I was on the phone today when a friend asked me if I saw crazy Ann Coulter’s latest ploy at media whoring. In all honesty I had not seen whatever asinine thing she muttered because I have been busy, and really she does not rate me raising my eyebrow anymore.
‘uhhhhh’ I stuttered…now mind you I have no problem explaining ‘gay and lesbian’ to my son at all-but my mind was still reeling from having dodged (like an idiot) the lynching question.
’sometime when girls marry other girls (ok, that’s a stretch) and boys like other boys people say they are gay and lesbian’
Holy crap what a horrible explanation!
No idea why I said ‘marry’ when I am all for living in sin -other than the issue of gay marriage has been weighing heavily on me as it’s one of the only things I’m unhappy with Senator Obama about…and why I switched to ‘boys like other boys’ is entirely beyond me too.
So later after hanging up the phone and watching some Tom & Jerry I thought I would approach the subjects again and attempt to redeem myself,
‘Honey remember earlier when you asked me what ‘lesbian’ meant and what ‘lynching’ meant?’
‘Mom look at this cool wheel I made-what if I shoot it like a rocket outside on the grass….’
…and he ran out the back door to play in the yard.
We did the cake. We did the presents. We did the hoopla.
He was beaming all day and I was making a huge deal out of his ability to have accomplished 5 years of living.
Inside I was dying.
I spent the day in fear. I spent the day in denial. I put on a happy face but inside I was in PAIN by his big boy bike. His wanting to shut the door when he went to the bathroom. His growing up.
I don’t care what my job is supposed to be and I don’t care what sort of label you want to throw at me-THIS SUCKS.
It hurts. I’m not a fan. And I’d like it to stop.
The entire time I was encouraging him to sit on the new bike and test it out, and he was protesting that it looked too big and was too wobbly, I was thinking ‘it’s ok baby boy, don’t be afraid, Mom is here, don’t do it if you don’t want too, just come sit on my lap and lay your head on my shoulder and cuddle with me.’
I suck.
I stood there thinking to myself ‘god if you can’t handle the wobbly big kid bike I can’t possibly let you out there into the world and let you see how horrible things are, how your heart will be broken, how people will be mean, how sometimes your stomach will be in knots, how life can be very shitty…’
I was sick. SICK.
My children make me feel very weak. The kind of weak that could turn me into some insane helicopter mom who homeschools and layers the walls with foam. The kind of weak that makes me throw every ounce of common sense out the window in favor of whatever will keep my children in ignorant bliss for eternity.
It hurts too much. IT HURTS TOO MUCH.
Of course I gently coaxed him on that bike and eventually he was riding around the culs-de-sac and life was just happy happy but I couldn’t shake the amount of fear that came with this birthday.
Real school is around the corner. Big kids who bully. Teachers who may or may not find his quirks endearing. Expectations. Disappointments. Triumphs.
I ache for every moment yet to come that causes him to pause. I yearn for every moment passed that seems now to have been so much easier. I want nothing more than to stop time and pretend as though none of this is happening.
I feel like a failure of a mother for entertaining these thoughts and trying to will them into reality. Like if I blink hard enough I can poof us all back to when my biggest fear was him hitting his head while learning to walk.
I’m not good at this. I’m just not. I spend most of my day trying to keep them busy so I can ignore them and the other half complaining as I deal with them. Then I have the gall the be upset at the passing of time and the reality of children becoming adults. These small creatures bring out every weakness I have and throw it on the table for all to see, dripping in emotion and exposing what is best, but mostly what is the worst, inside my soul.
Tonight I watched my 5-year old glow as he blew out 5 candles. I watched his little sister, eyes as big as saucers, ready and willing to take her turn at the cake in 6 days when she turns 3. As I discretely exhaled harder to aid the extinguishing of the flames I wished right along with my baby boy.
Keep him safe. Make this hurt less. Make me strong.
It was when I hung my children’s coats up in the closet it really hit me.
Their tiny 2T and 4T coats.
I took the hanger, slipped it into and through sleeves of no more than a handful of inches and suddenly was overcome by the passing of time.
I don’t notice it often. Life is usually going too fast and I can’t be interrupted with these emotional thoughts and fancies. There is money to be made. Bills to be paid. Appointments to keep. New technology and emerging ideas to conquer.
We all do it. We all get caught up in that thing called life. Routine.
Then I hang up a few coats and it all stops.
Those tiny coats.
They are not as tiny as they used to be. We’ve gone from one-piece, snapped, leg-less sack coats to small jean jackets and windbreakers hastily thrown on the floor next to tiny backpacks and worksheets.
Pneumonia has slowed me down, and while I spend another day on the couch I wonder why I was going so fast. It’s exciting to be involved with things that don’t involve Playdoh or Elmo. Trying to get in front of all the amazing things happening in the world today from historic elections to emerging technology.
Then my daughter crawls up on my chest and lays her head in the curve of my neck and nuzzles. Her long and lean legs now dangle so far…too far. My son asks to be carried to bed and I clumsily attempt to wrap his almost 5-year old legs around my waist and we struggle up the stairs.
I come back down to tidy up backpacks, and school notes, worksheets, paintings, toys, and coats.
Those tiny coats.
Shutting the closet door I sigh. Shutting the closet door my heart hurts. I won’t carry them soon. They won’t cuddle much soon.
Those coats will soon fall off those hangers from their weight and size. The ideas and thoughts and personalities will take the bodies that fill those tiny coats from dependent to independent and I will have done my job.
I open the closet door again to just touch those coats. Those tiny 2t and 4t coats.
I miss them already and ache.
I make point to lock, into my increasingly forgetful mind, the mental image of those tiny coats, one next to the other, draped and looking generally absurd on those adult hangers.
I breathe deeply and touch their sleeves and shut the door again.
Those tiny coats.
Next week, and the week after, and months and years after that, I’m going to remind myself of those coats over and over and over again.
And once you are finished deciding between Red or Blue, or Pink or Purple…come watch my interview with California Congresswoman Maxine Waters at BlogHer.com.By the way, I have pneumonia, and now that Super Tuesday is over I shall go to bed until November. Don’t look at me like that, it was SUPER DUPER TUESDAY in the most historic election in my lifetime, and I did most of my work from laptop at home in my pj’s.
Going to bed now. For real. Might leave election coverage on tv…but closing eyes….I swear…
