Adulting

Mom

Starting my day, in those early years, was not something I did alone. She was there. She went before me into those fresh new hours, praying and preparing the way. She worked and toiled in ways only mothers do, and softened the world with words and warmth that only mothers mean. I didn’t know back then, what a rare gem she was, because she was mine and as much a part of my life as the breathing and being that happened without my consideration.

She made hot breakfasts for my brother and I, and I can still smell them anytime I close my eyes and point my mind. I remember the birthday cakes and the back porch, the rope swing and the sound of that old piano. There were family dinners around a family table, and joyful notes floating up from an old silver radio.

I knew she loved me, truly, fully and forever, even in the turbulent beginnings. She did whatever it took, in every circumstance, to make sure I’d be okay.   She paved my life with goodness and with the will of her words, created so many things in me that I’ve yet to fully uncover.

I grew up and away and still she woke early, praying and paving, distance never deterring. When I came home from time to time, she patched my wounds and built me up and when I left once more she cheered me on through lonely proud tears. Somehow, slowly, as the raising and rising between us finished, something new and better began to take shape. As I became a woman, we two became friends, and what a lovely unexpected gift!

There were lunch dates, and shopping, and phone calls and fun. I found new comfort in her love once the fixing was finished and the seeing began.  I thought then, with a happy heart, that we were as close as we could be. I was wrong, in the most surprising and special way.

Slowly, suddenly and all at once my own daughter arrived. With a flutter of her lashes and a gentle rose petal sigh, she came into my life and rearranged the edges of my soul. Seeing her, gave the world new purpose, and me a new perspective on it. I felt for the first time, what was in my mother’s eyes, so true and deep and beyond my grasp until the world held within its fragile folds, children of my own.

I see your example and hear echoes of your kindness in these fresh early hours. I feel the weight that sat on your shoulders, and I know what your heart holds. I walk through these turbulent years with gratefulness and hope because you walk through them beside me. You still patch me up when I come around, and pave the way forward with wisdom and love. The mark you made, that you’re still making, created and then changed my outlook on life. I see the impact your quiet love has had, and I can think of no better gift to give to my own children.

Thank you, from the bottom of this grown child’s heart. I love you more than this one life could contain.

Your Daughter

The Glittery Nurse

Renovating Beliefs

An unimaginable tragedy crashed into my family recently and I watched from afar as the brokenness and pain drew my loved ones away from their differences and towards each other in a mutual search for some way, any way forward. All the struggles and difficulties in my life were suddenly white washed and insignificant as the horrific news reached me, and the truth of what’s important and real came so painfully into focus. I looked on in awe as my family members were lovingly embraced in a monumental way by, of all things, their church. They came together and stood taller because they were united. The beauty and strength I witnessed in that, was so large and so vivid that I immediately recognized its absence in my life, and it’s opened up something in me that I put aside long ago.

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A Flowering Vine

When people ask where I’m from, there’s a fleeting moment of uncertainty when I’m abnormally aware of my hands, standing lost and unsure of myself as I decipher the twists and turns of my path and try to pin down my origins. Eventually I collect myself and answer in one of three vastly different ways, depending on the questioning party. And then I act all nonchalant, pretending that the simple inquiry hasn’t just thrown me off my game.

Here are the three levels of answers to that massively complicated question:

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Talk About It And Bring Tissues

Happy International Women’s Day! How did I not know that was a thing? This is a holiday I could totally bedazzle and get behind. I would’ve thrown a fabulous party and made some buffalo chicken dip had I known. Ah well there’s always next year. Unfortunately there were no celebratory shenanigans around here. My daughter and I did get to spend the entire day together, but not because we set out to be extra supportive or empowering. We just happen to both be pitiful and sickly. Turns out we have a gnarly case of the snot plague. Our faces are leaky and our throats are hateful lava holes. It’s pretty gross and I think it’s best if we hold off on trying to be profound or inspirational, at least until all the lisping and mouth breathing subsides. Next year, all bets are off.  We’ll inspire and empower and profound the socks off of next year’s Women’s Day! Go team!

During my travels to the various doctor’s offices and pharmacies today, I noticed several newish vehicles with in-memory-of decals on their back windshields. I don’t entirely understand the sentiment behind a rolling memorial like that and, given my lack of knowledge on the subject I want to be especially careful not to judge. Here’s the thing: I think we need to talk about these uncomfortable topics. Really get in there and talk about them with the people we love and those who care about us. Bear with me here. I’m headed somewhere.

For the sake of setting that uncomfortable conversation in motion, I’d like to hereby state for the record that I will straight up haunt anyone who tries to remember me by plastering my sad death date on the back of their car. Just no. There are a thousand ways you’re allowed to memorialize me: donate my organs, scatter glitter, plant a tree or some happy flowers, write a poem, go on a dolphin cruise, or light some paper lanterns and get weird about the twinkly night sky. All of those things are completely acceptable and appreciated. Just know that the back windshield tombstone is not how I want to go out. I’m glad we got that straight.

While we’re on the subject of uncomfortable end of life wishes, lets really get in there and get awkward about it.

Organ Donation

I know. It’s a touchy subject. I completely understand why you feel that way, but this is a conversation that absolutely needs to happen, so hang on to your keyboards and follow me.

Full disclosure, I am one hundred percent PRO organ donation. If I’m no longer alive enough to use my organs without the assistance of machines, I would be honored to pass on anything worth having to someone still in need of mortal things like lungs and livers. That being said, I wouldn’t judge you for making a different choice due to your values and beliefs, provided that choice didn’t come from a place of misunderstanding or fear.

This is a very personal decision and you should take the time to fully research and understand your options. The thing is, just making that decision is not enough. You have to sit down with the people close to you and tell them what you want. Did you know that even if you’ve designated yourself as an organ donor on your driver’s license or in some registry, your next of kin can negate that decision in your final hours simply by objecting to it? It’s true. I don’t necessarily agree with that, but I understand why it happens. It would be cruel to tear a family apart by going forward with donation despite objections.

That’s where you come in. You have to talk about it, more than once, with more than just one person. If you really want to make sure everything goes as planned and there are no hard feelings or lingering questions by those left behind, set up a power of attorney! Put it in writing so that great grandmother so and so can’t derail your wishes by saying you hated needles when you were two. Also, have a sit down with your great grandmother so and so and tell her what you really think. It’ll be good for you guys. She might think you’re crazy and newfangled but that’s okay because you already know she’s strange and crotchety, and you still want to be just like her when you grow up. You love each other. So talk about the important things while level heads can prevail, and then talk about it some more just to quiet the pesky doubts that tend to grow unnoticed in the dark silence.

I’m too snarled up and sickly to be articulate tonight, so do me a favor and follow this link for some hard core organ donation feels.  There’s more where that came from. Get you some of this, and a big helping of this too. I’ll share my tissues. My daughter and I have plenty of tissues today what with the leaky faces and the snot plague.

Sniffle Snort,

The Glittery Nurse

The Birding of a Prius

I feel like birds are slightly predatory. They’re always dive bombing boats in search of crumbs, stalking beach goers and their coolers, screeching and hollering for no apparent reason, and lying in wait above freshly washed cars.

There’s a wall of giant windows on the left side of my classroom, and I’m frequently distracted by the disturbing antics of the resident bird population. There’s a wily herd of dark little birds who frequent a leafless tree near the parking lot. Every day, they flock there in massive numbers and the desolate tree comes to life with the flutterings of sharp beaked creatures. It would be beautiful if it weren’t so scary and gross.

Birding2

 

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