love

a good daughter

Posted on May 4, 2014 by robynbird

I’ve been sitting in hospital all day waiting…waiting…waiting…
(Perhaps I’ve mentioned patience is not my most marked characteristic?)

I’m waiting because that’s what good daughters do. A good daughter waits while her dad has his hip replaced.
I am a good daughter.

A good daughter also identifies her dad’s body for the sheriff’s department before they can remove it from his home.
I am a good daughter.

I started this post on Tuesday while sitting in hospital…I came back to it Sunday after the entire world changed.

My dad was found dead in his bed Friday morning by the home health physical therapist that came to do his initial intake after he came home from hospital. When I got there, she was long gone but the sheriff deputies were waiting for me.
When I asked if I could see him the first response was to ask if I really wanted to see him and then they told me I wasn’t allowed to touch anything.
(My hackles immediately go up, I’m thinking: that’s my Daddie I’ll touch him if I damn well please.)
They tell me they have to stand in the doorway and watch me to make sure I don’t disturb anything. (Oh, I’m going to punch somebody in their mouth before this is over.)
The older sheriff’s deputy, who actually knew my dad, says: it’s OK sweetie, you can touch him.

What I wanted to do was crawl into bed with him and lie there for a little while before they took him away…but I was afraid that would make the deputies poop their pants. I touched his hand and leaned over and lay my head on his chest for a moment and then stood up, looked at him, whispered: oh, Daddie, then I left the room and didn’t go back in until I was finally alone in the house.

I cannot express how grateful I am that I had that teeny moment with him. I was able to see that he didn’t suffer, that he looked peaceful…
I have never felt less like a grown up than I did on Friday, but I’ve never done more grown up things than I did on Friday.

I don’t know what I would have done without Sundance or YBW on Friday.
Poor YBW…I called him when I got the call and he was unavailable…my plan was to leave a message that sounded something like: Please call me when you get a chance.
When I heard his voice on the outgoing message, I completely lost it and screeched: My dad died! Please call me back!
Sundance and I were texting back and forth before I got the call…so when I couldn’t get YBW I called her, when she didn’t answer…I texted: Please answer the phone please.
Before I could call her again, she called me and what followed was chaos.

Thing 2 said: Oh Mommy, I wish I could hug you. I told her: I will get to hug you next week when you get here. (She’s coming for my birthday.)
Thing 1 was beside herself with grief and I couldn’t hold her.
Thing G was so kind to me, he never stopped touching me Friday night, with little pats on my arm or leg or back, and so many hugs. His kindness was truly overwhelming. That sweet little boy took such good care of me when I needed to hold my own babies, he’s my baby too now. Thing 1 was so happy Thing G was taking such good care of her mommy, she told me to please thank him and give him big hugs for her.

I go tomorrow to sign the papers for a private autopsy to determine cause of death and then must decide whether or not to pursue legal action…I am not that girl.
I will also be able to spend a little more time with my Daddie’s body.
My God, I’m exhausted.

I am now an orphan…but I’m still a good daughter.

Categories: death, love, me | Tags: a good daughter, best friends, blessings, daddy, daughters, death, exhausted, father, fathers and daughters, feelings, friendship, grief, grown up, loss, love, orphan, relationships, sadness, saying goodbye, sharing | 4 Comments

happy birthday, Thing 1

Posted on March 2, 2014 by robynbird

I completed my second decade of motherhood today.
Thing 1 is twenty, but not until 7:21 this evening to be precise. This is the first year I will not be with her on the anniversary of her birth, I thought it would make me feel more sad, but I guess I’m growing too, accepting that she is a pseudo-adult and her birthdays are no longer about her family of origin, but the new family she is beginning to create for herself with friends and fiancee. (That word still gives me pause.)

I was up very late editing the book and slept until 9:00 waking in a momentary panic that I hadn’t yet called her. In addition to not being with her on this day, this year marks the first time I was not the first person to tell her, Happy Birthday. That fell to N this year, as I suspect it will for years to come.
It doesn’t matter though, for she will always be my baby…my very first girl, the one who was given to me to challenge me to be the best possible me. She and I have had some dark times, but the light was always lit just waiting for it’s time to shine again.

N entered her into a contest in which she won tickets to a bridal show in Savannah…so that is how she’ll spend her 20th birthday…how precious, and how appropriate for her.
My sweet girl is no longer stubbornly fighting her Aunt Sundance and me to wear too small shoes. She is no longer swimming in the pool when the water is 50 degrees simply so she could be the first one in and the last one out at the start and close of our pool season. She is no longer that lost girl trying to understand what to make of her world when I changed it by leaving her dad. She is no longer the girl who hurt herself and came to me desperately begging for help. She’s not even the girl we dropped off at college with her most precious lovey, the little pink doll, Emily who had seen her through all her scariest moments.

She is a woman, one who is beginning to make a real plan for her life, to go back to school and study something she is passionate about, to find a job and make a home, and plan a wedding. She is able to open up and be honest with me about who she is and what she thinks and feels.
She sparkles once again, the way she did when she was small.

Sometimes I worry that she is too jaded, so quick to assess and pass judgment because it can come across as unkind…she’s going to have to learn to temper this, perhaps time and maturity will aid in that. I believe she feels safe enough to be who she really thinks she is, even if she’s a bit brash because I trusted her to make her own opinions and express her creativity…it is very hard to have a strong mother, I suspect she felt she had to fight to be heard instead of trusting in me to hear. Perhaps that is why she is quick to express her opinion without thought of how it might make those around her feel.

She is so bright, and interested in things that boggle my mind, she loves science and math, even though she wasn’t terribly successful in those courses. She is truly an artist who has yet to find her medium.
She has made me so proud, not simply because I’m her mom, but because I know her. Yes, I raised her, I did my best to give her a solid foundation upon which to build her life, but I am savvy enough to know that she has impacted her own character and destiny, and I can honestly say, I am proud to be her mom and proud to know her as a person.

Today is bittersweet for me, that little girl is still inside the interesting woman she’s become, but those times are gone, nothing but nuggets of precious memory, old photographs and an indelible imprint upon my heart.
I accomplished and survived her.
My love for her is knows no bounds.
I am still her “Mommy” but I am also something new.

Categories: love, on being a mom | Tags: adventure, birthday, blessings, celebrate, celebration, daughters, grown women, happiness, happy, happy birthday, joy, little girls, love, motherhood, mothers, parenting, relationships, second decade, twenty years, unconditional love | 4 Comments

connecting over life’s lemonade

Posted on February 11, 2014 by robynbird

I’ve been thinking quite a little bit about my friend and mentor lately. Actually, I’ve been thinking about connections…making initial connections, staying connected over time and space, renewing connections, and why these are so important. Somehow this train of thought makes me think of her. I say somehow like it’s a big mystery to me…she’s the most actively connected human being I know. She’s one of those people that make other people say, “I want to be J when I grow up.” I know her well enough to know I don’t want to be her…but I do long to be more like her.
She has this uncanny knack for freeing herself enough to engage with most anyone she comes in contact with. I am awed by her.

I first knew her when she was the director of our church’s preschool where Thing 1 went starting when she was 18 months old, she was kind and caring but she was not yet my friend. When Thing 2 started there at age 14 months, we’d known each other for three years and had gotten closer because I was on the school’s parent committee and the chair of the fundraising program, I remember wanting so much for her to like me.
Three years later, the summer before Thing 1 starts second grade and Thing 2 starts her last year at this truly spectacular preschool I get a phone call from J asking me if I want to teach in the toddler class. And that was really the beginning of us becoming close.
The time I asked rather loudly at a faculty meeting if she was on crack may have sealed our friendship fate.
My friend and mentor has so much love in her and she’s unbelievably generous with that love. She’s filled with joy and verve and a positivity that is truly something to behold. She’s a teeny little woman who is the biggest bundle of energy in the most positive sense of the phrase. She’s one of those ‘turn life’s lemons into lemonade’ kind of people, and let me tell you it’s the damnedest thing because I’ve seen her make the most delicious lemonade when she’s up to her ass in life’s lemons.

She is the reason I blog. She asked me to write with her on her blog (She’s an early childhood education specialist.) because she hates to write. Those collaborations lead to therobynbirdsnest. (Merci beau coup.)

She is a Conscious Discipline Certified Instructor, she’s a consulting educator, she’s an educator of educators and parents of young children. She connects every day with teachers and administrators and parents and teaches them how to really connect with young children and how to teach and learn with them through those sincere and authentic connections.
She brings that level of intimacy into her everyday life too, that immediacy, that authenticity is a natural part of everything she does. That’s what I want to be when I grow up, you know?
She is such a gift to we who are lucky enough to have her in our lives. She is connected to each of us in her own unique way, connected not only with a desire to be connected to the people she knows, but sincere passion for the connection itself.

Can you learn to open yourself enough to develop that level of connection or do you have to be born with the gift? Are any of us willing to invest what it takes to develop that level of connection? Making connections and being able to remain connected and reestablishing connection if there is a disruption…this is one of the most positive and rewarding skill sets we can master. And if we can’t master it then we can emulate it by trying every day to show up and open up and be authentic in our interactions with the people around us.
I believe my friend and mentor was given this gift with birth. I cannot describe how lacking my life would be had she not.

I want to be more connected…not only to those around me but to myself…I need to look at myself and judge less and accept more…I need to pour a big old glass of life’s lemonade and connect with the most authentic me.

Bottoms up.

Categories: education, love | Tags: acceptance, authentic, blessings, connections, conscious discipline, early childhood education, friendship, immediacy, lemonade, life's lemonade, love, when life hands you lemons make lemonade, writer, writing | Leave a comment

missing Mommie

Posted on January 25, 2014 by robynbird

I’ve been experiencing above average feelings of missing my mom the past week or so. I find it sits rather ill with me, this feeling of missing her. I had a…peculiar relationship with her to say the least…with an entire baggage carriage of unresolved issues accumulated over my lifetime. The thing I need to remind myself the most is that these bags would still be packed and loaded in the baggage carriage even if she was still living.
Mommie was not inclined to examine or converse any subject she found distasteful, which could include anything from how to apply eyeliner to why she sent me to live with my absentee dad when I was 15.
YBW always asks questions like, why didn’t you ask her about these things? I’m like, DUDE! What part of me saying she wouldn’t answer a direct question if it somehow displeased her did you not understand?
Oh did I ask questions…like when Thing 1 was in kindergarten and would come home to her mommy and baby sister every day as opposed to when I was in kindergarten and wore a key around my neck on a ribbon and came home to an empty house because I had no dad and a mom who worked fulltime to support my little brother and me.
So one day I said to her: You were really brave, that must have been really scary for you to be so far away at work when I was home by myself in kindergarten.
She replied: I did what I had to do.
Me: Was that hard for you?
Mommie: I had no choice.
Me: No, I guess you didn’t, but I can’t imagine Thing 1 coming home by herself in the middle of the day and not worrying about her. I’m not sure I could be that brave.
Mommie: I knew you were capable.
Me: But you didn’t worry, you weren’t scared for me?
Mommie: I had no choice. I knew you could handle it.
Me: Well, I think you were really brave.
Mommie: I didn’t have a choice.
(Notice anything interesting about this conversation? Like, oh I don’t know, it’s completely one sided?)

Or when I was 17, the time I got a call from a church mom whose little girl I babysat, she wondered if I was still willing to sit for her even though I lived so far away at my dad’s house now…at the end of the call, she asked me if I was excited for my mom… I replied, about what? Then she did that age old dance called the “hem-haw” and finally told me that my brother had stood up in church the week before to share a joy…the joy that his mom was to marry another church member. (I didn’t know the phrase WTF then…but I can assure you I experienced the sensation.)
So I called over Grandaddy’s (my former home) and got my brother on the phone: Anything interesting you want to share?
And for the second time that day I was treated to the “hem-haw” dance…until finally I said: E, I’m not mad just tell me what’s going on…I know what happened in church on Sunday.
He whispered: they made me swear not to tell you. Then out loud he said: Mommie just got home you want to talk to her?
His face must have told the story because she got on the phone: I wanted to tell you in person.
Me: But not before you let E tell the whole congregation. You can’t pick up the phone?
Mommie: I wanted to tell you in person.
Me: But you didn’t. Who are you even marrying?
Mommie told me and I was only vaguely aware of this human being…then she decided I should come over for that weekend and then I could meet him. And then she dropped the big bomb…she wanted me to be her maid of honor when they got married.
To her it was OK that I was in the dark, E knew…E was permitted to develop a relationship with this man…E was asked for his opinion and approval before she decided to say yes. E was to “give her away” to this man. But I was not even given the consideration of a phone call. (I suspect I sound petulant, I didn’t feel petulant or even slighted, I just didn’t understand.)

And the time I dared to ask the most important question…seeking the answer to the event that changed my entire life. (I asked this as an adult.)
Why did you send me to Daddy’s?
And she said: I thought you needed your father.
Me: The father who left me when I was five?
To which she said: NOTHING.
So I went on: What about Grandaddy? What about E? Did they have a say? Why didn’t you talk to me? Did you even talk to Daddy about it or did you just decree it? How do you just kick someone to the curb like that?
To which she said: NOTHING.
Me: Mommie, don’t you think I should finally be allowed to understand what happened?
Mommie: No. It’s over now so there’s no need to bring it up.

All I know is how it happened, after spending a week of so at my dad’s the summer after my freshman year, I called my mom and said, I’m ready to come home, will you get me on your way home from work?
All she said was: you’re not coming home.
She unceremoniously packed up by belongings in big black garbage bags and had them waiting on the front porch for me to pick up. I wasn’t even allowed to go into the house. I never got to hug my Grandaddy or E.

Daddy has since told me that she called him and said: if you don’t take her I’m sending her to a home.
There is a part of me that considers this could be the truth, but my dad has an affinity towards exaggeration so I’m not sure I’ll ever know.

My mom was sick for a long time before she told anyone. She was hospitalized for 18 days with pneumonia before she would “let” her husband call me to tell me they found cancerous cells in her lungs because “she didn’t want to tell me unless they knew what it was”. She died seventeen days later. Seventeen days.
I was able to go see her, to be with her for a few precious days between the two phone calls. I was shocked to see her so sick, it was the first time in my life that her body was not bigger than mine, the first time in my life that I held her and she didn’t hold me. The first time in my life I realized how stupid I’d been thinking things would always be one way and never considering they would be a completely different way. I was desperately clinging to my concept of myself as child even though I am a parent, thinking that 40 simply wasn’t old enough to not have a mom anymore.
I was blessed with that time with her, none of our baggage was unpacked but I got to love her in an entirely new way. I was blessed because she was still her, I made a snide remark and she shot me her ‘mom look’ the one that used to frighten me so, but this time I laughed and said, you don’t scare me, you’re dying and you’re still trying to scare me into submission. She intensified the look and I smiled, at her leaned over and kissed her emaciated face and said softly, OK, maybe you scared me a little. She nodded her head and made a little “hmph” noise. She was Mommie even though she was sick and frail and could hardly breathe she was that terrible, tyrannical admiral who was the irrefutable boss of us all. She told me to go home and be a mommy.
(Things 1 and 2 had three nights of play at school, and their dad was going to his Goddaughter’s wedding out of state, and even though Thing 1 could cook and drive, nobody was comfortable with them being home alone.)

When I left my Mommie, I knew it was for the last time and I hugged and kissed her and laid in her bed all snuggled up to her and I said: I’m going to come back next week but if you’re not here, that’s OK. You go where you need to go because you’ll always be my Mommie and I’ll always love you. (And that was when the tears finally came even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry in front of her.)
She put her hand on my face and said: Don’t cry, baby.
I took a big breath and held it for a moment before I said: You go where you’re going and when you get there you tell my Grandaddy I miss him.
She smiled and nodded and for the last time she said: I love you, baby.

That was Tuesday, I was planning to go back down on Sunday after the show closed and the Things dad came back from the wedding, but I got the call at 8 that morning from her husband who was so broken up I almost didn’t understand him. I was all ready to get in the car and go when he requested he be able to be with her alone when she died. I respected their love and did as he asked. This is the one thing in my life I regret. I know now I should have been there when she died. Not really for her, though partly, but for myself. I needed to do that for both of us, but didn’t because I was trying to be kind to him.

The one thing that comforts me about those two phone calls is YBW. I was up here for the weekend when I got the first call, and though I left messages for Sundance and the Things dad, YBW was the first person I told live. I was here for a few hours before he got home and already in bed, when he got into be he hugged me and kissed my hair, and I said: my mom has cancer. I can’t talk about it right now but I had to say it out loud.
He held me close and let me fall asleep.
He was down there with me the weekend the second call came, he had come to see the play and we were just waking up when the phone rang. He was helpless and I was manic, but he was there and I will always remember the importance of that.

My “Mommie” baggage carriage will never be unloaded but I’ve parked it in a siding so I don’t have to haul it around with me every single day. Sometimes I allow myself to go into it and rifle through the bags, because there is good stuff packed in there along with the not so good.
I miss her because I want to tell her things only she will find amusing, like how Good Guys is closed and the building is up for lease…Sundance and I are the only ones left who understand the humor in that. I want to tell her things about the Things. I want to share how wonderful my life with YBW is…she never even met him.
My two year old friends at school always reassure each other that mommies and daddies ALWAYS come back when they’re suffering separation anxiety. I agree with them saying: yes, mommies always come back. But I always think: except mine. (Perhaps you’re never too old to experience separation anxiety.)

I’m much older than my mom was when her mother died and I’m older than my beloved sister-in-law was when hers died. I guess I really miss the idea of having a mom.
That concept of comfort a mom provides. It’s funny because I would experience moments of “I want my Mommie” when she was still living even though I knew full well she wouldn’t bring me any comfort.
She was critical and bitter and she was closed off and she fought for constant control, but she loved me. I’d stake anything on that. She loved me and I felt and continue to feel it. I didn’t know her, I surely don’t understand her…but I love her.

I have worked to show my girls who I am, so they never experience the same feelings about me that I have about her.
Thing 1 was probably her favorite of her three granddaughters. Thing 1 was her first grandbaby and I believe the most precious, she loved Thing 2 and my niece Thing D, but I’ve never thought she loved them the way she loved Thing 1. One day, years ago while riding in the car Thing 1 asked me a biblical question which I could partially answer, then I suggested she call Grandmommy and ask her. She did right there in the car, got the rest of her answer and when she hung up she said: Grandmommy is awesome. I’m sorry you don’t really like her.
(WHOA!)
I said: I love Grandmommy very much it’s just a complicated relationship. I don’t really know her very well so it feels kind of hard to like her. She doesn’t really comfort me like I hope a mommy would comfort her child which is hard, but I know she loves me and I love her.
Thing 1 was quiet for a moment and then she said: I’m sorry Grandmommy doesn’t comfort you Mommy, because I can’t imagine how awful it would be if you didn’t comfort me. You always make me feel better when anything is bad. You’re very good at comforting.
Then almost under her breath she said: Thing 2 and I are really lucky you’re our mommy.

I realize this has been kind of chaotic jumping all over the place but that’s how it goes when I think about my mom. The feelings of love are inexplicably linked to the feelings of pain and disappointment. I have worked to raise my girls in a more authentic environment…one where they see that I’m a real person I’m not a dictator, though I’ve held ultimate veto power, I’m a real woman who was a real girl who made mistakes and good choices and tried to learn from each. I’m flawed and that doesn’t matter because I’ve worked to be the best mom I can be, to give them the best of me but not keep the worst from them. I have been more intimate with them than my mom probably ever was with anyone in her life. They know me…at least I hope they do, I’ve tried to help them learn why and how I’m me. Perhaps they have baggage carriages labeled with my name, but they know we can unpack them together or they’ve been given the tools to unpack them by alone. Perhaps.

I’d like to miss my mom in a less painful way. I’d like to just miss her because I’m selfish and no longer have her in my life. But that isn’t how it is for me. I miss her for every opportunity we lost to become close, I miss her for every time she chose to “protect me” instead of trust me.
I miss her for all the silliness we experienced together, dancing to Elvis records when I was a tiny girl, the crazy ER doctor when I broke my fingers, the infamous road trip involving cows, changing clothes while driving, and Lucy Ricardo’s saxafifatronaphonovich, or the penis shaped popsicle mold she just had to have because she was amused by it.
I miss her for the moment she actually did comfort me, when she held me in her lap in the rocking chair when my beloved kitty of 16 years died.
I miss her for the relationship she didn’t let us have…and for the one we did have.

I’m indulging myself by feeling sad, by missing her.
She wouldn’t have the patience for this. She would yank me up and hiss in my ear: stop this! Be strong. Keep your head down and just go.
I fight the impulse to say those words to myself. I’ve learned I need to be talked to differently. I’ve learned it’s acceptable to indulge myself. I keep my emotions under constantly tight control because that’s what I was taught. But I asked why one time too many and learned only I could answer that.
So occasionally I indulge myself and open the baggage carriage and spend time unpacking…I let the tears come. I allow myself to feel every little thing I feel I accept these feelings and honor them. Then I pack everything back up in what I image are beautiful antique steamer trunks and gorgeous old traveling bags then lock the baggage carriage behind me and just go.
(It is not lost on me she would be horrified I’ve written all this, but she would enjoy the train carriage analogy and it makes me smile.)

Categories: death, loss, love, me, on being a mom | Tags: baggage carriage, blessings, daughters, death, feelings, grief, loss, love, mothers, mothers and daughters, relationships, sadness, saying goodbye, silliness, unconditional love, unpacking | 6 Comments

a “date” with Thing C

Posted on January 17, 2014 by robynbird

YBW’s Thing C is one of my very favorite human beings! I absolutely adore this young man! He is kind and compassionate with a wicked sharp sense of humor.
We talk of music and movies and books and girls.
We share music, I’m educating him on some seriously old school classic and punk rock and he’s helped me learn to love Dave Grohl.
I’ve seen Fight Club (and loved it) because of him and he’s watched Some Like it Hot (and loved it) because of me. (This is only the tip of the iceberg.)
We share a love of Shakespeare and The Great Gatsby and so much so that this year on his birthday, he decided he wanted to rewatch the new Gatsby movie simply because I had not yet seen it. We’ve read and discussed plays and I’m absolutely dying to take him to the American Shakespeare Center/Blackfriar’s Playhouse when something we’re both interested in is playing.
I ask questions about girls because he doesn’t really seem to talk to either YBW or his mom about them, sometimes it’s good to have a “grown-up” who loves you and keeps you safe that isn’t exactly your parent to say those kinds of things to. I even tried to set him up with a girl who works part time at my school (she’s the same age and goes to the same local university as him), this didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to…though perhaps it did, she wasn’t interested…which means she’s not as awesome as I first suspected. Both my two Things have met this girl and decided she’s stupid because our Thing C is a catch!
Neither one of us really likes Asian food very much but we both love Mexican…we plan silly little “dates” to have Mexican food just because we can.

When I see his car parked in front of our house when I drive up I get so excited! It means good conversation and laughs and perhaps something new to share. I am always met with a hug and a sincere interest in my day.

Thing 2 left today to head back to her daddy…Sundance took her to the train station…I was feeling a bit sad when I came home from school, but when I turned the corner onto our street I saw his car in front of the house and I was instantly smiling!
After big hugs, we talked about a gig he’s playing (He’s a bassist.) and whether or not I was to photograph it for them we also read the most inappropriate comment strand on one of my friend’s fb statuses and laughed at the complete lack of propriety. (Should I be ashamed of myself? I’m not.)

This might seem like a strange post…but Thing C has been visiting his grandparents in the lone star state for the last two weeks and I missed him so there was big love and happiness today!
Since YBW and Thing G have plans for tomorrow we’ve planned a “date” to go get Mexican food and discussed lying on the sofa to watch my favorite movie of all time, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Then perhaps we’ll go over the used bookstore and see what moves us. It’s going to be a great Saturday!

Categories: love, me, on being a mom | Tags: books, fun, happy, home, love, Mexican food, movies, music, parenting, relationships, shakespeare, sharing, silly, unconditional love | Leave a comment

all the baby Jesuses

Posted on January 8, 2014 by robynbird

YBW took me to the annual crèche exhibit at Washington National Cathedral. Why you ask? Well I have a special love for nativities and a woman who works with him is also a docent at the Cathedral. She mentioned this one day and he came home asking if I wanted to go. (Did I?)
My love for this house of worship is as enormous as the building itself so any excuse to spend time there is one I’ll happily take! But to visit the Cathedral to see the crèche exhibit, well that was just like Christmas! (Pun intended, I adore Christmastime.)

We wandered briefly through the nave before going downstairs to the crypt level to see the nativities. That many teeny baby Jesuses all in one place created an unparalleled level of joy within me…interestingly enough, it created an unparalleled level of peace within me too. Even though I was there with my sweetheart, it was an intimate and personal experience for me. I was moved by all the representations of the baby’s birth from all over the world and in all the different media, from wood and resin to coffee root and newspaper.

A few miniatures made specifically for doll houses gave the little girl in me a great big bucktooth grin. My favorite was from Ireland perhaps it somehow tapped into my genetic code, because it certainly wasn’t the most beautiful one.

YBW’s favorite was this elaborate cityscape made in France.

After we looked at and revisited each and every one, we moved on from the nativities to the smaller chapels. In the Bethlehem Chapel, I lit a candle praying for peace to find my precious Thing 2 and in the Chapel of Joseph of Arimathea for a selfish moment I kneeled in prayer for myself, something I haven’t done in longer than I can even remember…but it felt…right, my spirit was moved and I experienced peace.

It’s been said that the baby Jesus is the light of the world…my world was surely lighted that day.

Categories: love, me, peace and wellbeing | Tags: baby Jesus, blessings, creche exhibit, excitement, feelings, happy, love, nativities, nativity, peace, prayer, washington national cathedral, wellbeing | 2 Comments

the giving of thanks

Posted on December 1, 2013 by robynbird

I’m not the biggest fan of Thanksgiving…some people say that makes me un-American…I say whatever. I’m thankful every single day for what I have in my life, the people, the love, the joys, even the sadness…they’re mine, you know? And I’m grateful.
So that one day, that day of giving thanks, well I feel as though I’ve got that pretty much covered. To me Thanksgiving Day is simply an excuse for gluttony…and I don’t really eat all that much.

That said, I have to tell you I had the most wonderful holiday weekend! With YBW’s family on Thanksgiving Day, Sundance, Girlie Thing, and Boy Thing on Friday, and my cousin and her family today. Best of all, my own precious Thing 1 has been here with us and Thanksgiving is her absolute favorite holiday! (I suspect because of the gluttony.)
Thing 1 reverted to her goofy child-self around her cousins and Girlie Thing and Boy Thing, she and Boy Thing have always had a special relationship, and when they were together it’s as though not a moment has passed since they saw each other last. She was so smiley and kind of jumpy and very much like she was when she was a little blonde pigtailed girl. So precious to see!

She’s followed me around the house like she’s done since she began to walk…interestingly enough, it doesn’t annoy me, I’m so used to it even though we’ve not been in the same house for so long. She literally follows me everywhere I go, just far enough behind me that she’s not touching me but close enough that I can occasionally feel her breath in my hair. She has always done this, and it amuses me more than anything.
I’ve been so pleased to have my girl with me…she been here 12 days and just stared to annoy me…a reminder of how much better she and I get along when we’re in different places. I think the thing that annoys me about her is that she spends so much time talking about how she’s a “grown-up” but behaves like a little girl…I’m not sure what that means exactly, but I’m not ready for her to leave just yet and that makes me happy.

Sundance has decreed we three must go on a wedding dress hunt…that Sundance and I will eat peanut M&M’s al la Sally Albright while Thing 1 models wedding gowns. Honestly the very thought of this makes me queasy, but Thing 1 is nearly “pants peeing” excited about this little field trip. How can I say no? Perhaps this is…what? Shock therapy? (Whatever it is I vote for champagne and not M&M’s!)

Thing 1 had her Christmas yesterday morning since she’ll be down with her fiancé’s family for Christmas…YBW was kind of tickled that she got so much My Little Pony stuff. (Yeah, my Things and I are Bronies…no shame in our game.) She got new sassy boots and some clothes, funky socks and an antique perfume bottle, and American Girl doll and pony things…she is that peculiar combination of little girl and woman.

Having my girl here in my new home with me has reinforced my gratitude and made me oh so happy!
I don’t need turkey and all the trimmings to celebrate my thanks…just folks to shower with love.

Categories: love, on being a mom | Tags: daughters, family, fun, gluttony, happy, home, love, motherhood, mothers, parenting, sharing, thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Day, wedding dress shopping | Leave a comment

exactly the same only completely different

Posted on November 10, 2013 by robynbird

YBW and I woke early yesterday morning…actually I think he was awake and I was a bit restless but he moved towards me and petted my hair and softly kissed my face and when I opened my eyes and saw his face I was flooded with an overwhelming sense of joy! I grinned sleepily and whispered, “Golly I love waking up to you.” (Yeah, I really said the word golly.)
There was quiet talking for a bit, then kissing and then we made love. For the longest time afterward, we just lay in bed talking. We talked about everything under the sun…and then it got personal.
We talked about our “before” lives, what it was like for him to be with Thing C and Thing G’s mom…parts of my life with Thing 1 and Thing 2’s dad. Why certain things were the way they were and how we felt about them. I wish I could remember what exactly it was we were talking about when he said to me, “Hey, I once woke up to being stabbed.”
Roundhouse kick to my soul.
YBW was married for a second time very briefly to a rather mad woman who was an alcoholic and a horribly mean depressed person. He knew it was a mistake…but not before it was too late.
I sat with it for a couple minutes before I could decide to say, “I’ve never heard that story.”
He was very calm, “I was here asleep and she came in with the knife and kept poking me with it until I woke up. She wanted me to watch her kill herself with it.” He went on to say he talked her down off the ledge and got the knife away from her…
They had so much fun together…she was the total opposite of his Things mother. They went to happy hour and went to plays and had fun. Their sex life was good, which was different than it had been with the Things mom. (Though, he was quick to add, not as good as ours…I didn’t need the reassurance, but he was sincere, not flattering.) She was a whirlwind and she paid attention to him and she made him feel special and loveable. She told him she wanted to take care of him.
He wasn’t ready for anything major but she insisted they be married on the anniversary of the day they met or they no longer date at all.
I suggested she manipulated him, he agreed, but admitted he was willingly manipulated. He wasn’t ready to let go of that feeling of being special.
In the end, it all fell apart and she was hauled from this home in handcuffs for trying to hurt him on their first wedding anniversary.

I’m writing this because the way it felt to talk with him yesterday morning has nothing to do with the subject matter and everything to do the fact we are truly ourselves with each other. There is a level of trust that I’m not sure I’ve experienced before. I do feel safe with YBW and I help him feel safe.
It’s easy to feel a deep connection or level of closeness with someone when you’re naked with him, when your bodies are becoming one…it’s trickier to feel it when you’re listening to him talk about things that hurt him deeply and how he’s grown from it into the man you love.
Yesterday morning, I felt closer to YBW than I ever have.
We moved into a new level of intimacy.
Then we got up and he made coffee and I drank a diet Dr Pepper, exactly the same as every other morning…only completely different.

Categories: love | Leave a comment

so…Thing 1 has a ring on her finger

Posted on November 9, 2013 by robynbird

Sundance called me Wednesday evening, “so your daughter is getting married.”
“What?” (I may have actually said, shut the f@*k up! but I just can’t remember.)
“She changed her Facebook status to ‘engaged’.”
“Yeah, I’m going to call you back.”

Ring ring…
“Hi Mommy!”
“Uh…anything you want to tell me?”
She giggled. (She FREAKING giggled!?!) “I sent you the picture.”

“Yeah, you always send me pictures of you trying on rings while you’re out piddling around…how was I to know what that was? Dude! Aunt Sundance just called me because she saw it on Facebook! You don’t think this news warrants a phone call?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re SORRY!?! I’m your mommy, you don’t send a picture via mass text and change your Facebook status, you pick up the phone.”
“I’m sorry, Mommy.”
“Well, tell me all about it!”
More giggling, “what do you mean?”
(I might kill her.)
“How did it happen? Was it a surprise? How do you like the ring? I don’t know, something more than…nothing.”
“Well N said, “(Thing 1’s full name), will you be my wife?” and I said yes!” Then she described the ring in great detail.
“Holy shit.” (And not just once.)
“Mommy, why do you keep saying holy shit?”
“I’m so sorry bear, I’m in shock. When that goes away the excitement will kick in, you just gotta give me a minute.” (I knew I needed to rope it in a bit so I didn’t freak her out.) Are you happy, baby?”
“Yes!”
“I love you, and if you’re happy, I am happy too.”
(Can hear the smile in her voice.) “Thank you, Mommy.”
“Is there a date?”
“Oh at least a year.”
(Thank God!)
“And I’m going to go back to school before we get married too, you’ll be proud of me, I made a good plan.” (My Thing 1 is a ‘dive right in’ kind of girl so for her to have a plan is a seriously big deal.)
“I have to say this because I’m the mommy, and mommies have to say the things nobody wants to hear, you are very young and that worries me.”
“I know, but we’re waiting, so it’s OK.”
Then there was the, I’m so glad you’re happy and excited and can’t wait to see the ring next week…blah blah blah. Then the I love yous and good bye.

HOLY SHIT!
My 19 year old daughter is engaged to be married! I’m going to throw up!

Sundance said Thing 1 told her at least a year, maybe two…this eases me a bit.
YBW said, “This is the beginning of her living her own life.” (Easy for him to say…his 20 year old isn’t coming home with a girl who’s got a ring on her finger.)

I am so happy my Thing 1 is happy. N is doing a really good job showing that he wants to love her and take good care of her and she is really happy.
He is her first real boyfriend. He is the first person she’s ever slept with. He is more than 10 years older than she is.
I have absolutely no control over any of this.
She is me all those long years ago, marrying a man so much older than me, who was going to take care of me and give me babies to raise…until the world fell apart.
I want better for Thing 1 than I had…
YBW reminds me that she isn’t me and N isn’t the former husband.
I remind myself she is blissfully happy and who am I to try and damage that with my anxiety.

Interestingly enough, I was flipping channels at lunchtime on Friday, (I almost never turn on the TV.) and Say Yes to the Dress (Atlanta) was on…it was tyrant/dictator mom day…nasty, hateful moms who were just horrid to their bridey daughters and I thought I will not be that mom, I spent the last 20 years trying to do what was best for her and part of that is letting her decide what she likes and what pleases her.
I will trust that I did a good enough job…that she’s got the ability to make decent choices…and I will simply find her joy and participate in it.

Here’s the thing, she might be happy from now until the end of time…or it might blow up in her face, but she’s the only one who can decide.

Is this the choice I would have made for her? No. I would have wanted her to live a bit more…to become the woman she’s going to be first before she attached her life to another person. Only it’s not up to me. It’s her life now…the days of little blonde pigtails and Eloise books are long gone, she’ll hit her second decade in a few short months and she is going to make the decisions that shape her adult life. I can only love her and smile at her happiness.
And fight the overwhelming urge to vomit.

Think there’s such a thing as “happy for you vomit”?
God I hope not.

Categories: love, on being a mom | Tags: anxiety, daughters, diamonds, engaged, engagement rings, happy, love, mother of the bride, motherhood, mothers, parenting, wedding bells | Leave a comment

cherry pie, high heeled shoes, and unconditional love

Posted on September 30, 2013 by robynbird

Once upon a time there was a little red haired girl.
She loved books and babydolls, green army men and Barbies.
She wanted to be a mommy and a teacher when she grew up.
She loved scrambled eggs and cherry pie.
She loved to play dress up…especially with high heeled shoes.
She had a great big laugh, way bigger than her little body could even hold.
She had her tonsils taken out and also had scarlet fever.
She wrecked her bike…a lot.
She was an excellent tree climber.
She loved to swing.
She loved the smell of lilacs.

She is me.
I am she.

Now I am a grown up red haired girl.
I still love books and babydolls and Barbies.
I am a mommy and a teacher.
I still love scrambled eggs and cherry pie.
I absolutely love high heeled shoes.
I still have a great big laugh.
I had LASIK and a hysterectomy.
I’ve never wrecked my car.
I miss climbing trees.
I don’t love to swing anymore…it makes me queasy now.
I still love the smell of lilacs.

That little girl had some seriously great adventures…some not so great, but she learned from them, the good, the bad, the indifferent. She learned how to become me. And she worked hard to learn how to love being me. I’m grateful for every little thing she experienced.

I remember being her.
I am being me because I was her.

Occasionally, I realize I should treat the me I am now the way I want that little girl to be treated…with kindness and respect and an unending supply of unconditional love.
I realize we should all experience that kind of love.

And get to wear high heeled shoes.