Emma In Wonderland
This past weekend was full. I learned a couple things about me that I’ve been sort of ignoring a little bit. Saturday was Isabelle’s final soccer game and then end-of-season party. I have learned that I am the farthest thing from a “soccer mom.” Though I am the mother of a soccer player, apparently it isn’t a mold that just slips around you and shapes the mom into a new kind of person. Perhaps there’s been a battle raging in angst to buck the stereotype to blame, nevertheless, I’m not at all like the other moms that were in attendance at the party.
Truth be told, I’m 100% alright with it. I don’t have anything strongly against soccer moms, but there’s just something about them that makes me a little irritable. Call me nuts, but I have plenty of things to talk about besides my kids and the things they have going on. Think me silly to have interests that don’t involve my kids at all. I don’t believe I’m a bad mother for having a life outside of my kids and husband. In fact, I believe I’m being a better mom by keeping some identity.
Another thing I learned this past weekend is the level of not-ok I am. I watched a movie with a girlfriend on Friday night and felt like bawling more than twice while watching it. I was expecting to watch a romantic comedy, which to some extent it was, but it had a very serious element to the story. Too many of those elements were similar to what my Mom experienced. It was rough.
For a few weeks now, I’ve been struggling to keep my emotions under control. I wish sometimes I didn’t feel like I have to, but I do. The holidays aren’t what they used to be. Especially as of late. I have articulated my feelings of woe over not having my Mom here this Christmas, but I really haven’t cried about it. I want to, but for several reasons it doesn’t fit in my schedule.
I had a conversation with my best friend a couple years ago, shortly after I lost Connor, about crying. She told me she either read somewhere or heard on a talk show the importance of safety. The safety in crying. To this day I find that significant. Too often I think we can take for granted the support systems we have around us. There is serenity in that girlfriend, spouse, sister, brother, parent, etc., when you can fall apart and not feel like you can’t gather it up again.
I don’t have a clue how bad things would be if I didn’t have the ear and shoulder of my best friend. She has talked me back from ledges and provided the safe places to land when I have decided to fall. The only thing that sucks about that now is the distance. We talk on the phone almost every single day and there isn’t much we don’t know about each other’s days. She knows how much nicer it would be if we were close enough to hang out with each other and really spill the beans. There’s just a difference between a phone conversation and being able to look someone in the eyeballs when you’re pouring your heart out. It’s safe.
I’ve been here before. I’ve felt like the Lone Ranger before. I’ve fought my fights single handedly. No matter how many times I’ve had to scale my mountains alone, I still long for the ability to just let go.
The year of 2010 is coming to a close and the weight of this year is heavy. This has been a year filled with equal pain and joy. Wrapping my noggin around that is weird. I have the baby boy I’ve been hoping for, but no mother to enjoy the splendor he brings with me. It’s so bittersweet.
I’m about to celebrate my 13th year of marriage to Joshua. Every anniversary feels like a battle won. This year has been one of our easiest yet. I’m looking forward to them getting easier and easier.
Isabelle is embarking on the latter half of her last year before becoming a teenager. Saturday night we went to a company Christmas party and we dressed nicely. I helped her pick out an outfit. When she walked out of the room to grab her shoes, I didn’t see the little girl anymore. From the back, if I didn’t know any better, she looked like a young adult. A little tear filled my eye as I realized, yet again, she’s growing up.
I’ve made a decision for the year 2011. I don’t make new year’s resolutions. This is not one of those, it’s more a new habit. I’ve been keeping a good journal for Alex. I have regretted several times not doing the same thing for Isabelle. The differences between her childhood and Alex’s are radically different. Anyway, I’m going to start one now. I figure I have 5 years left of coaching this kid to become a good adult. She’s getting mature enough to understand things on an adult level. I think now’s a good time to start telling her where she came from in a journal just for her. I’ll give it to her when she moves out. The intention is to tell her about her through my eyes. I can’t tell you how cool it would have been to have gotten something like that from my folks.
Several years ago, I found a letter my Mom had written to me when I was just a baby. I cherish that letter and the words she wrote. She expressed the love in her heart to hold me in her arms. She told me how much she hoped for me and how she was going to do all she could to help me be a strong woman. I am so grateful I have the one letter, but it would have been neat to continue reading her perspective as I started wearing her make-up, stealing her shoes, fighting with my brothers, and the other torment I put her through.
I am going to give that to Isabelle. I hope she’s able to appreciate it.
The flurry of snow in my head is nothing short of a white out. Landmarks come and go to let me know where I am. Things are very manic and truthfully sometimes bi-polar. I’m dealing. I’m doing my best. The best thing I can do is what I’m doing. But, there’s a lingering fear of a pending threshold. I have reached it once before, I don’t want to get there again. The key is to keep some kind of control. If I lose control, I won’t have the luxury of spinning.
