...29(in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:

20.March.2019

It is 3:47 as I sit now to write.

3:47 on Wednesday afternoon.

3:47 on the first day of spring.

The sun is bright, streaming through the windows. It's hit the crystal at just the right angle so rainbows dance up the walls and across the floor and ceiling.

Outside, if I listen carefully, I can hear the chirrup of birds at the feeder. Water-cooler chatter, no doubt.

Here in the house, though, it is silent. Remarkably so.

A towel bundled into the crack where the door and floor meet, dulls the sound of the outside world. The phones are on mute. I've unplugged the refrigerator to silence its whirr and whine.

It is silent, and my boy is asleep.

Napping.

He had...a day... A hard day.

No particular reason.

No particular cause.

A hundred reasons and a thousand causes.

But nothing that one could simply pinpoint and say "alright, let's remove that...let's prevent that". He was, simply, overwhelmed.

There was a quiz grade posted. He took it personally. Not in the "offended" way, but in the personal way of "I am the failure that the grade represents". (The grade was not a failing one...not to you and I...but it wasn't an A, and therefore to him it was failure with a big red F...branded on his forehead.). So he came home. Defeated. Overwhelmed. Self-loathing.

We made it up the driveway, his hand limp and hot in mine. We made it into the house and through the routine of after-school. We even made it through the conversation...the one where I remind him that "grades don't matter. effort matters. mistakes are how we learn."

And then I told him to take a nap. I bundled him up and turned off the refrigerator and muted the phones and blocked the door.

He protested. Nervous about homework. Stressed about the time.

I held firm.

Smoothed back the hair from his forehead. Gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked away.

5 minutes later I snuck back in and he was asleep.

Soon enough, I'll have to wake him. Soon enough, he'll be back at the table and hunched over homework. Soon enough he'll be holding himself to impossibly high standards. Soon enough he'll be listening to some inner voice that tells him he isn't good enough.

But for right now...

He's asleep.

And I can dream that he believes that he is the perfection I know him to be...

...28 (in days gone by)...

  In Days Gone By:
 19.January.2021

While the kitchen tile project was ongoing, I'd the chance to reorganize all the file folder storage that "lives" beneath one of our sideboards and came across paperwork dating back to before I was married. Tax docs, our marriage license and copies of checks to all the wedding vendors, my ex's student loan repayment receipts, multiple certified copies of the restraining order (now expired) against him, etc... Enclosed in one were childhood photos of him that I had carefully placed in an envelope for Johannes at least 15 years ago. So while Henri napped (praise!), Johannes and I briefly sat down and looked through the photos, before he decided to dispose of them.

(As someone who takes a few photos (I kid, I kid) here and there, looking at these was...interesting...)

There's promise~possibility~potential, in those sweet little shots of baby and toddler...in those early teen/peak of athleticism track shots...even in the student and work i.d. cards. But to see them now, it's naught but illusion...a sort-of "alternate reality".

He's been spiraling for years...a vicious cycle of peaks and valleys that damages everyone involved.

From all accounts, he's been off his meds and is back to "self-medicating" with increasingly dangerous substance abuse.
From all accounts, his grasp on reality is in the wind right now.
From all accounts, his health is failing. It's terrible, and it's tragic, and it's...karmic? All that pain he's caused finding it's way back...

Tomorrow, his birthday...yet another year gone and nothing but wreckage to show for it. All the good advice and assistance and flat-out-doing-for-him-what-he-won't-do-for-himself by SO MANY people (myself included) just wasted effort.

And soon enough, a month away, Johannes turns 18. Despite his throwing away those photos and rejecting any "leftovers" (papers, photos, sentimental items), he'll carry this as part of his legacy his whole life. Nothing I have done, can do or want to do has ever erased the damage done by both action and inaction, threatening presence and dismissive absence.

If only it were as easy as tossing photos in the garbage, or shredding old files. If only it were as simple as shutting the door and ending the chapter.

But, you see...one chapter bleeds into the next. One door leads into another space. Everything gets carried on...

...27 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
 16.January.2019

Two nights ago, after staring into the fridge and contemplating dinner prep, I declared it date night.
Mami/J-Bug "date" night.
(Yes, I know, he's more likely to take a Transformer out to see 'Bumblebee' than actually ask a girl out...err...yeah..that first thing...totally happened IRL already this past weekend.)

We hit up the local mall for a window-shopping stroll, and a long non-stroll in the Lego store, before dinner. Light banter, school and peer related, kept things lively as J-Bug wittily described the cast and characters of his weekday life. This kid's got a way with words!

By request (ok, maybe a little bit more demand than request!) we did serious damage to a trio of gluten-free crepes...hello Dulce de Leche...and giggled outrageously the whole while, much to the irritation of our dour, newspaper reading table-neighbor.

Then off we marched, answering the siren call of those massage chairs located at the other end of the mall. (There may have been a teeny tiny footrace involved...and I may have totally lost by not quite hurdling over a planter...but I'm not telling!) So there we sat, while the mechanics got "handsy" with us, and talked grand plans, silly schemes and all things Terminus Industries. Finally, wallet empty of singles and backs made of mush, we called it a night and headed back out into the frigid cold.

I thought to myself, as we headed home, of my newsfeed chock full of my 'Girl-Mom' friends and their shopping trips, hair appointments, mani-pedis...of all the photos that I see stream across my screen of all those precious Mother-Daughter moments.

I thought of them, and of this night and of my own contentment.

It's likely there will never be a little girl with my dark eyes and sharp tongue. It's likely that my dreams of more children will never come to fruition. And there's peace to be found in even that impossibility.

Because this...this life with this son...

That "date" night with Legos and crepes and massage chairs...

Totally. Perfect.

(*and let's be real...mani-pedis? for this control freak? ha! ain't no way I'm sitting down all zen-like while someone manhandles my fingers and toes! #nofomohere)

...26 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
 11.December.2016

 Quiet home.

J-bug is still asleep, his faithful companions Katja and Henry tucked up close. When he's fast asleep, I can so easily fall back in time and remember those days when he was so young and so tiny. All curled up and covered from toe to top, with just a sliver of face out to breathe, he looks no different to me now than when he was 5. And in these moments, I feel no different...no older...and certainly no wiser, than I did when he and I were young.

From where I'm sitting, I can see all the small things I've done to "holiday-ify" our postage stamp apartment. And I can see where his Transformers bleed into the decorations...a mini con left in front of the nativity, autobots and decepticons battling it out amidst my wooden christmas trees.

I'll clean them up later, I always do...

And they'll find their way back, they always do...

Henry will show up in my chair right before I go to sit down. A dinobot will suddenly appear in front of my breakfast.

J-bug will clamber his way onto me, seeking sensory stimulation, all 145 pounds of him clawing his way into attention at the very moment I was going to start something else.

He's still asleep. We've missed church once again. I can't bear to wake him, he needs this rest...the demands of the week are exhasuting for him. And tomorrow, we'll be up by 4:30.

In the silence, my mind whirrs...creating and planning and backing up...forever trying to fill his day with joy, forever trying to anticipate every need.

My coffee's gone cold...again. I'll pop it in the microwave and burn the tip of my tongue on that first hot sip, then set it on the windowsill once more, forgotten. Back in the micro...once, twice, eventually I'll get it right.

I worry, as I sit here, over all the things I can't control and all the things I can. I worry about the moments of failure today, when I answer too sharply or don't respond just right...when he needs me to listen and I don't even hear him...when he needs a friend or a father, but only has me. I worry that we should have already gotten a Christmas tree. I worry that he won't understand why Santa didn't bring him the 3d printer he's obsessed with. I worry that someone at his school full of upper middle class and higher will actually get a 3d printer for Christmas.

And I wait. Wait for him to wake up so the day can start. Wait, quietly reading, quietly typing... Wait. Quietly. As though I only turn on when he has need of me.

So he sleeps on.

My home is quiet.

x

...25 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
 8.October.2022

Tap tap tap.

Fingers on keyboards.

Across the table.

Am reminded, just now, of sitting across the table from Johannes (a different table, with different tech) as he worked on homework and I worked on work (editing) in companionable silence. Chat windows popping up on both screens occasionally, as we politely interrupted one another. The scent of herbal tea steaming into the air around us.

Now we work in silence, together.

Both logged into the same doc.

His cursor kicking mine out of the way.

Occasionally, one or the other of us breaks the silence to "read aloud" (the best editing tool!) and we stop to take a sip and crack those finger joints.

This.

More than I knew to hope for.

...24 (in days gone by)...

In Days Gone By:

 29.September.2018

Swing in our doorway any evening and you might find J-bug on the cello or keyboard. You might find him sanding down prototypes or making resin molds or painting his custom creations. You might even find him drying the dishes...ha!

But, more likely than not, you'll find him in "his corner".
Ensconced in his chair in the corner of the livingroom, tea mug close at hand steaming into the lamplight. He'll be hunched over his laptop, earbuds dangling, frantically typing away with a crease in his brow.

He has...thoughts. Big ones. Little ones. Thoughts that "must come out"!

Last night on our way in to my work, we stopped by T.J. Maxx (as we do) where he waited on a bench while I tried a few things on. He refused to try on the shirts he had found. Fine. No problem. I eyeballed them and acquiesced. At any rate, I dashed in and dashed out, handing over my discards to the fitting room attendant and retrieving my bench-warmer.

"You okay?", I asked.
"Yup." Small grin. "I was thinking. Most of the time. And then I figured it out."
"Figured what out?", I asked.
"Well, I was thinking about God. And Science. And then I figured out the Science behind God. I found a way to scientifically proved that God exists."

Me. Stopped...mid-stride.

"So...how's that work?"

*less than five minutes, peeps...
less than three minutes more likely in the fitting room,
and this is what I come back out to?!?*

"Well, I have to type it out.", he says.
"What do you mean? Explain it.", I respond.
"No", he says. "No, I can't just talk it out. I have to write it down. I can't organize it right in spoken words, not even to you."

So when we came home, I made the tea and he typed his thoughts. I prepped dinner, and his fingers dance across the keyboard at lightning speed. I rang the dinner bell (yes, literal bell. Tiny little silver bell I keep on the top shelf.) and he shook his head. A few more clicks, then done.
My phone chimed. An email alert. I swiped down and saw it was from him.
Invitation to edit in Google Docs.

This. Is. My. Life.
This is normal.
He communicates with me via Google Docs.
Sharing ideas and thoughts and hypotheses.

The email came with a caveat: "I don't have time to write it all out...this is my outline, Mami. What do you think? I'm hungry!"

~~~

"We all believe in some version of how humans came to be . . . but what if all of them were accurate?

Science tells us that homo sapiens came about as an evolutionary adaptation. Religion tells us that humans were based in God’s image.

But let’s start somewhere else. There is a common urban myth that humans use 10% of their brain. This isn’t entirely true, seeing as the human brain is involuntarily used for different things such as music and emotions. Still, though, we only use a fraction of our brains consciously. What if we were able to willingly use more of it? The idea of utilizing an advanced level of intelligence and general understanding has always had its appeal to many, but in reality, it seems fictional. However, there have been examples of more usage, such as unexplained phenomena during medical testing, or major intuition, or even just that extended sense of deja vu, where you perfectly predict what someone will say or do.

Let’s take a look at another interesting fact. Astronauts have proven that your location can affect your age. A person in space will not age as fast as the person on earth, thus proving gravity affects time. And what is gravity, but waves created by miniscule vibrations in matter?

String Theory. That well-founded idea (that still has not been disproven) suggesting that the smallest particles are merely super-symmetrical vibrations forming patterns to create larger particles, which in turn form atoms. This by extension also suggests that all matter (and some forms of energy) gives off a gravitational field based upon the mass and size of the object at hand. Hence why there is practically no pull between humans, but there is one between planets.

Quantum-Based Temporal Manipulation Theory, by yours truly. This idea I came up with, suggest that if one could manipulate the quantum particles, they could manipulate time itself to a degree.
Let’s get back to that idea of using one’s brain. If we were conscious of our own abilities, then we would be able to manipulate time and matter. What if God was human but simply had a full level of consciousness? Theoretically, he could have been an early human, not homo sapien, and forced the evolution of the homo sapiens. Given humans are social beings, that would also explain his understanding people. This is just some food for thought. A feast if you will...

This is what happens when I have free-time. I need more coffee now..."

~~~

Oh yes, people. This is my life. Isn't it awesome?
~One super lucky Mami

(This was Johannes, at 15)

...23 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
19. September.2017

Homework, oh homework,

I loathe you. It's true!

You've ruined my life, and my family too!

You stretch on for hours,

all day and all night,

with the pressure to get all your damn answers right.

He's frazzled and frustrated,

Dazed and confused,

It's only week two and we're less than enthused.

Your "busy work" sessions,

so unnecessary,

do nothing to teach, but make everything messy.

He's already floundering,

exhausted and stressed,

and really you won't help him ace his next test.

If anything, you'll hinder

his curious mind,

and dull his intellect in the daily grind.

So homework, I beg you,

go **** off and die.

You've stayed far too long. Just leave now. Goodbye.

...22 (in days gone by)...

In Days Gone By:
19. September.2017

Just when you're ready to throw in the towel...

Lately I've been wrestling with my commitment to the organization I run. Let's be real-it's been one heck of an uphill battle. Just when one piece finally falls into place, at least four more drop off. Every. Single. Time. Fix one problem, another crops up. Set things in motion, only to fall flat. Or, better yet, ask for assistance and get NO'd to death.

I put countless hours into answering emails, brainstorming new strategies, vetting outside resources, and developing every piece of material from the ground up.

(All while not-quite balancing my actual work, family, etc...)

And yet, here we are a year and a half later and nothing to show for it. I've dumped in my endless (yeah right!) time, energy and money (yes, someone, namely me, pays for every single administrative item from printing to paperclips) and those very people benefitting from my labours and expenses can't be bothered to participate or rsvp or show up.

As I've expressed (loudly) over the course of the last few weeks, I feel as though my hands are tied. If it's not the administration trying to stall our efforts, then it's the other organizations we're building collaboration with. If it's not the other volunteers ignoring emails and tasks, than its the very members who can't be bothered to "opt in" via a quick message.

So yeah, you might say I've had it. Had it. Refused it. Sent it back for a full refund.

And then this evening...

Mid rant (girl's gotta let off the steam after all) I'm cut off and reminded why I'm doing it. "Because look what you made happen...J self-advocated. Who cares that it cost you almost a grand last year? He stood up for himself. Who cares that the money came out of your weekly food budget, or that you couldn't afford to take a vacation? He stood up for others. Who cares that you spent an hour walking to and from another hour's long meeting this morning that you have no stake in, listening to talk of food day vendors and insurance limits when you can't serve so much as a cup of coffee at your meetings without taking it out of your own wallet? Other parents saw what happens when you, as a parent advocate, led by example and raised him to be the bravest kid ever."

So yeah, I'm stuck here in this mire. This endless push and pull to get something new built on solid ground. This firm and steady shoving to put in place a strong foundation for what can be built in the future, long past my tenure as leader. And I'm stuck in my own wallet, shelling out for envelopes and printer cartridges instead of groceries.

And you know what? Just for tonight? That's ok.

I'm used to "making do".

We're used to barely making ends meet.

We're definitely used to rolling with the punches.

So just for tonight, it's handled. Just for tonight, I'm committed. Another chunk of change? Another 40 hours? Sure, why not? It's just another year before we're gone. And in that time...September to June? Who know what he'll watch me do? Who knows what he'll be inspired to do? Who knows who will be inspired by him?

No funds, no line items, no reimbursements?

That's fine, I'll pay for it.

No time or rsvps?

That's fine, the meeting's set and I'll be there no matter what.

One show instead of the 20 expected?

That's fine, quality over quantity.

He's watching me. Watching to see how it's done. I'll be damned if I let him see me give up. Falter? Sure. That's part of the process. Tire? Stumble? Hit a wall? Vent until steam comes out of my ears??? Ditto.

But give up? Hard NO. He's watching, and he knows one truth...

His Mami NEVER gives up.

...first bite...

 6.September.2023

Henri's 1st day of Pre-K (the homeschool edition)

"The beginning is the most important part of the work" -Plato

"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. " - A.A. Milne

~~~

Here's to setting your spark ✨ ablaze and finding your own lifelong love of learning, little one.

Here's to celebrating your unique interests, creativity, and approach.

Here's to developing your intellect alongside your independence.

And...most importantly...here's to you and all that you are becoming!

🍎

...21 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
8.September.2020

My alarm chimed this morning.

(Literally. As in..."Wind Chimes", courtesy of the ringtones/notifications/etc app I downloaded ages ago...back in those "halycon" pre-Covid days when schedules were life and every task had its own tone.)

So chime it did. Sweetly and softly, just barely rippling through the deep dark quiet of 5a.m. I ignored it, silencing the alarm with one hand and the whimper of Henri next to me with the other. Co-sleeping...such a misnomer. He sleeps in fits and starts while I cling to the side of the bed, scared to move. The crib lies vacant just a few feet away. Rejected. As it is every night over and over and over again until I finally give in and bundle him up into the center of my bed...clear off the blankets and pillows...and lay rigidly against the outside, barring any rolling off or cat clambers. The night had been long...barely time to drift between nursing demands. The alarm chimed and I groped about for the phone. Turned off the volume. Rocked my little neighbor with one arm and turned my head, closing my eyes...counting down again...

And then I woke.

But a minute later, or maybe two.

The alarm.

THE alarm.

The first day of back to school...minus the back, the to, and the school. Time to rise and shine and prep for the unknown. Time to wake my Junior.

He picked the time, by the way.

Not that you were wondering.

Time for coffee...served hot and steaming...passed from my weary hands to his groggy ones. Time for breakfast and a shower. Time for a first day photo. Time, more importantly now, for playing with his little brother...squeezing in a book or two and their beloved floor time routine.

Some time later, I stood in the kitchen, my own mug gone lukewarm...listening to the happy baby chortles and sing-song baritone. I'd just finished rearranging the dining area...a bit of the push this here/remove that there swap...to take us from dining to zooming. Small space living is forever a balancing act, now all the more so with another purpose for the room to serve. School. A window into the world, or a window into his private life. Either way, uncomfortable.

Over breakfast I asked him how he was feeling about Remote-Learning. He answered right away...years of life with me must have taught him well...he can guess the questions well in advance.

"So here's the thing, Mami: I enjoy learning. You know that. We're alike. I like new information and new challenges. I like learning. But not school. School is where they teach "the What" but not "the Why". It's sort of like the manuals that come with Ikea flat-packs. There's a parts listing (and you hope all the pieces are there!) and the diagrams, but it's up to the individual student to build it out. And more than that...it's only the instructions for the basic model. You want to customize it? Create something more suited to your lifestyle or your creativity? That's all on you. All you get in the manual-the school is the basic/the average/the conventional. And sometimes that's just so damn frustrating! It's that feeling of "Here's something new and exciting to explore...but, no, we're not actually going to do anything with it".

So it's definitely time to try something new. I don't know if this is it. But it's worth the trying, I suppose. The schedule is way shorter, so maybe that means more time for self-guided learning? I'm nervous what impact the shortened schedule will have on the quality of education. Longer periods but less frequent. Will that mean cramming things in faster, or losing out on some of the material? And assessments? How are they handling quizzes and tests? How will assessments be equitable in this hybrid-schoolyear?

But since you asked...I'm glad to be attending remotely. Wish that had been an option all along. I'm glad to be able to circumvent all the overwhelming 'white noise' of sensory chaos and just focus on the learning."

He answered...and I wrote (in Mami shorthand)...knowing I'd want to see it here in years to come. The moment passed. Breakfast done and the hustle and bustle resumed.

I stood in the kitchen with my coffee, waiting to be called in, and thinking back on all the frenetic first days in the past.

No bus to wait on this morning.

No bookbag to repack.

No supply list posted at the front door.

Just this. Easing on in. Rearranging the furniture and opening the Chromebook.

His school day began when the meeting opened. I watched him raise his hand and wave, a wry grimace of a smile on his face. I watched his eyes tracking across the screen. Heard the staccato click on fingers on keyboard. Saw his head nod and heard him say his name...repeating it for the teacher who still pronounced it incorrectly...marking himself as "present".

I caught his eyes briefly, the smallest acknowledgement that he was "good to go", before I whisked Henri from the crib and wrestled him into the carrier for our walk.

While the newly christened Junior watched (literally) his school-day begin, the junior and I headed down the drive and walked in the cool damp of early morning. Back and forth. Forth and back. I spoke nonsense to him. He played at enraptured audience. We breathed in the fresh air and heard the birdsong. We watched squirrels flirt and wrestle. We stood, both with eyes gone wide with surprise, as school busses drove by.

None of this even remotely like what came before.

...20 (in days gone by)...

In Days Gone By:
6.September.2017

As I continue to struggle through the growing pains brought on by all the heartaches and heartbreaks that hit me this past year, I look to this image daily to remind me...

that what was never intended won't ever be,

and that I was never going to find a place to settle in and settle down.

I will always only ever be this perfectly imperfect.

Rigid where others bend,

generous where others withhold,

sympathetic where others judge,

broken where others are whole,

strong where others are soft,

out of place where others fit in...

...19 (in days gone by)...

  In Days Gone By:

5.October.2022

Parenting:

You plan, and decide, and expect.

You create a series of check-points, of milestones, of goals.

You pour energy into creating rituals and rules.

You spend 10 minutes asking your toddler to put his book on 'the chair',

(the recliner in the background)

even going so far as to stop-drop-swoop

(him up from where he's walked away, ignoring you, dropping the book again)

while picking up Everything Else he's left in his detritus-wake.

You boil...inside...wondering when life ended and this hellish rinse-repeat of cleaning up

The Same Mess

every hour on the hour replaced it.

And then...

'Ta Da!' he says.

Ta Da! Perfect T. Perfect D.

(Speech therapy win, but that's another story.)

Ta Da, and pride and pointing...at The Book...perfectly balanced on The Chair.

(Precision of language, Mami. Buckle up...you're in for another bumpy ride!)

Ta Da!

Here's to Happy Accidents...and being proud of creative rule 'following'!

Never change, Henri!

...18 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
3.September.2019

 For those whose children went "back to school" this morning:

Some of you are exhausted.

Your summer was hectic and busy.

Your child's vacation a thing to work around...filling up all their moments by pouring every last drop out of your own cup.

Some of you are excited.

Your morning full of the same frantic fervor as your child's was.

New school supplies and new outfits and new teachers and new adventures!

Some of you are relieved.

The schedule resuming "normalcy" is like a siren call...you've been impatiently waiting it out all summer long, watching as your child floated, tetherless and unsecure.

Some of you are heartbroken and heart-filled.

The bus pulling away from the curb...a sign of more change, more growth, more time passing despite your best efforts to hold onto this child in this moment at this time.

To each of you...a hug...a high five...a smile that we alone can understand.

A wish, shared freely, that our children will all have a good "First Day" and that this schoolyear will challenge their intellects but not break their spirits.

...17 (in days gone by)...

  In Days Gone By:
5.September.2018

The Freshman, 15: My alarm chimed at 4:30am ("Never Enough" from The Greatest Showman as a riff on my lack of sleep) and I made it from bed to kitchen with nary a misstep...where I then stood in front of an open refrigerator in complete fog...contemplating lasagna.

Yes, lasagna.

And cake.

And finally, the fog cleared a bit and my brain woke up and remembered...breakfast.

Coffee made...ouch, too hot, from reheating...the handle of my mug leaving a red mark on my finger.

Alarm #2-"Transformers"

"The Son Also Rises"

He's annoyed at my chipper..."why are you being so cheerful?", so I drop the pretense and hand over his coffee.

Into the kitchen proper then....ingredients out, utensils ready, food prep underway.
While this and then that were frying and boiling, quick scroll through the phone for updates and emails. Silent groan at the inbox. Sip...calm...repeat. Fresh press of coffee, tea to steep, OJ plus probiotics whisked (ugh), water. Plating food, cutting fruit, tray ready.

Breakfast...refills...shower...alarms every two minutes as I knock on the bathroom door signalling him to move on to the next step: soak, soap, rinse, shampoo, rinse, face, rinse, etc... Double check that the clothes are laid out-had to spend 1/2 hour last night going over options. Knock...2 minutes...knock...2 minutes...knock...

Finally the squeal of the water turning off and the "I love you, Mami" as he comes out. It's a question, not a statement. I love you, Mami? Meant to elicit the same response... I love you more. I love you the most. Not possible. Possible. Not probable. Probable. Inconceivable. Conceivable. Incomprehensible. Prehensibibibi-bibbidy-bobbity-boo-I-Love-You!

I wash the breakfast dishes while he gets ready. Print out a second copy of today's schedule and write in the class name, room and teacher next to each time slot. Tear the house apart looking for his keyfob: the one that has a pill dispenser for his rescue remedy and another for his earplugs. MIA!!! Why didn't I do this last night? Where's my replacements? Wait...one last spot I didn't look...Found it! (Pat myself on the back for being a genius...ha!)

He's ready-ish...still teeth to brush (sensory processing dysfunction anyone?) and hair to brush (ditto).

Alarm #3-"Tokyo Ghoul remix" elicits a grin from him.

The alarm name: "Beginning of the End" gets me a pair of rolled eyes.

We grab the stack I've put together by the door: pad, pen, glasses case, key fob, water bottle...walk down the drive and contemplate the meaning of life, the fear of navigating new hallways, and the ongoing existence of the same kids who bullied him for the past 9 years. I check my phone far too frequently...noting every passing minute past the scheduled bus stop time. Worrying that he's been skipped. He chatters on about his latest design, filling the empty morning with sound to drown out his nervousness. I run through my checklist mentally, then verbally. Step by step directions for him.

Brakes squeal as the bus pulls up across the street. I grab his hand...motherhood 101 makes me firmly grip him and say "look both ways" as though he's still a toddler. We make our way across, aware of the annoyed drivers stopped in their morning commute. He puts one foot on the bottom step, then turns..quickly...to peck me on the cheek...before disappearing into the shadows of the bus. The driver mumbles at me...something about when and where to expect him later on. I smile, nod, wave...walk back across the street to wave and smile as the bus pulls away. My hand finally drops...sagging....my smile drops, too. I feel...empty...

One foot in front of the other...I walk...1/2 mile down, 1/2 mile back. The world is quiet. I see the golden glow of morning sun on the leaves and grasses. I stop and wait a while, watching a cardinal in the bush as he watches me.

I see a doe in the distance, back by the tree line...with her young one. I see my shadow on the road and remember when his barely came up to my knee. My arms itch for a moment, the way they used to when he was a baby and I missed him while at work.

He'll be home, soon enough. And I've things to do before the bus returns. Back up the drive and in to the house. Picking up the bits and pieces of a busy morning. Log in to my work-site while I refill my coffee, all the while my head is with him...my heart is with him. He leaves, and I split in two...

He'll be home, soon enough. With a list of things we've yet to buy. Supplies needed. Ideas he's had. Drawings he's scribbled while there.

15. Today. At Freshmen Orientation. 15, and on to high school. And my arms itch at the thought. If I close my eyes, he's a baby again...a toddler...a kindergartener...a 6th grader...a guest speaker at Rutger's. If I close my eyes, he's all the boys he's been before...and when I open them...he's all the ones he's yet to become.

...16 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
19.August.2018
 "A very merry un-anniversary to me!"
14 years ago, I came through the fire...I was scorched and scarred and broken into a thousand pieces. But I was free...and so was my son. On this day, all those years ago, a beautifully thoughtful person gave me the one best piece of advice I have ever received. She told me to take the day off...to pick my son up and reclaim the day for us....for our family that wouldn't be here had I not willingly walked into that line of fire.
18 years ago, there was a dress...and an aisle...family and friends, and hope~faith~trust.

18 years later, there's today: Wellerding Family Day. There's a boy who made my life worth the living of it....there's a family-beautifully broken and down to just two but so imperfectly perfect...there's the hope we have for OUR future, the faith we have in each other to get through anything, and the trust that comes from knowing there is no moment so bad that we can't rise above it if we support one another wholeheartedly.
There are likely those of you who don't understand...who never will...why my son is such a miracle to me...why I speak so passionately about him: He might not have been. I almost lost him. His life was almost nothing, when my husband pushed me down the stairs.
Abuse leaves wounds beyond the visible ones. I walk through this life missing pieces of myself. I always will. That pretty girl in her pretty dress with stars in her eyes haunts me still...

But there is something important: I won! I got out...and away...and I saved the two of us. And I get every damn day of the rest of my life to celebrate THAT. To live this life with this son...this family.
And that girl...in that dress...she's the reason we get today. She took those steps down that aisle and created a marriage that created a family.
So every year, we see my wedding anniversary on the calendar and in bright bold ink we write "Family Day".
Go ahead...congratulate us! Wish us well!

...15 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
17.August.2018

In the light of morning, and the comfort that the fresh start of a new day promises, I choose this:

“Brokenness is just like beauty; it's something we wear and carry, and if we let it define us, it will. But we are not our beauty or our brokenness, because souls are not made of beauty or brokenness. Souls are made of something permanent. Souls are made of truth.”

Your choices broke me...the fractures and missing pieces so visible when I look at the landscape of my life. You stole choice from me, violently and purposefully and sadistically, leaving me to navigate life as a series of reactions instead of decisions. I lost myself in the definition of your actions...in the endless stream of could have-would have-should have...

And it was nothing to you....not even a ripple. No memory keeping you awake in fear...no echo of words when you looked in the mirror.

Those hurts...those fears...those anguishes that you inflicted; I bore alone.

And that's fine...they purified me...they polished all my sharp edges and made me into someone who could roll with every punch.

But today, I choose something else. Your words last night cleared the pathway for me...all that rubble you left in your wake is suddenly nothing but dust. My self-worth was never tied up in you after all...your inability to see it didn't actually negate it.

~~~

And, ps- his success has NOTHING to do with you!