a morning discourse
to get me through the last day.
she gives in. i win.
when one of her five
desires the same gender
will she change her mind?
families surround us:
single, married, divorced, set–
love makes children grow
not biology.
(we’ve been friends forever now.
we have climbed mountains).
valleys take their turn.
she will judge, blame, point fingers.
i will love, love, love.
All three of my children were born in the evening. If you are a mother, you can acknowledge the significance of this. They were twenty-one months apart, so when I had my third, my oldest was just three and a half.
The first two spent their first night in and out of my arms, crying because of a reaction to the pain medication I’d taken during labor or because she was THAT starving.
But Riona?
I barely heard a sound from her… for EVER.
She lay next to me in the bed for all of that first night. She murmured a little, nursed a little, and settled back into sleep, happy to be near me.
And so it began. The ending of my motherhood with the child who came into the world as peaceful as a lamb.
And that is why I am crying now. Because you didn’t take a moment to see her. To listen to her soft calls, to her murmurs in the night. Because you thought an eight-almost-nine-year-old’s protests meant nothing.
What you. DON’T UNDERSTAND. Is that SHE never protests. She gives in. She listens to her older sisters’ whims and plays along, whether she really wants to or not. She fits into the jealous eye of her eldest sister, who often teases her because “no one can ever be as nice as Riona.” She is just like her father, same birth sign and all: born with a pure heart, giving, generous, willing to sacrifice all for the love of those around her.
Riona is the one who, back in March, cried herself to sleep because I told her we couldn’t afford camp this year. Riona is the reason I have sacrificed four weeks of my summer for summer school and home visits and Spanish class, all in the futile hope that I could pay for that one week of camp for all three girls.
So. NO. I do NOT want to hear that you “lost” her paperwork, sent in the SAME envelope as my other two daughters. I don’t want to come back from 50 hours of class in 5 days to hear that my youngest daughter was told she was leaving on Tuesday, was not allowed to participate in any camp activities because of this even though she ADAMANTLY TOLD YOU SHE WAS LEAVING ON FRIDAY AND YOU NEVER CALLED US TO CHECK, was told her camp store account was EMPTY WHEN SHE HAD $16 DOLLARS LEFT AND COULD HAVE BOUGH CHAPSTICK FOR HER DRIED LIPS, or that she was just… some other eight-year-old.
Because she’s not. If you could see her, really see her, for the gentle soul that she is, you would understand why I can’t stop crying. You would understand why I have given up half of my summer for my daughters to have the experience that you have now stripped from her. You would understand that a protest from a small voice should be THE LOUDEST PROTEST YOU HAVE EVER HEARD.
But you are not a mother. You are eighteen years old and have yet to learn the reality of this kind of pain.
And that is why I forgive you. Because Riona would.
one call changes all
fifteen years of wait lifted
our family’s lost weight
A couple examples of the diversity of South HS, our city, and our society: one family had a 105-year-old Caucasian great-grandma, a 70-something grandma (a South alumnus), an adopted son from Vietnam (also a South alumnus), his Vietnamese wife and freshman son.
Another family lived in a duplex. On one side lived two moms. We walked through the younger son’s bedroom to the other half of the duplex where the two dads lived. They are all raising two sons.
Both families received us warmly and had well-spoken, artistic, athletic children who want to come to our school for its friendliness and DIVERSITY.
These are eye-opening experiences. You can see firsthand that the only thing that really makes a family is LOVE.
If you took a moment to really see what it’s like on the other side of closed doors, your whole worldview could change. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
this news sent so quickly in the midst
of my latest sacrifice (summer school)
brings it all together–
the twelve plus years of parenthood
where each of us stepped out of our careers
to stay home
to be there, wholly be there,
for every waking moment of their childhood
(it was mostly him,
a remorse i will carry
long after they have left the house)
and three years back,
when i made that choice
to carry this family to Spain,
and all the weight of it
that i have carried since
(was it the right choice?
was it worth the debt?
will we lose our house?
are the girls’ schools good enough?
have they lost every speck of Spanish?)
all of it comes full circle with his text:
I got the job.
The REAL job.
The DREAM job.
the job he’s been waiting for
since he stepped out of the barracks
and into The Real World,
where he was offered contract after contract
(no benefits, no real hope)
and was better than most of the company employees
(and better than any man you will ever meet)
and here we are.
seventeen years into the marriage.
twelve and a half into parenthood.
a stay-at-home chef, hairstylist,
chauffeur, housekeeper, computer technician,
financial analyst, tax adviser, veteran,
TELECOM TECH.
here we are, dream-of-dreams,
full circle, lifetime opportunity later.
and it was so worth it.
so, so, so worth it.
a flooded river
can’t keep pedals from the path
when at last there’s sun
yes, it’s in the blog.
everything you can’t recall.
that i’ve recorded.
that is what it’s for.
hard drive with screen. ready. use.
measure me my life.
they’ll come. and they’ll go.
but you and i? together
peanut butter, fluff.
my breakfast today:
on soft wheat bread that you bought
with our love dollar
younger girls’ voices
marred by oldest’s attitude
they just want to sing
i just want to hear
all their tiny voices sing
like when they were tots
concert on the green
plagued by rain, adolescence,
unforgiving looks
at home, peace returns
Daddy’s voice sings poetry
as he says goodnight
the oldest studies
in her hole of happiness
escapes into books
my voice escapes me
don’t know how to talk to her
no voice of reason
will she hear my voice
when in my dreams, she listens?
gives voice to my joy?
we all have choices
to hear the ‘tude or the song
listen… sweet voices!
The campground we paid $57 to reserve was covered in snow. Bruce texted me at 2:52 and said we had to cancel. I thought of six devastated girls and my Jordan National Forest upbringing. “Just drive down 285. Surely there’s something.” He reluctantly agreed to meet me in Buena Vista. At 8pm, we pulled into our non-campground, no-bathroom site and fixed Spanish dinner by 19:30. 😉 The next morning it rained/hailed for 3.5 hours, ending with a frightening lightning storm when I said, “Kids, get in the car! NOW!!” And I blessed the lord to let him drive…. Up the road and into a mud pit. He screamed, cried out, “Our brand new car!! Why did I do that?! Why did we come on this trip?!!” And I opened my door, stepped in 7 inches of mud, and walked 100 yards to a camp full of 4-wheel-drive fanatics who came with their tow line and Jeep Rubicon and pulled all 8 of us, Pilot and all, right out of that pit of hell. And he drove reverse for a quarter mile (something I could never do) and the hail melted and the rain stopped and that’s. What makes a marriage.
so the opposite
mud lightning storm Pilot stuck
i’ll step in the mud
you will cry, complain
say this trip is time’s vengeance
but i will find help
through lightning, thunder
better than sickness and health
i will walk through mud
and find solutions
to every last thing you hate
yet me you soooo love
and i will get help
and tow you from hell. and back.
my love is that. deep.
misadventure? tale.
that is my thought as i walk.
you and i? tale told.
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