The Lost Parent

Tuck, age 6, and Cooper, age (almost) 9

Before I had kids, I had a passion for things. I wrote poetry. I embroidered tea towels. I sipped coffee slowly. I even sang power ballads in the shower that could make a grown man cry. All this interestingness...gone, gone, gone.

In its place is this new me. The professional yeller. The impatient multi-tasker. The sock matcher. The grocer-store shopper. The pocket cleaner outer. The bill payer. This grown up (and I use this term loosely, folks) in charge of the whole wide world. Time is no longer mine. I am owned by everything else around me.

In an act of rebellion tonight, I walked upstairs to my computer room after plating up their dinners and shut the door to write. All by myself. The kids are officially fending for themselves while I try to write something grand or grandiose, but it's not been an easy go.

I had to give a tribal yell to get their attention downstairs when it sounded like elephants were tearing up the place. We're dancing, they shouted back, give us a break! I'm pretty sure a few things fell off the wall.

There's been biting and someone got kicked in the balls.

There's been a surprise attack outside my computer-room door with swim goggles and a sling shot. I think I might know what it feels like to have a heart attack and a panic attack at the same time.

One kid has asked for cheese. The other one wants to play the Nintendo DS. No and no.

Lots of laughter. This must mean they are doing something I will discover later and be very angry about, or a tickle war has begun. You lose the tickle war when you pee your pants or vomit. Your choice.

Finally, we now have silence. This is the worst news yet. It means I need to wrap up this crazy endeavor of writing by myself, so I can jump back into the world of parenting. So, here's the quick ending, the short and sweet of it.

Despite the fact I've lost some of myself along the way, raising sons is the greatest adventure I've ever been on. I might get lost. Feel crazy. Have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. So what? It will always be a more interesting story than tea towels and shower singing. It's a life in progress, imperfect and beautiful. Enjoy it.

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{Rock-and-Roll Daughter}

All I can think about when I look at this photo is ZZ Top. I also think about yellow and how it's way too much for one vintage ride, but mainly it's just ZZ on my mind. The band. The beards. The classic cars. It's all here...staring back at me.

This is actually Doug, a guy I don't know all that well. In fact, this is one of the only pictures I have of Doug, standing next to something he lovingly restored with his own hands. He is so full of pride and love. His baby. Doug is no ZZ Top, you see. He's just my dad.

I've mentioned my dad before. The one who left when I was two, showed up again in my life at 19, and hasn't been back since. I'm 35 now (in case you're counting). He calls every few years to tell me he thinks of me often, but his words have never been worth anything, certainly never made of action. He is daughter less guy. I am his fatherless girl.

Yesterday, I met Doug's brother for the first time. Great guy. He's been married to his wife for 40 years with four children and many grandchildren. He's also a minister. He glowed when he talked about his faith and his family. There were some tears, too. 

He cried when he talked about the abuse that he and his four siblings, including Doug, endured at the hands of their step-father after being abandoned by their real father. He spoke of a mother incapable of affection and love. Extreme poverty. No second changes. Hurt, that for years, has gone unhealed in many of them.

I listened. I soaked it all in. I looked at family photos, including this one he gave me of Doug. I only cried once during our visit. It was when he was talking about how he didn't love or hate his own dad, who would come in and out of his life. He mainly felt nothing. I cried because I felt nothing, too. It makes you sad to have that hole in your heart for someone you should love, but simply don't.

It was a tough day yesterday. But it was also good. For the first time, I was able to hear a solid reason why my dad may not have been able to show up to be my dad. It's more than just not knowing how. He may not be capable. And then, even better, I meet someone full of love and warmth that learned to love despite being unloved. It means there is hope for me, too. Hope for us all. The cycle can be broken.

I like this photo. I really do. It makes me laugh to think my dad could really be ZZ Top instead of what he really is. I'm glad he's found something he loves. I have to.

{I Am a Tree Sniffer}

Forget roses. Stop and sniff the trees, my friends. There is nothing better than the smell of pine as you hike in the forest. It is seriously the best smell in the world.

Tree Sniffer, 2013

This is me yesterday hiking at Three Creeks Conversation Area near Columbia. It was my first time hiking this trail and, even though we had to creatively cross a few creeks, I loved getting back outside after a long winter of hibernation. 

I sniffed the tree. Or made love to it. It's hard to tell in this photo, I know, but I love the smell of pine enough to stick my chubby cheeks right up in it's grill. I almost hyperventilated breathing it all in. I think the tree appreciated the love, too.

Today, back to snow and sleet in Missouri. Boo. Hiss. I am posting this picture as a reminder that tomorrow brings a new day, a new trail, maybe even a new adventure. Sniff it. Stick your face in it. Breath it all in. We get no guarantees in this life. 

P.S. This might be a cedar tree. I can't tell the difference between cedar and pine. I just sniff everything. No discrimination here, folks.

Feeding the Beast

The blogs I love post several times a week. Some, even daily. I follow cooking blogs, DIY blogs, parenting blogs, comedy blogs, and even the blogs of a few friends. I love the writing, but mainly I love staying connected. Writers post stuff to stay connected. 

I haven't made a blog post, if I can even call it a blog at this point, in six months. It was fall when I last wrote. Today, I realized it's spring. Well, shit. This totally confirms I'm a complete slacker.

No excuses. Okay, I do have a few (the best slackers always do, right?). Work has been chaos. Kids played basketball this winter, so there was no "off" season. I stopped walking. I started devouring sugar. I took up hot yoga, if you can call taking two classes and puking like a champ after the first one a new hobby. I run from meeting to meeting. I referee fighting kids. Housework is piling up, laundry even higher. 

I feel exhausted. Dried up. A writer with no words to give.

BUT, BUT, BUT....instead of doing the things that restore me (walking) and energize me (writing), I do the exact opposite. I escape into the pages of stories I didn't write and under the comfort of covers to sleep. I scroll endlessly through people's Facebook posts and candid pictures. I research new adventures with intensity, knowing in my heart I will never go. I seek bigger dreams than the life I am living.

Someone said the other day, "We become the creature we feed most." Such truth in this simple statement. What we feed, flourishes. We we nourish, grows. Hopes and dreams are wonderful, but it is our actions and what we practice daily that ultimately defines us.

I guess what I'm trying to say, friends, is I'm not a writer. Not yet. But I'm tired of silly dreams, of others and my own, with no action behind them. I'm ready to feed the beast. Get ready.

{An Imperfect Adventure}

Every kid needs an adventure. Parents, too. So, after school today, instead of going straight home to do homework and start dinner, we fled to the hiking trails of a nearby state park.    

We bounced along trails. We climbed over huge logs. We shimmied closer to ponds to see frogs and fish and floating leaves. We found walking sticks, then picked up even big walking sticks. We hiked and hiked, letting the colors tagged on trees guide our way.

Sound perfect? How about I share a few conversations on the trail and you can be the  judge if it was a perfect day (or if I am even fit for parenting)? Okay, go.

..........

Tuck: This walking stick is giving my penis a massage.

Mom: Excuse me?

Tuck: A penis massage.

Mom: Quit riding it like a broom. It's a walking stick. USE IT RIGHT!

..........

Cooper: We've been walking for a long time. We might be lost.

Mom: We're not lost. These trails are just long and we've been changing trails. We have to keep going forward to get back.

Cooper: I think we're lost.

Mom: We're fine. Just keep walking.

Cooper: WE'RE GOING TO DIE OUT HERE! (He starts crying).

........

Mom: Stop hitting me with your walking stick, Tuck.

Tuck: Oh, sorry, Mom. (Hits me again).

Mom: If that walking stick hits me one more time, I am going to get very angry.

Tuck: Okay, okay. Jeez! You're going to have to get a lot tougher if you want to stay on this adventure.

.......

Cooper: We made it off the trail. Finally! Hey, I don't see our car.

Mom: Oh, crap. We must have come out on a different trail in a different parking lot. I wonder where our parking lot is?

Cooper: Do you even know where we are? (very accusing tone). It's almost dark. 

Mom: Hey, I see a car at the top of the parking lot. It looks like someone is in there. Let's go see if she can help.

Cooper: Tell me we're not getting a car with a stranger. 

..........

Mom: Thanks so much for giving us a ride. Sorry to interrupt your evening.

Nancy (the stranger): No problem. It's a great day for a hike. You're a few miles from your parking lot though. Glad I was here. It's almost dark.

Cooper: Hey, Mom, look at this. It's a vibrating back massager and it works.

Mom: (in an aggressive whisper) Cooper, put that down right now. I mean it!

Cooper: It's got three speeds. It can fly like a spaceship.

Mom: Thanks again for the ride. Did I mention how much we appreciate it?

...........

So, that's it. The adventure. Tomorrow we might go back to doing homework and getting dinner ready, but for today we just enjoyed the sunshine and each other. I'm thankful.

{Crazy Days, Wicked Ways}

When I was a kid, I would get giddy every year when The Wizard of Oz aired on TV. It was such a captivating story of good versus evil. Dorothy was nice. Munchkin land a bit bizarre. And the wizard always turned out to be a big, fat fake. 

But what I really loved and held in high esteem was the the green-faced Wicked Witch of the West. She was loyal (to her sister). She was bold (wearing a large, pointy hat). And she had a cackle that could clear a room. I remember sobbing uncontrollably at the end when she melted away. Goodbye, dear witch.

Ironically, the wicked witch and I have something in common these days. I'm in full meltdown mode, too, my friends. Today was the tipping point, it seems, where I have become the worst possible version of myself. An angry, tired, cranky, yelling, irritated, crying, green ball of goo. Icky to everyone around me, including to my own two flying monkeys, who are, at this moment, in the other room avoiding me.

I'm pretty sure this meltdown is the culmination of a schedule packed way to full, weeks upon weeks worth, and my hormones swinging around like a tee-ball batter at home plate. While I consider myself an optimistic, jovial gal for the most part, today I feel like my ship is sinking. I've run out of steam for the crazy pace of my life. Then I'm sad about it, then angry, then sad, then angry again.

I lost my patience tonight over my husband's blaring reggae music, my son popping bubble wrap, too many people talking at once, no one cleaning their plate, stacks of paperwork on top of the table, dirty socks under the table, brothers fighting incessantly, and the dog licking himself over and over again. AAAAAHHHHHHH! "I'm melting, I'm melting!"

The good thing about a meltdown, I guess, if there is one, is that you get start over. Begin again. Build yourself back up, but at a slower pace. Even make some sincere apologies where due (and believe me, I owe quite a few). You also realize, and this is a big one for me, that the real people in your life will love you despite all your imperfections---the green face, the ugly pointy hat, your cackle. I'm not worthy, yet still I'm forgiven and loved. Hard to give up on something like that.