Today I cried those secret mama cries. That's not unusual. A couple of days ago I cried a little when I saw my son's little truck in the backyard and realized he had not played with it in years. There was one time that he pushed that truck or his little cars and it was the last time. And it went unnoticed by me. The last time.
That made me sad.
Then, in my seemingly usual neuroticism, I gave myself a mental tongue-lashing as I thought of the mamas (and daddies) who have lost their children and would give anything to see their babies "move on" to the next phase. Sentimentality and Guilt usually reside equally in my brain.
Today, my tears were for my oldest. She is an old soul with a vivid imagination.
Earlier this year, my 12-year-old daughter lost a tooth. She put it under her pillow. Three days later, I asked her if the tooth fairy had come. She said, "No. I put it under my pillow the first night, and nothing. So the next night I put it by my lamp because I've grown a lot and I figured my head might be too heavy. She still didn't come. I don't get it."
Bless. her. heart.
Remembering this, and knowing that it is time, I took her out for a girl's day recently. Just the two of us. I was lamenting the fact that we parents have to crush the magic for some kids- but I recognized that it is a responsibility that we must shoulder. As we sat at a cozy pizza joint, I talked about growing up and how it can be hard, but it can also be wonderful. "The magical things that you believe when you're little? You find out that they aren't real, but then you get to watch the magic in the eyes of your children. Or your baby sister." She thought about this for a split second and said, "Mom I like childish things. I like to be a child. I don't want to get bigger. I don't."
I dropped it.
I reconsidered.
No.
Maybe I was wrong to release this opportunity so quickly, but I analyzed her response and reasoned that she really knows. She knows. But she doesn't want to give it up. And why should I make her? I don't think she argues Santa and Fairies at school. She keeps to herself, has few (close) friends, and basically gets her work done. She enjoys life and lives in a world in her mind that I sometimes envy. It's a world that also frightens me, as I don't understand it and I shudder to think of the pain that could break her sweet spirit.
Today I took her shopping for jeans. We went to the mall and I immediately went to the 7-16 Girls section. We found some 14s and headed to the Junior section. I have to say- this is the first day I have actually shopped with my daughter in the Junior section. I found some size 0s and 1s and 3s, not knowing which girls' size converted to what. She came out of the dressing room. The 14s were too short. The 1s fit great. To make matters worse, she found a dress that she loved and it was a size 3. She tried it on and it was precious. Not precious in a look-at-my-little-baby way; she looked like a child fast becoming a young woman and I was standing there watching her beam at herself in the mirror. I could not imagine how that reflection posing was MY BABY. The girl who likes being "childish" most of the time, but who asks when she can wear make-up and wants high heels every time we pass a shoe department. The girl who meticulously cleans her face every night and sighs in frustration at the tiny pimples or blackheads that make small appearances on her T-zone. I turned around so she couldn't see me get teary-eyed at her innocent joy, at her blossoming image, at her loosening grip.
I do often get sentimental when I think of Sarah. What an easy, fun girl I have had! I miss three-year-old Sarah trick or treating with an enthusiasm that made strangers laugh. I miss her exuberant five-year-old self. (Oh- You should have seen her as a piggy dancer in her kindergarten circus performance!) I miss the nine-year-old who followed the nurse underfoot while she studied her baby sister. I know I will miss this 12-year-old one day, too.
My girl is growing up, and it is a privilege to see who she becomes.
After trying on the age-propelling dress, I encouraged Sarah to find some cute Junior shirts to go with her Junior jeans, and she was not interested in any of my suggestions. She was not interested in cute or trendy. (Or maybe, in her mind, antiquated?)
She excitedly got a Frozen t-shirt.
I think I will enjoy today.
Friday, August 8, 2014
Monday, March 31, 2014
Clay
When I was in high school, my first job was life-changing really. My (private) mom called me and told me that Gail needed a babysitter for her two boys. I knew Gail by name only. She had worked with my mom at a local hospital in the same department. My mother had left that job to go to work for Gail's husband, a local physician. Mom liked them, it was Summer, and like most 16-year-olds, I needed the money. I also happened to love kids, so I agreed.
I met these two little boys, and thought they were precious. The two-year-old, Edward was so smart. He talked so well- in full paragraphs- and I was amazed at his vocabulary. The baby, Clay, was two-months-old and he was a perfectly fat baby with big dark blue eyes. We played chase, played in the backyard, and had a great time. The baby would drink his bottle, and when he got sleepy, he would throw his arm over his eyes. He wanted no light at all, it seemed. I thought it was adorable.
After the first few times I babysat, Gail made a proposition: would I want to go work at her husband's office and help Liz, the employee who filed the insurance claims. Absolutely! Gail checked with my (private) mom and it was agreed. The great part about the job was that if Gail needed me to come babysit, she could just call the office. It was a win-win. (Except maybe for my private mom since I was anything but....)
The weeks became months. I fell in love with the boys. The whole family, really. They were in the process of buying and renovating a house, and I would often come over and babysit while Gail was running errands or meeting contractors for the house. I laughed when Edward only wanted to have chicken a la king for lunch. I thought Clay's fangs were adorable when he cut those before his top two middle teeth. I picked Edward up from his Mother's Day Out class at the church around the corner on occasion. I took pictures of them, went to birthday parties, and eventually asked if I could just use Gail's camera to take even more pictures of the boys even if she was gone, to which she agreed. (Before digital. I can't imagine how many I would have taken with one of those!)
I babysat while their parents went out on weekends and I would laugh as Edward hid behind the couch, afraid of the Wicked Witch- every time-even though he chose that video. I thought it was precious when Clay-not yet 18 months old- would boo and hiss at the television when Cruella Deville's shadow appeared in the doorway. I laughed when Clay called me "Shamie" when he couldn't pronounce his "J" and I re-learned his nickname when he called himself Clay-ton (rhyme with "on") the Crouton, copying his daddy, and we all went back to "Clay" or "Clayton" so he would know his proper name. I laughed when Clay, seeing his mother's disgust that the stubborn cat had, once again pooped in the bathtub, went to the door and said, "Throw kitty? Throw kitty, Mama?" (No cat was ever harmed for any concerned about Zibby.)
Eventually, I went on vacations with this sweet family and spent a lot of time at their house. They treated me so kindly. The dad joked around with me at the house and at the office. He got frustrated with me at times, too, but I deserved it. He was a detail-oriented man with a very laid-back babysitter. I loved him and Gail and they were good and fair.
The boys had the same birthday, two years apart. Edward and I got along splendidly, but as Edward grew and went to Preschool and then to Kindergarten, Clay happily tagged along as second siblings do. He had the cutest toddler walk and those eyes got lighter and lighter blue. Eventually Clay went to the Mother's Day Out class and I got to watch them grow. It was the best job! I was being paid to do exactly what I wanted!
When Clay was not yet two, he locked himself in a small bathroom toilet area that had a pocket door and I could not get the door unlocked. I went around to the window, and there was no way I was getting through there. Gail and Dr. E had gone to an important meeting. I didn't dare page them. (This was before texting and cell phones.) I finally called the contractor, Mr. Gary, who came over and let Clay out of the bathroom. I talked to Clay the whole time he was in there, while visions of him plunging forward into the toilet and drowning wallowed in my head. (This is the same contractor who pulled the car out for me when I got it stuck in the mud at the end of the driveway.) I had exciting times with these boys!
When Edward was about five, I happened to be babysitting for another family and I was dropping their little girl off at a slumber party. A child there asked if we knew Edward because the cops were at his house because he was missing. I panicked. I put the other child back in the car, and shaking involuntarily, I drove to the house less than two miles away. I prayed and cried. I know the little boy in the car with me probably wondered what was wrong with me. I told him everything was fine, but it wasn't. My Edward was missing! When I pulled up, there he was. Gail had been crying. Dr. E. looked anxious, but Edward was there. Safe. Relieved, I got out of the car and just hugged him. It was then that I realized how badly I was shaking. For his part, Edward did not look happy. He would not tell anyone where he was, though they knew he had been in the house. He didn't respond in the house when the police called him, but as the K9 dog was smelling one of his shirts from the dirty clothes to get a good scent, he appeared. The whole thing had upset him, and the next day he told me that he had fallen asleep beneath the claw foot sofa in the formal living room and just hadn't heard them.
Ball games. Legos. School performances. Movies. Dinosaurs. The town fair (where I paid for them to be in an antique western-themed photo for their parents for Christmas). I even had a photo album of just these two precious boys.
When the boys were 11 and 9, I moved to Austin. After years of ball games, swimming, and movie nights it was a new beginning for me and it was time to move on. A year or two later, the family came to Austin and Clay wanted to come out to our house and spend the night. (I was a newlywed then.) The winding roads made him sick to his stomach. I told him he might want to reconsider being a fighter pilot, joking with him.
I had babies and the boys got older. I visited when I would go to town, but as they became teenagers, I didn't think a couple of big boys would want to see little toddlers running around. I did keep them when their parents went out of town and I brought Sarah with me while I was pregnant with Brett. A couple of years later I went to Edward's graduation and we went to dinner afterwards.
I didn't see them but a couple of times after that, but Facebook hit the scene around then and I could message them. Most of the time they didn't respond right away, but eventually I would get a response. Clay sent me a message on my birthday commenting how I had kept him and Ed in line. (He was "Ed" now. Sniff.) He would be in Austin in the near future and would I want to meet him? Of course! How is school? Graduated! No- can't join SEALS because of a past broken jaw. Going a different route. Excited! And my last message I sent Clay was wishing him Happy Thanksgiving. And I told him that my kids were in the car watching 101 Dalmatians and it always reminded me of him.
On January 31, after shopping for something to wear to my brother's rehearsal dinner to be held that night, I got home and my husband was on my heels following me back to our room. My sister told the kids to go outside with her. I thought Randy was upset that we were running late. Oh, I wish!
"Honey, I'm going to tell you something and you're not going to like it." He looked different.
"What?"
"Clay died."
I met these two little boys, and thought they were precious. The two-year-old, Edward was so smart. He talked so well- in full paragraphs- and I was amazed at his vocabulary. The baby, Clay, was two-months-old and he was a perfectly fat baby with big dark blue eyes. We played chase, played in the backyard, and had a great time. The baby would drink his bottle, and when he got sleepy, he would throw his arm over his eyes. He wanted no light at all, it seemed. I thought it was adorable.
After the first few times I babysat, Gail made a proposition: would I want to go work at her husband's office and help Liz, the employee who filed the insurance claims. Absolutely! Gail checked with my (private) mom and it was agreed. The great part about the job was that if Gail needed me to come babysit, she could just call the office. It was a win-win. (Except maybe for my private mom since I was anything but....)
The weeks became months. I fell in love with the boys. The whole family, really. They were in the process of buying and renovating a house, and I would often come over and babysit while Gail was running errands or meeting contractors for the house. I laughed when Edward only wanted to have chicken a la king for lunch. I thought Clay's fangs were adorable when he cut those before his top two middle teeth. I picked Edward up from his Mother's Day Out class at the church around the corner on occasion. I took pictures of them, went to birthday parties, and eventually asked if I could just use Gail's camera to take even more pictures of the boys even if she was gone, to which she agreed. (Before digital. I can't imagine how many I would have taken with one of those!)
I babysat while their parents went out on weekends and I would laugh as Edward hid behind the couch, afraid of the Wicked Witch- every time-even though he chose that video. I thought it was precious when Clay-not yet 18 months old- would boo and hiss at the television when Cruella Deville's shadow appeared in the doorway. I laughed when Clay called me "Shamie" when he couldn't pronounce his "J" and I re-learned his nickname when he called himself Clay-ton (rhyme with "on") the Crouton, copying his daddy, and we all went back to "Clay" or "Clayton" so he would know his proper name. I laughed when Clay, seeing his mother's disgust that the stubborn cat had, once again pooped in the bathtub, went to the door and said, "Throw kitty? Throw kitty, Mama?" (No cat was ever harmed for any concerned about Zibby.)
Eventually, I went on vacations with this sweet family and spent a lot of time at their house. They treated me so kindly. The dad joked around with me at the house and at the office. He got frustrated with me at times, too, but I deserved it. He was a detail-oriented man with a very laid-back babysitter. I loved him and Gail and they were good and fair.
The boys had the same birthday, two years apart. Edward and I got along splendidly, but as Edward grew and went to Preschool and then to Kindergarten, Clay happily tagged along as second siblings do. He had the cutest toddler walk and those eyes got lighter and lighter blue. Eventually Clay went to the Mother's Day Out class and I got to watch them grow. It was the best job! I was being paid to do exactly what I wanted!
When Clay was not yet two, he locked himself in a small bathroom toilet area that had a pocket door and I could not get the door unlocked. I went around to the window, and there was no way I was getting through there. Gail and Dr. E had gone to an important meeting. I didn't dare page them. (This was before texting and cell phones.) I finally called the contractor, Mr. Gary, who came over and let Clay out of the bathroom. I talked to Clay the whole time he was in there, while visions of him plunging forward into the toilet and drowning wallowed in my head. (This is the same contractor who pulled the car out for me when I got it stuck in the mud at the end of the driveway.) I had exciting times with these boys!
When Edward was about five, I happened to be babysitting for another family and I was dropping their little girl off at a slumber party. A child there asked if we knew Edward because the cops were at his house because he was missing. I panicked. I put the other child back in the car, and shaking involuntarily, I drove to the house less than two miles away. I prayed and cried. I know the little boy in the car with me probably wondered what was wrong with me. I told him everything was fine, but it wasn't. My Edward was missing! When I pulled up, there he was. Gail had been crying. Dr. E. looked anxious, but Edward was there. Safe. Relieved, I got out of the car and just hugged him. It was then that I realized how badly I was shaking. For his part, Edward did not look happy. He would not tell anyone where he was, though they knew he had been in the house. He didn't respond in the house when the police called him, but as the K9 dog was smelling one of his shirts from the dirty clothes to get a good scent, he appeared. The whole thing had upset him, and the next day he told me that he had fallen asleep beneath the claw foot sofa in the formal living room and just hadn't heard them.
Ball games. Legos. School performances. Movies. Dinosaurs. The town fair (where I paid for them to be in an antique western-themed photo for their parents for Christmas). I even had a photo album of just these two precious boys.
When the boys were 11 and 9, I moved to Austin. After years of ball games, swimming, and movie nights it was a new beginning for me and it was time to move on. A year or two later, the family came to Austin and Clay wanted to come out to our house and spend the night. (I was a newlywed then.) The winding roads made him sick to his stomach. I told him he might want to reconsider being a fighter pilot, joking with him.
I had babies and the boys got older. I visited when I would go to town, but as they became teenagers, I didn't think a couple of big boys would want to see little toddlers running around. I did keep them when their parents went out of town and I brought Sarah with me while I was pregnant with Brett. A couple of years later I went to Edward's graduation and we went to dinner afterwards.
I didn't see them but a couple of times after that, but Facebook hit the scene around then and I could message them. Most of the time they didn't respond right away, but eventually I would get a response. Clay sent me a message on my birthday commenting how I had kept him and Ed in line. (He was "Ed" now. Sniff.) He would be in Austin in the near future and would I want to meet him? Of course! How is school? Graduated! No- can't join SEALS because of a past broken jaw. Going a different route. Excited! And my last message I sent Clay was wishing him Happy Thanksgiving. And I told him that my kids were in the car watching 101 Dalmatians and it always reminded me of him.
On January 31, after shopping for something to wear to my brother's rehearsal dinner to be held that night, I got home and my husband was on my heels following me back to our room. My sister told the kids to go outside with her. I thought Randy was upset that we were running late. Oh, I wish!
"Honey, I'm going to tell you something and you're not going to like it." He looked different.
"What?"
"Clay died."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)