Seriously, I hope I'm not the only one with my digits turned upward towards the Heavens.
Because these last few weeks, being that Mom who is grounded, centered and balanced has totally eluded me.
Any and all of our child(ren)'s emotions, may or may not be felt at any given time, or ALL at once. And don't forget, depending on how many offspring you have, could contain your very own variation of:
1. Extreme test taking anxiety
2. Enthusiasm for life in general, because everything is AWESOME
3. Disappointment for life in general, because everything is not always AWESOME
4. Motivation and drive to be better at anything and everything
5. Overwhelm at their sense of responsibility, and getting it all done
6. Pride in performing well in a game/match/tournament
7. Confidence that they "got this"
8. Only to be followed by nervousness, of maybe, I don't really "got this"
9. Fill in your blank here.
It's safe to say my girls are tethered to me, like a boat to the dock. I can't help but feeling all of their emotions. It's like once they exited my womb, we became connected forever...and ever. 'Til death do us part.
Lately, this cocktail of my children's emotions, feels like heavy anchors, strapped to my wrists and ankles, pulling my limbs into the abyss. Down, down, down, I go. My body never to be recovered from a deep, dark, dense and murky body of water, that suffocates my very being.
Yeah, this is the chapter of Motherhood in "What to Expect When You're Expecting", this has been deliberately left on the cutting room floor.
In fact, just yesterday, Charlie was drawing pictures in the dust on our coffee table.
Yes, you read that right.
When I asked what she was doing, she answered, "Oh, just drawing all the things in the house that are broken, Mama."
Well, this left me a little confused. Was she referring to the random chunks of missing paint and drywall, that our Beast, Bo, has pawed off from his rolling, and frolicking, and knowing HE doesn't have to fucking re-paint the wall?
Or was she drawing my kitchen drawers that randomly come off the rollers, and in my frustration, are placed on the counter until um, I don't know, until we re-model. Move? DIE?
Or maybe she's showing her artistic side by portraying my drapes that hang heavily with dust, and cobwebs, and grossness that comes with a family of seven, and splay from a Beast that eats the inside of houses "just for fun".
I haven't even HIT on the mismatched lock on the front door, or the juice stained, paw printed, pee stained carpet, but I think you've got the gist.
Poor Cosette. She had not an inkling that Mommy was feeling a bit emotionally overwhelmed...until she broke my last good coffee mug right before school on Tuesday.
Nothing like sending your 9 year old to school, with red rimmed, glassy eyes, because her Mom lost her shit, over something stupid.
And then there is Emma. I give huge props to Emma because she is pretty much living, like she's out on her own. But she doesn't have to pay rent. Or buy groceries. Or pay the cable bill.
But Emma all in all, she is extremely responsible. I never really check the Parent Portal for her grades, because, well, the two times I have, she had solid A's. Emma gets herself to and from school. Packs her own lunch. Takes the initiative to email her teacher, and then ask me 50 times, if she has yet replied.
But Emma is also my kid, who has a bit of anxiety. I mean, we all do, right?
But Emma takes it to another level.
Let me give you an example: PE is swimming this week, but NO white suits are allowed.
Guess what color suit Em has? White. Guess who schlepped themselves to Target, followed by Ross, searching high and lo for a NON-WHITE bathing suit, in the middle of October, on a Sunday afternoon, only to completely strike out? Us. Guess who needed to email her teacher, when we arrived home, to ensure that she wouldn't be in trouble for having a white suit? Emma.
So there I was at 5:45 AM, the morning after the NON-WHITE bathing suit debacle, curled up on the couch, prepping for my day. This is code for: coffee (in a plastic tumbler, because I was out of coffee mugs), snuggles with Bo, and prayer.
Imagine my surprise, when Emma stumbles into the living room, big ol' head of hair askew, and says half awake, but more asleep, "Mom, I have GOT to turn in my Tech-Crew theatre permission form."
WTF, right??!! Can't she see that I am trying to be ZEN? To have a moment with the Great One. To keep my dog from eating the walls?
But the story gets better. We turned this form in a MONTH ago. I know this information, because she stood over my shoulder, stalking me, waiting and watching, wearing her anxiety like an old pair of jeans, making sure I wouldn't forget to sign it.
But somehow, someway, it never made it to the correct location.
Let's just suffice it to say, I sent another one of my children to school with tear stained cheeks.
Two for two.
No, I'm sorry, supportive Blog Reader, you can't have the "Parent of the Year Award". Michelle Walsh already holds the title for: MOST CHILDREN SENT TO SCHOOL CRYING BECAUSE THEIR MOM LOST HER SHIT OVER STUPID STUFF.
I don't blame you at all if you're wondering about Abby and Bella emotional state, at this point. Quite honestly, the twins are navigating the waters of Notre Dame as Freshmen, quite well. But between balancing the academic workload, playing competitive Volleyball for the first time, carving out time for peer tutoring because they need that extra support, and fulfilling their obligation of work grant, due to financial aid...well, let's just say, there have been a few meltdowns.
Them! Not me: yet. But I'm pretty sure, there are plenty more on the horizon, for all of us.
As a Maternal figure, as the Matriarch of the family, how do we stay balanced, centered, and grounded?
I am finding myself taking on other people's emotional states, when I can barely, weather my own.
A dear friend, that I have known since Kindergarten, diagnosed with Melanoma.
Another sweet, young, Mama, only 38, batting Breast Cancer, with four littles at home.
And yet another friend's Mom's struggle with Lung Cancer. As my girlfriend described her Mom's symptoms, it felt like I was re-living Foxy all over again.
I want to throw up my hands, and say, "I can't do this, Lord. I am not qualified. I am ill-equipped. I am not good enough."
So I came to this epiphany: either start drinking everyday before noon, OR, join the Women's Spirituality Group offered at ND, that meets on the one of two mornings that I get to sleep in.
I CHOSE THE WOMEN'S SPIRITUALITY GROUP! Geez.
And this is what happened at my first meeting: I bawled.
As we sat, that lovely group of 20 women in that circle, and we settled in the peace that evades me almost all of the time I am breathing, I actually felt it.
You know...the calm. The quiet. The solitude that I, probably much like you, am so very thirsty for.
Even when I try to pray at home, I fail. My wheels turn, and spin, and I start thinking about clean underwear, and whether we can make our mortgage payment, and non-white bathing suits.
But for the first time, I felt it. The very solitude of these women, tethered to me, in an uplifting, life-giving, way.
Their energy centered me, balanced me, and grounded me.
And I bawled. Not like the ugly cry, but still.
And so, dear ones, I am not sure how to handle all of these milestones with my daughters. I am not in least bit convinced I know what the hell I am doing. But as I fell into bed next to Tom the other night, he told me these heart-felt words:
"You smell like Home. And summer. And all things good."
In that moment, I realized, I don't need to have it all figured out. As long as that man is by my side, we will do this dance together.
And I slept soundly.
