I don't mind aging and I don't mind letting go of the trivial aspects of youth that were once so violently important to me, sometimes clouding my judgement and those that led me to make bad decisions, mistakes, to hurt others, to lose money, friends, lovers, jobs... but, as these things do begin to happen, hopefully slower than not, I hope I can hold on to what does matter, like my 18 year old son who just walked in the door at 1:29 to beat his 1:30 curfew.  Yes, he lives at home so he has a curfew.  Stop shaking your heads.  So, he just came in, hugged me, told me he loved me and said that he was going to get an Oreo McFlurry and "Do you want one Mom?" Sheesh, it's 1:30 in the morning Jake, of COURSE I want one.  Jessie is smiling again at that one.

I knew that this one wasn't going to go in any particular direction, but it feels really good to write again in this format.  I like stream of consciousness writing because I don't feel the need to self correct or edit.  I just count to three and I go... It's funny, but just interacting with the kid made me feel less... somber? I was feeling heavy and sad when I started typing a few minutes ago and I feel, well, lighter now.  One of the many benefits of having positive interactions with the offspring I guess.  I suppose that I was trying to work out the difficulties that I'm having by writing them out.  When I run, I work them out in my head, telling myself stories and reliving moments of pure joy and sadness.  I know it's time to run another marathon.  I can feel it calling to me.  I've been doing short runs, 1-3 miles a few times a week, but, the challenge beckons... and I know, for a fact, that by training for one, that alone will be enough to bolster the platform that houses my doubts, that will be enough to tip that platform just enough to let a few of the doubts slip off, and, at the end of the training, I will stomp on that mother fucking platform, doubts splayed helplessly beneath it... I can't help it. Using profanity makes me feel better. You know that, I know that, well all know that.

I don't mind having a torn meniscus or having to stretch twice as long before I run.  I don't mind having to take more vitamins than ever before or using Crest Whitestrips.  I don't mind that my knees, toes and back crack when I get out of bed in the morning or that I sometimes hurt my neck because I sleep too violently?! I don't even mind that just one shot of tequila makes me tipsy or that I like the little streaks of gray that are becoming more and more visible around my temples.  I really don't mind having a son in college, one in high school and one in elementary school and I don't think I will ever mind the smile wrinkles on my face that clearly come from my Dad.  I do, however, mind the notion that people see me differently than I see myself.  I am the same on the inside, but, at 46, that "inside" is richer, filled with experience and depth, pain, love and vast quantities of chocolate.

I was going to ask Jessie if that sufficed for a return to the page, but Jake just came in. No McFlurry. A Hershey's bar offered as a substitute.  I took it, looked at it, thanked him as he said goodnight and walked out.  But I'm not eating it.  I accept no substitutions, no matter how small, only the real thing will suffice.  Ever.  Peace...

Eulogy for Jessie... 3/23/15

"When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced.  Live your life in such a way that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice" -- Cherokee proverb

A nurse said to me one night, "You know, Jessie is the only patient who has somebody here all of the time.  She must really be loved." It was easy to agree "She is. Very much loved." Even more than being loved though, Jessie loved others, befriended them, cared for them and she created a lasting presence in people's lives, one that lives on even as she begins a new adventure, walking along, water bottle in hand, smiling because she's home now.  She's free...

I grew up next door to the Burdens: Jessie, Jeff, Josh and Ryan.  14 years my senior, Jessie always seemed other worldly to me, so beautiful and funny... silly and creative; for me, she was someone to watch, to look up to and later, to share stories with.  Over the years, she's given me lots of advice, she's laughed at my stories and reassured me when I shared my doubts about life, love, parenting.  She'd walk down the driveway more times than I can count, to say hello, to give me a hug, to compliment me on something that I'd written or to tell me something funny that one of her grandkids had done.  Jessie loved stories, hearing them and telling them.

When I lived next door to her, Jessie came and got me in the middle of the night once so that we could toilet paper a neighbor's house.  No one would have believed the two of us, giggling, 50 rolls of toilet paper, telling each other to shush, a teenager and a grown woman in her twenties, tiptoeing around, trying not to get caught.  That was one of the most ridiculous and hysterical nights of my youth.  We laughed about that night for years, like it was a secret that only we shared.  And, that's what I'm going to miss the most about you Jessie; I didn't see you every day, we didn't plan lunch dates or vacations together, but you always treated me with kindness, with respect and I felt comfortable around you, safe and at ease.  You made me feel like I was important.  There was no pretense with you, no impetus for superficiality or ego, no bravado.  You weren't just a neighbor or a friend of the family. You were and will always remain a cherished friend.

Maya Angelou said "My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style."

Jessica Comeaux Burden lived each day with passion and she showed tremendous compassion for others; she had a bright sense of humor and she was ever stylish, in both demeanor and appearance.  Jessie's life was uniquely simple in design, created from the unparalleled love that she had for her family.  She made rich, artful memories with her loved ones that gave her such joy every single day.  And, at the center of those memories is Jessie herself... the touchstone.  Whether she was playing with her grandchildren, taking photos, traveling with her mom Lou, visiting loved ones, cooking, sitting in the backyard with Jeff or chasing Dylan down the sidewalk with Ryan, the heart of who Jessie was and the wonderful life that she created was always centered on family. 

I thought a lot about Ryan and Josh over the past week, about how much each of them, respectively, resembles their mother.  Ryan exudes her mother's resilience, love of life and her grace, while Josh displays his mother's quiet strength, determination, and kindness.  She was so extraordinarily proud of the two of you and the lives that you've carved out for yourselves.  She deeply adored Christy and Hunter and all of her grandchildren.  She was bursting with stories about the four of them, their antics and all of the hopes that she had for each of them. And every time she mentioned them or was in their presence, she was so happy.  I saw a photo recently of Jessie with her niece Kinnley and in it, they are hugging, their faces pressed up against one another.  Kinnley is wearing a grin so big that her whole beautiful face is lit up and yet, it is Jessie's smile that struck me.  She is smiling softly, mostly through her eyes, but the expression on her face sums up everything about what was most important to her.  In that photo, she is at peace and content because she is with family.

Jessie told me to be kind to my forties because they go so fast... and she told me to not dwell on the past so much, "What's the point?" she asked me.  I still don't know. And Jeff, she told me once to make sure to marry the right man.  I was about 16 or 17 then and I told her that I'd try.  But she got very serious and said "No. Really Yvette.  Marry the right man - it will make all the difference in your life. It has in mine."  The love and care that you've shown for one another over the years has left an indelible impression on me, especially during this last month. 

I am very grateful to Jeff, to Ryan and to Josh for allowing me the privilege of sitting with Jessie and of holding her hand; I got to tell her that I loved her and that it was okay, all of it, any of it, whatever happened, it was okay.  And even when I was saying the words, she grabbed the end of her blanket and pulled it over my arm because she knew that I was cold.  Jessie was a caregiver, kind and loyal, thoughtful;  She demonstrated the qualities that she wanted to see in others and she did this by example.  She never slowed down... she lived in the moment, traveling, drinking wine, crafting, planning parties, spending time with friends, reading, taking photos.  I doubt that there was a single day in her life when she didn't truly "live." I hope that she realized that her presence in my life helped shape the woman I am today.  There is a special place, deep in my heart, reserved for the lasting message that she taught me about honoring the precious time that we are given in this life.

Jessie was done with her physical journey in this life and she now moves through a spiritual one, one that imposes no physical limitations.  Upon hearing the news of her passing, I imagined her, her hair thick and long, shining in the sun, flowing down her back, greeted eagerly by Annette, laughing at her little sister, who had been waiting for Jessie for such a long time.

 I have been remembering moments of pure heartache on her beautiful face and tears of joy as well, how brave and strong she was, and, despite the pain that her death has brought, I also feel relief for her because I know that she is better, happier and at peace now.  It has all kind of blurred together into this one moment, standing here and despite the sadness, despite the days ahead when we will wish she were here, we need to remind ourselves that she still is.  She is and she will be here, in Dylan's giggles, in Jake's first homerun, in Reece's wedding dress and in Cade's high school graduation.  She's here in Kinnley's smile and in Renae's friendship, in her lovely home, in every orchid that I will ever see, in trips abroad and in wonderful parties.  She will always be here, in that place in each of our hearts that brought us here today, both to grieve and to express our appreciation for her life and the role that she played in each of ours.

If a life is measured by the amount of love that others have for you in your time of need, then Jessie was more than loved; she was adored.  Smart and adventurous, she will forever remain young, beautiful and timeless.  As my own memories of Jessie continue to come, I will smile and think of our long conversations on her front porch and I will hold dear the notion that sometimes you get lucky enough to grow up next door to someone who isn't just a neighbor, but a real friend.  I am so grateful Jessie that you've been present at all of the major events in my life and that you got to know my children and I will remain deeply appreciative of this last month, for many reasons.  You know what they are, you always did. 

Lord Byron wrote:

"She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven o gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent, --
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent. --

Thank you for being my friend, for teaching me to play backgammon and for coming to our wedding.  Thank you for always saying something complimentary every single time I saw you and thank you for showing me that the length of one's life doesn't matter; it's what you do with the time that matters. By that measure, your life was more than full and so very rich. 

I will miss you Jessie.  So much. I already do.  Happy Birthday.  I love you.

3/14/15

Why do people make the statement "I lost someone today...?" They didn't lose someone.  The someone lost her battle, her life.  They feel a loss, but it's not about them; it's about the person who is gone, the person whose absence leaves us with a profound emptiness, a void, a sadness.  It is about the grieving process and one's stage in it.  For many, the process has begun even before the recognition that the someone doesn't have much time left to share...

I've had a lot of time to think lately.  I've read and thought.  Talked with some people, but mostly just sat and considered a lot of things that I haven't made time for, especially as of late and the only conclusion that I can come to is that all of the clichés, about death and life, about love and friendship, about not wasting time, while true to some degree, are only relevant if they are used, not discussed or thought about, but used.  I listen to people wax on about how a loved one's death helped them realize the true meaning of life and so forth.  But, frankly, it's not her death that made us realize that. Instead, it was the role she played in our lives that made us realize that.  And now that she's gone, we realize that we no longer have that touchstone, that ever present reminder that life is indeed brief and even more precious than we ever realized.

Today, Jessica Comeaux Burden died.  She was done with her physical journey in this life and she now moves into the spiritual journey that began here and will continue on now that she no longer has physical limitations.  I imagined her today, greeted eagerly by Annette, her hair thick and long, flowing down her back, laughing at her little sister who had been waiting for her for many years.  I thought about the lessons that she taught me and the conversations that we'd had over the years, the last one so recently that it's still too fresh in my mind.  I remembered moments of pure heartache on her beautiful face and tears of joy as well.  I thought about all of her trips and photos, of her laughter and caregiving nature.  I am thinking of her kindness and generosity, of her loyalty and resilience.  It all blurs together into that one moment, that second when you realize that you won't get to see her smile again or have her blow you a kiss.  But that somehow, even without those precious moments, you have the knowledge that she is better, much happier and at peace where she is now.  I believe that.  I know that and even as the tears continue to come, I feel that truth deep within my core.

Jessie would send me messages about this blog and whenever I would see her, she would laugh and tell me the things that she thought were funny and she always told me to keep writing.  So I hope that she finds it particularly tributary that I have reopened this blog only to write this entry for her.  Consider it an early birthday present Jessie.  I thought that maybe I would share my stories about her here, some funny and some poignant and moving, but, now that I think about it, I'm not going to.  I'm going to tuck those away for myself and keep them where they have always been, in a place reserved for experiences that help shape who you will become and who you will continue to be.  Some things are truly better left unsaid.

I wanted to write this for Ryan because I think that over the course of this past month especially, that she, like her mother, has shown the kind of grace and strength that we hope to have in moments of extreme difficulty, but usually are unable to muster.  Ryan has always reminded me of her mother, with a huge smattering of Jeff thrown in for good measure.  But as strong, capable, influential women, they both embrace life and people and experiences.  Jessie never slowed down, even when she knew what could possibly happen.  She lived her life; she traveled, drank wine, read, took photos, cared for all 4 of her grandchildren... I doubt that there was a single day in her life where she didn't truly "live." And, like all great stories that come to an end, the details of her last days are hers; they will not be shared here nor will they lessen her dominant, giving spirit.  While there may be little dignity and privacy in death, depending upon the circumstances, I can honestly say that all I ever saw in her was honesty and the naked truth about where she was and where all of this might end.  And, I am so eternally grateful to you Ryan, for allowing me to participate in these last days, to get a chance to sit with her and hold her hand, to tell her that I loved her even though she already knew.  And to tell her that it was okay, all of it, any of it and that whatever happened, that it was okay.  Even when I told her that, she grabbed the end of her blanket and pulled it over my arm because she knew that I was cold.  Do I really need to say anything else...

Jessie wouldn't want me to write about her; she wouldn't want me to disclose things about her that she herself didn't share with you so I won't.  Maybe I am writing this for me, Jessie and for Ryan and for Jeff and Josh, but most likely, I am trying to sink my toes in the sand and not feel the extreme sadness that has washed over me since this afternoon when I heard the news of her death.  I feel many things and have all day, but as I type, the most overwhelming feeling that comes over me right now is relief.  Truly, relief for her that her physical struggle is over and I have to smile, even as the tears start to come again right now, because I know that she's walking, holding her water bottle, grasping Annette's hand and smiling... because she's free.  She's home.

If a life is measured by the amount of love that others have for you in your time of need, then Jessie was more than loved; she was adored.  Those who knew her, know that already.  She was smart and funny, creative and adventurous.  And beautiful... Jessie was and will always be so very beautiful.  Ryan, and Jeff, Josh and Christie, Hunter and all of the grandkids... may her spirit be ever present with each of you throughout your lives and may you look up into the night sky often, at the moon, and imagine her dancing above it instead of beneath it.  May you hold each other together and find comfort in the days ahead, knowing that she's waiting for all of you.  And that she will have many plans when you are all together again...

And Jessie, as the memories come over the days and years ahead, memories of long conversations on your porch step or out in front of your house when I'd stop to see my parents, or late at night when we were doing silly things that no one else needs to know about, I will smile and think of your warm eyes and the advice that you gave me over the years, showing me that sometimes you get lucky enough to live next to someone who isn't just a neighbor, but a real friend.  I'm so grateful that you've been present at all of the major events in my life and that you got to know my children.  And, I will always be deeply appreciative of this last month, for many reasons that don't need to be listed here.  You know what they are.  You always did.

I don't have any profound words this time and I truly wish that I did, but I think Jessie would want me to just tell it like it is.  So Jess, I wish that my last words to you had not been "Have a good day." Instead, I wish that they had been "Have a safe journey."

Thank you for being my friend, for teaching me to play backgammon and for coming to our wedding.  Thank you for always saying something complimentary every single time I saw you and thank you for showing me that the length of your life really doesn't matter; it truly is what you do with that time that matters.  By that measure, your life was more than full and so very rich.

I will miss you Jessie.  So much. I already do. I love you.

Is this the end?

I did not start out writing these posts as a means to entertain anyone in particular, or, in general for that matter. But, so it would seem, any one thing that begins as "introspective," evolves into something else, something "bigger" and, by virtue of its size, it reaches out to many, whether that was its intention or not.

I love this blog and I have enjoyed sharing my thoughts and feelings with all of you about too many topics to consider just now. But, I think that it is time for a new chapter, both literally and figuratively. And so, this is my last entry on this site. I have decided to compile many of these entries, along with a whole new "slew" of my rather disquieting thoughts into a book. I will, most likely, publish it as an ebook first and then I will begin to sort through the process of putting it all together as a bigger project. I am also going to include some material that I did not want to publish here on the internet as a blog "post," some material that requires a different kind of formatting. In addition, when I do publish the ebook and it begins to sell, and I am assured that it will (we don't need to go there), please know that I will always, indefinitely, donate a portion of any money made to one of my favorite non-profit groups, those who work toward a cure, toward understanding, toward eliminating hunger and thirst, toward deepening my love and respect for humankind.

Lately, in the news, there have been stories of extreme violence, despair and, of personal heartbreak. While I would like to comment on all of these individually and as a whole, I think that these issues are also best addressed in a different format, perhaps for a more selective audience. I would like to say though that, as a person, I try very hard to look at each person as an individual, rather than as part of a group. And, there are a lot of abhorrent, disturbed and cruel individuals in our society; some stand on the street corner, some stand in an office or as the leader of a group and some stand in the House and in the Senate. I try very hard not to let this sway my overall opinion of the human race and how much good there still is and can be. I try, and, like you, sometimes I fail and I cry out for vengeance and sacrifice. I have to remind myself of the good because without it, what is the point of going on? Without good, there is no hope and to live a hopeless life, well, just look around you, people do it every day. I don't want to live that way and I don't want my children to have to either.

Thank you for your kind comments and your generosity in all of the endeavors that I have, sometimes rather ungraciously, wrapped you in; you seemed to accept this facet of my personality as an "that's just the way she is" fact. Thank you for taking the time to read these posts and for allowing me a place to vent and cry and laugh, albeit virtually... Thank you for asking for more, and if you continue to do so, I will write more and I will let you know when and where. If you are reading this for the first time or, if you have been reading this blog and haven't joined, please click Join so that I can forward you a new URL and/or the title of the book when it is finished. If not, no harm either way. Almost 5 years of entries and, it is time to change direction...

Take care of one another, of the environment, of children, of animals, of yourselves. Be kind when warranted and, if need be, tell people to "Go to Hell" or "Fuck off" whichever one of those is more appropriate. I have made many mistakes and I will continue to do so and, above all, I sincerely hope that you are along with me for the rest of the ride as I do.

Be honest, sincere, have integrity and for Fuck's sake... READ more! That is for you Mr. Bell...

All my love for a good year for us all.

This last entry is dedicated to two very important people; the first is a woman who probably doesn't know how much of an influence she had on me when I was growing up. I think of her every day and pray for her health. Jessica Comeaux Burden, one of the loveliest human beings ever to walk this earth - I love you very much. And, the second is a man who won't read this, but who knows, who has always known how much I respect and love him because he is one of the most kind, gentle and warm people I have ever had the privilege to know, my father in law, Thomas Hawley. I admire and love him more than I can say.

Be well. Hope to see you soon...

Yvette Hawley
El Camino College

Maybe it's time...

That sentence starter sums up the story of my life.  Maybe it's time to... go to the gym, learn to cook, walk the dog, read to the maniac, stop fucking around and do something that pushes me outside of the comfort zone in which I find myself treading imaginary life threatening quells these days.  The comfort zone is a concrete refrigerator box that forces me to move quickly in a space that simultaneously forces me to curl up into myself.  I suppose it would be like being dropped into a well that held just enough water to consistently place pressure on my chest, forcing me to be still but at times to breathe heavily as I tried to figure a way out.  Or maybe, I can't get out and it's time to let someone reach in and extend a hand to help me...

I'm not good at asking for help and because of that fact, I fuck things up on a regular basis.  I forget important documents, I lose things, I type in the wrong codes and sign up for subscriptions or Survey Monkey jobs that I never wanted.  I give out my personal information freely on the internet, blindly trusting anyone who is smart enough to figure out that I use the same password on every single sight I enter.  I'm not giving anything away by disclosing that; I'm just confirming what the hackers, who, incidentally, are cracking up as they stare at my bank account, my blood test results or my bills that continue to rot in collection, already know.  I don't like to ask for help for the same reason that I like to give help - I want to decide what and who and how and when.  I want to dictate what happens and I don't like, never have, anybody, ever, telling me what to do.  Some people might think that means that I have a big ego or some people might think that I am conceited, but the truth is, I couldn't survive in a world - a job, a marriage, a friendship where someone was constantly ordering me around.  On some level, to me, asking for help is deferring to the "higher" up, admitting that I cannot do it all myself and, really, admitting defeat.  I am a good sport, but I also don't like to lose.  I never set out to tell myself that it's okay to come in second place.  If I do, well, that's ok, but I don't have to like it.

Along the same line of thinking is the notion of sexism and sexist behavior that I have experienced over the years.  It has made me rely more on my female counterparts than on my male counterparts, although I have many male friends and influences, but I think I have deep scars when it comes to the notion that I feel as though I am forced into a position where I have to defend myself, just because I am a woman.  The interesting notion about that claim is that people have told me that I just "thought that it was said like that" or, I just "heard it wrong." But, I can name dozens of instances where my knowledge, my background, my experience, my opinions have been questioned by people, who I guarantee, would  never have questioned me if I were a man.  Maybe it's the field of higher education; maybe some students just think that being a professor or an administrator is a man's job, which is completely asinine when one considers that claim, but nonetheless, I am speaking in terms of a gray area in which I have often found myself, not in absolutes of black and white.  Having this perspective has also given me extreme compassion toward others.  I know that my love and desire to help people comes from the same place where I hold in my frustration and tinges of sadness when I feel as though I am challenged or unappreciated, to put it mildly.  That same place has opened up my mind and heart to people, places, events and experiences that I would have never known had I limited my responses to "Yes Sir" or "Well, you have a point." Interestingly, I am talking about students, family members and people in the community.  I see it everyday.  I have experienced it everyday.  I try to help others find a way away from it everyday, just like I try to move away from it.

Maybe it's much more than just being a woman or, maybe that has nothing to do with it at all. Maybe it's just the way I was raised or my own insecurities or maybe I just continue to let people take advantage of me because despite my bravado at times, I am nothing but a big sensitive crybaby most of the time; well, not most of the time.  If you irritate me or piss me off, that sappy bitch gets thrown back down the well and Ninja Mom/Teacher/Friend/Righter of Social Injustices takes over. Might make for an interesting Halloween costume next year.

Maybe it's time to recognize that some people don't change, regardless of how much you want them to or how much you thought that they loved you.  It might be time to ask yourself how much of a "beating" you are willing to take before you put a stop to it.  Maybe it's time to really digest the idea that life is not a blue ribbon in the spelling bee or the homecoming queen crown being placed on your head; those are just merely moments, instead, life is a bloody knee that gets infected or a round of chemotherapy that leaves you ravaged and blindly incapacitated.  Maybe life is both a first kiss and a child left abandoned on the side of the road, a set of swings occupied by two elementary school children who are flying and laughing so hard that one doesn't hear the sound of the chain as it snaps and she is catapulted through the air instantly splayed across the blacktop, while the other one continues to swing.  Maybe it's violence and peace, love and hate and maybe, we aren't supposed to have too much control over one or the other because if we did, then what would be the point of failing, of falling, of developing a true self-awareness.

A student challenged my authority last night; he refused to hear what I was saying and his blatant disregard for my perspective was both disrespectful and infuriating.  It has been said many times, in film, in literature, in politics, in economics, in education, the sentiment, to the effect, that, in order to appreciate your own freedom, in this case of speech, one has to be able to stand in a room with the one person whose ideas boil his blood down to the core and he not only has to stand, but he has to allow that other person the time and the space to express himself freely.  When and if we can do that, then we have earned the right to appreciate what it means to have the freedom of speech.  Clearly it doesn't apply if you only ever surround yourself with those with whom you agree, or, with those who would rather insult you than listen to your words.  I can tolerate a lot of things, as do others on a daily basis around the world, but, if I, and I do, as a regular practice, exercise restraint and fairness, a willingness to listen to all points of view then by everything that is important to me, I deserve the same in return.  Last night, I didn't feel that way.  I tried very hard not to lose my temper nor to lower myself to a level of argument that would have made any critical thinking teacher wince.  I just simply reached a point where I could no longer try to have a conversation with this student because, from the start, he was only hearing himself.  It felt, at the end, like I was speaking to a dog in dog obedience training; I had given up on any kind of reasonable explanation and instead, had to resort to simple, monosyllabic words like "No" and "Fine." I have to admit that it has been awhile since I have felt like that.  Oh sure, every semester there are moments of difficulty and challenges that I would rather avoid, but usually students are respectful because they feel respected in my classes.  I'm still sarcastic, I'm still a bitch and sometimes I still go full tilt, 100 mph, but, I try to see "it" from their points of view and I expect the same in return.  If I treat them like my future colleagues, most of them stand up a little taller and accept that challenge, even offering me insight into things that I had missed or had forgotten.  They return that treatment in kind, most of the time.  Last night was the exception and it left me bitter and angry and a little sad so that by the time that I returned home, I was someone different than I was earlier in the day.  I had trouble sleeping last night and today I've been lethargic and less than amiable.  Maybe it's time to let it go...

Or maybe it's time to step up and ask myself if it's worth it.  If I only had a handful of years left, what would I do with them?  Give them away to students like the one last night?  Even for a few precious minutes, or, would I... will I, consider that, for every single choice that I make, in every day for however long I am fortunate enough to live this life, remember that my life has both purpose and a purpose.  Through experiences like last night and others that are positive and negative, I keep moving toward my final destination, where, on a day, I will stand and defend myself and the choices that I've made in this life.  I ask myself that question, that I know one day God will ask of me, "Why...?" and maybe it will have been about how I treated people, or if I were kind or if I tithed and volunteered enough, or maybe, it will only be "Why were you so hard on yourself?" While that's highly doubtful, it's a nice thought.

Maybe it's time, at 45, to realize that the climb itself is ending.  There may be a few hills left here and there, but the peak is beneath me now instead of ahead of me, and as I begin my descent, however quickly or slowly, I will try to remind myself that my life is bigger than just me.  My life is that refrigerator box ripped wide open by children and rain and wind and creativity and love, most of all by love.  My life is made of up of so many pieces, so many colors; I just wish that I took the time to appreciate all of people and experiences that comprise it.  I wish that so many things were different in the world, but I also wish that things would stay just as they are, with my three boys sleeping soundly in their beds, safe from harm, here at home, no one else involved, just the five of us, and the pug...

Maybe it's time to plan the trip down the slope, to set a few more big goals and a lot of little ones.  Maybe it's time to reinvent the wheel of my life a few more times before I'm done.  And maybe that student who threw me into a mini rage last night will someday realize that his life was and is more than asking for a grade that he didn't deserve.  But, truthfully, I really doubt that... and, if by chance, he runs past me on my climb down, I'm going to trip that mother fucker and send him sprawling flat on his face.  I was getting just a little too pensive there for my taste, but, man do I feel better... 

Maybe it's time for a margarita...

Angst, Anxiety and Attitude...

I should have entitled this with the precursor "Teenage" given that two of the three offspring are now of the age that conspicuously ends in "teen." However, any opportunity to lessen their already significant hold on my life is welcomed at this point.  Their lives, their struggles, their flippant comments and insensitive remarks have become the very ground on which I tread.  I try to squash that faint voice that floats through my mind, but every so often I hear it nonetheless "I told you so." I know Mom, I know.  What she really meant to say was "You'll get yours someday you little bitch" and, alas, someday has arrived full force...

I would say that this behavior, this manner of speaking, this sense of entitlement doesn't have anything to do with the youngest, the angel, the baby, the Ty, yet, sadly, it does.  Somehow coming into his own at 8 years old, he seems to be under the impression that he not only has a voice but that what he says matters?!  Ok, ok, what he says matters, but you and I both know that I'm talking about the hierarchy that exists within the family unit, much like it does in the military, everyone has a rank and no one is supposed to break that rank or lives may be lost.  "Do so at your own peril!" I may shout as Ty is poised to hurl that handful of blue playdoh at the ceiling above the very bed where I sleep.  Before he wouldn't have hesitated, he would have immediately bowed his head, apologized and marched that gelatinous blob of soft chemicals back to the cylinder from which it came.  Now, however, lately, however, there is a distinct hesitation... the other day he brought home an orange balloon that was filled with pieces of rice.  They had used funnels and it changed shape and it was "Awesome Mom, watch!" and yet as his arm went into the windup, I found myself wanting to hold back, thinking that he would hesitate or look at me to confirm that what he was about to do was not only ridiculous, but it would inevitably piss me off to no end.  That thought alone used to keep all three of them from attempting behavior that would fall into the "Set Mom Off" category.  But, his arm didn't even waver, not a flinch... and as that orange melon was set in flight across the living room, I was already moving toward the kitchen, knowing that I would have to get the broom.  I turned just in time to see a flash of orange collide into the South wall, exploding on impact.  I waited and looked at my son, that sweet faced little boy who I had to leave in the hospital for two weeks after he was born.  I looked into those cerulean eyes that clearly come from some previous relatives and I hoped that just for a second that I would see some remorse, some flash of that guilt that pervaded every sense of my childhood.  I looked, but, there was nothing, nothing but pure elation, bent over double laughter and the sounds of a human being who may recognize that he may or may not have broken a cardinal rule of balloon/rice/house accord, but who just doesn't give a shit.  In that moment, that little boy did exactly what he wanted and he loved every second of it.  I sighed and went to get the broom....

I don't worry about a lot nor do I spend an inordinate amount of time caring about things that might drive other people insane.  I laugh at the dumbass things that my kids do and say and I make fun of them, just like any quality parent would... but this sense that I get as of late, is that I have turned into or am slowly becoming some kind of sadistic hall monitor that does nothing but nag them and tell them to brush their teeth for the fourteenth thousandth time and when they fail to comply, or when they feel that I am being "unfair" or "overprotective" or "overbearing" that they somehow have the right to question MY behavior.  Now, as a parent who has expectations and who sets the bar low in some areas but rather high in the areas of character development, manners and selflessness, I expect all three of those little fuckers to listen to me.  Plain and simple.  Shut the hell up and listen when I'm speaking and don't give me that face or that tone in your voice that tells me that you THINK that I am this or that or this or that.  As we always say, YOU did not come with a manual and even if you did, you probably would have peed on it or set fire to it by now anyway...

Clearly I recognize that someday my boys will understand what I was trying to do and maybe they will even acknowledge the ways in which I was trying to do it, but whether or not that day comes, I have been, as of late, frustrated by their attitudes and their lack of enthusiasm over my desire for them to become more than hunched over, media neanderthals.  I tell Jake to put the phone away while we are eating dinner and he looks at me like I'm some kind of delusional inmate at an asylum.  "You want ME to put away my phone?" Yes Jackass, although I wanted to talk to you and now I don't, I still want you to put away that phone.  Actually, you know where you can put your phone... My special "favorite" is when he says "Mom, look around, everyone else is on their phone." Pause for reaction and no, I don't use the whole "Well if everyone jumped off a bridge thing..." I just simply say, "I'm not their mother" right before he mutters "Lucky them."  Or, any time I offer even the slightest criticism, he shuts down and just gives one word answers as if to say "How dare you insult me or try to teach me anything?  I am 17, I am a God, I am beyond reproach." Actually, Jake wouldn't use a word like reproach but it looked good and I think that sometimes.  Half an hour later he's asking me for money or for advice about some new obsession that he has.  Look, either you value my opinion or you don't, but don't ask me if you don't want me to tell you.  The other day he was gone almost the entire day; I only saw him when he came home and I was getting ready for bed so like the "idiot" mother that I am, I asked him questions about his day.  He gave me two short answers and then started to roll his eyes and he just said "I'm tired Mom."  I got irritated and he said "Mom, did you really want to talk to YOUR parents that much when you were my age?"  I hadn't actually thought about that, but I had to admit, he was right.  I didn't.  I didn't like that answer but I understood it.  The thing was, that response hurt the most because I thought that we had a different kind of relationship than I had with my parents and until last Spring, I thought that it would always be that way.  I love Jake so very much and I respect him and I am very thankful for who he is becoming and I accept that much of this is just his way of beginning to pull away; I know that and I accept that.  But, what I don't accept is his brazen sense of self entitlement and his attitude as of late, the one that says "You owe me something for being a good kid."  I'll tell you what Jake, you know what I owe you?  I owe you a swift kick in the ass and a see you at Thanksgiving next June when I throw your ass out the door.  Jake is a good kid with a big heart, but he lives in Jakeland right now where he is the Mayor, the Police Department and every resident all by himself and that self-centered, egocentric attitude, albeit normal for most teenagers, bothers the hell out of me when it rears its ugly head right after he has pulled some completely bonehead move or failed a test or backed into a parked car.  People see what they want to see when they look at him and that is, he is a good looking, well mannered, kind young man, which he is.  But what they don't see is the evil puppeteer behind the curtain and that bastard likes to fuck with me right now...

There is a seminar on anxiety in adolescents and teens next week at Ty's school and while I would like to attend, I don't think that I can handle much more anxiety in our home even if it is only as a topic along with ways to manage and combat it.  Because then I would have to confront my own demons once again and I am not in the mood to do that.  I have more than enough emotions and issues to deal with right now.  But I started thinking about anxiety when I got the flyer in the mail and I realized that while I don't suffer from this particular state, that two of my children do, in various ways.  Both have moments when it overtakes them and when I can literally see their faces paralyzed with sadness or fear or anger because the thought of having to do something or be somewhere or in those moments when they feel completely overwhelmed by their emotions, I can feel it.  I can feel their hearts beat faster and their palms start to sweat; sometimes they stutter their words or their voices get softer and I pause and I think to myself, God how awful.  Because most of do what any parent would do, we tell them to get in the car, or try again or do it anyway or everything will be okay, you'll see.  But the thing is, that kid knows deep down that sometimes, it's not only NOT going to be okay, but that it is going to be horrible.  I often send them out into the water without knowing how to swim, but I don't know any other way... and so I consult experts, books, therapists, talk shows, research materials, colleagues, the kids themselves and I try to come to some kind of agreement with anxiety, with their anxiety; mainly, that when I recognize the symptoms that I won't push so hard - this often ends up as one big disaster.  I try to remember that I was once little and that I was shy and scared, often feeling alone and guilty about something.  That doesn't usually help the situation with the kids and I can feel my own heart start to beat faster, but what it does do is remind me that I don't know any better way to handle their fears than they do; I can only offer them solace and comfort and love and hope that is enough.  And when it's not, Baskin Robbins and a day off from school usually do the trick...

Being a mother is a thankless job.  It is an unending hill climb where there is nothing at the top but reminders of how many times you've fallen along the way or how long it took you to get there. Erma Bombeck nailed it all those years ago; she wrote of the disasters of parenthood, of family; she wrote of the ridiculous statements and the endless stream of chatter that pervaded her skull and house.  She wrote of the humor in even the most humorless of situations, and, she had it exactly right.  Being a parent is wonderful and we live for those moments when our children recognize how much we truly love them.  It is a difficult transition for us to no longer be the center of their individual universe.  And it is even harder because often it happens so quickly; their adoration and friendship, their love and desire to be with us lessens and the moments that once flooded our days have become fewer and shorter and the interim is riddled with scornful looks and resentment and attitude.  They think that we should know better, just like we think of them, but the real thing is, we need them as much as they need us and, for me, there is no law that says that I have to stop being a positive and important influence in my children's lives; I just have to now learn how to respect the boundaries that they are fighting to set up.  Ironic once more, if I have taught them well enough then they won't need me... should I stop the lessons now?

It's interesting when a child describes himself as "selfish." Albeit, a negative meaning, it was explained to me as "being interested in only what I have to do because I can't keep track of everyone else." Not quite the dictionary definition, but more of an introspective and broader definition of selfish.  I like that definition, not because it fits teenagers, but because it actually shows a real truth about human behavior during the teenage years.  The angst or anxiety that they feel these days stems from a very wide, very intricate net of information that binds them all together, but only superficially.  How can one be expected to keep up with EVERYONE and EVERYTHING else on a day to day basis.  We would all go crazy, we would all develop anxiety, as many of us are doing now.  The pressure to be involved at multiple levels with hundreds of people and their activities on a daily basis is too much pressure.  And eventually the pressure crushes us, one way or another;it destroys the fragile nature of that first shape, of that first idea.  People cannot exist positively, hopefully in a world that demands a commitment level from even the youngest of its citizens, a level that ties them into everyone else's world, whether they want that or not.  And if they don't make an attempt to be a part of this network of individuals and photostreams and pages, then they are ostracized, ridiculed, bullied and, really, just plain on the "outside" of it all. And being on the outside of an inside "joke" will only create more angst.  And so, you focus on yourself and those within your immediate circles and you hope that the ones that you truly care about will return those feelings.  And if not, you have to figure out a way to reconcile the fact that you will never be able to keep up with it all, not physically, mentally and certainly not emotionally.  Selfish... loving one's self, taking care of one's self and not worrying about what everyone else is doing minute by minute... I like that.

It's my fault for the most part; the things that I bitch about, particularly with the kids, it's my fault.  I mean, I am raising them, well, Tim is here too, but let's face it, I do most of the "kick 'em in the balls" parenting.  Just because he is the voice of reason doesn't give him extra points.  Well really it does and that is another issue that I have; the kids seem to respect him more, like him more, listen to him more because he gets to be "good" cop and I, I have to be the "Did you brush your teeth, do your homework, pack your lunch, call that coach back, get your cleats, bring your water bottle... overbearing, schedule oriented crazy ass bitch of a mom."  That too pisses me off. I'm not insecure enough to sit here and to think that my children don't love me, they do or that they don't respect me, they do or that they are terrible, rotten morons who can't tell their asses from their elbows sometimes... well... ok, they aren't, MOST of the time.  Parenting is the most frustrating and simultaneously exhilarating jobs that I've ever taken on and while I am knee deep in the good and the bad and the days are filled to the brim, I can see myself, just a few years from now, longing for someone to lecture, for someone to clean up after, for someone to patronize me for a change.

It's not that we aren't ready to let them go out into the world or even that we want to delay that inevitable trip; it's just that we know that once they go, we just won't matter as much as we once did.  We will always be loved and thought upon with kindness but, on some level, they are already pushing us aside to make more and more room for others in their lives who will occupy that daily space that we once filled, those arms that once reached out for us when we picked them up from preschool, that new life that they are carving out for themselves, regardless of the fact that we helped to set them on that path.  I try to remind myself that it is coming quickly and that I am looking forward to all of the joys that they will have in their lives, but, I am also fearful for them, of what is in store and of what may come.  I only hope that when each of them, in turn, steps out the front door of our home as a resident for the last time that I will have prepared them to handle the angst and the anxiety and to not have too much attitude with others.  I will hope that and I will probably smile whenever I think of the aborted ceiling playdoh attempt or the time that they spray painted green stripes on the dog.  I just wish some days there were less eye rolls and sighs, less censure in their voices and instead, more days like the ones when they ran to me in their feeted Carter jammies, holding out their arms, kissing my cheek until I laughed so hard that we would fall to the ground.

I'm tired of the teenage crap.  I'm ready for a new chapter.  Luckily Ty has 5 more years before he hits the "teen" age.  Then again, with this crowd, it may be sooner than I'm ready.  In fact, I know it will be.  I can feel my blood pressure rising already...