Nighttime is the Hardest

Since my children were infants, I've loved watching them sleep.  I remember when they would dream as tiny infants; they would often whimper or smile.  I always wondered what could crease their little brows in worry or bring such glee when they couldn't even smile voluntarily yet while awake. As they grew, I marveled at their perfection as they breathed quiet even breaths with those beautiful lashes splayed on their little pink cheeks.  Some nights I stood guard, smoothing back fever dampened hair from hot little foreheads. Even when they were old enough to be annoyed or embarrassed had they  known.... I did it; I still looked in on them...sometimes I even stole a kiss from their sweet sleeping foreheads or laid a hand on their chest just to make sure it still rose and fell. Every night I would quietly peek into their rooms to check on them one more time before I headed to bed myself.  When they were old enough to stay out late, I didn't sleep well until I knew they were in their beds.  Seeing my babies tucked safely and soundly into their own beds made it okay to surrender to sleep myself.  This is why nighttime has become the hardest time for me.

I still kiss two of my babies good night, but two of my sweet babies tuck themselves in now.  The first week they were off to college, I don't think I slept more than 3-4 hours at a time.  It was so unnerving for me to not be able to see them quietly dreaming in their own beds.  It has gotten easier with time, although I still find myself waking up more often in the middle of the night.  There is one thing that I find especially helpful.  Every single night, when they are finally in for the night...sometimes early in the morning...they each send me a good night text.  It makes my heart happy to know that saying good night to me is important to them too...I feel loved and necessary and comforted.  No, I can't tiptoe into their rooms anymore, but the last thing I see before I finally fall into my own sweet slumber is a good night and I love you from two of the people most precious to me.  Knowing they are safe in their dorms lets me sleep easier, and my texts back to each of them...even at 3 am, are my way of stealing that sweet kiss from their foreheads and making sure the blanket is tucked just right.  Texting them sweet dreams and  I love you is my new bedtime routine...it assures that they are what I take to my own dreams each night.  Oh how I long for the nights when I could gaze at those sweet dreaming faces by the dim light of the hallway light...nighttime is the hardest.

Turbulence in Translation

Disclaimer: This entry is meant to demonstrate how irrational I have felt at times.  If you said the words I mention, please know I was not truly offended at all and I very much appreciate your support and friendship <3

I began fretting about my kids leaving for college the day of senior high school registration.  Until senior year, childhood had been about celebrating firsts.  First words, first steps, first lost teeth, first dates...even some bad "firsts" were note worthy...first colds, first skinned knees, first heartbreaks.  The "firsts" etched themselves on my heart and left me with promises of more childhood milestones.  Senior year reared an ugly head that left me reeling.  Senior year was suddenly about "lasts"...last homecoming, last musical, last performance with their younger brother, last prom, last night sleeping in their beds as my baby girl and baby boy.  Every "last" during their senior year drove the knife of their imminent absence deeper.  Of course, as a woman often does, I turned to my friends for comfort.  Some of my friends also had children preparing to graduate and cried with me. Some only had younger children but cried with me at just the thought of what they were to eventually face.  Some had been through it before and cried with me because they still grieve for the time of the "firsts".  I am eternally grateful to those ladies who shared in my sorrow.  However, there were moments when my clarity wasn't what it should be. There were moments when well meaning friends left me with my fists balled at my sides, huffing small tugs of breath, while biting my razor tongue and concealing my momentary insanity.

"You still have two more at home." No kidding asshole!  I also have two kidneys and two arms.  If I lost one of either, I'd be pretty damned upset!  Don't you think I am aware that I have two more wonderful babies at home? Guess what!  Two things. 1. I am also having two babies LEAVE home. 2. This means eventually the other 2 babies will leave as well!!! Shut up.

"But you must be so proud." No kidding again!  Of course I'm proud; I'm proud beyond words at the wonderful, beautiful, amazing people my children have become.  Which means I really enjoy their company...the company that is LEAVING. Shut up.

"You gave them wings; you raised them to be wonderful adults."  Ummm, wishing I could clip those suckers about now.  Shut up.

"Don't worry; they are going to do amazing." Listen up.  I am NOT worried.  Of course they will do well; these are my babies.  I didn't say I was worried; I said I was sad.  Do you have reason to believe my children might not succeed? How dare you insult my babies. Shut up. (I realize this one is exceptionally irrational...extreme Prozac moment here.)

Now, don't get me wrong.  These people are good, kind people; they are all still my dear (and quite patient) friends.  I know they meant to be comforting, supportive and complimentary; the same words at a different moment in time would have been exactly those things.  It's just that at that very moment,  somewhere on the road of synapses headed toward my rational brain their "reassuring" words were detoured by my broken heart and hit just a bit of turbulence in translation. 

How Could They?

There are days that as a mom I struggle. I look around at other moms and envy their ability to have it all together.  Completed scrapbooks with correct dates listed for each memory, homemade bake sale treats tied with pretty little bows, star athlete children with straight A report cards, sparkling clean mini vans with fancy little organizers bearing wet wipes and tasty snacks, family game nights without a single child breaking down into tears at an unfair rule, joyful, patient baking sessions with children standing on chairs that actually result in edible cupcakes....the list could go on forever. Right now these things don't bother me at all.  Who cares if my scrapbooks sit unfinished, who cares if I throw store bought cookies in baggies the morning of the bake sale, who cares if my kid just plain doesn't give a darn about his science grade and swings the bat with gusto...only to miss one more time, who cares if my mini van looks like I live in it AND am a complete slob to boot, who cares if I HATE playing board games with children under 12 even if I carried them for nine long months lovingly in my womb, who cares if baking with my children always felt a little like sticking pins in my eyes (I did it anyway by the way).  Who cares about any of these things because two of my children did the unimaginable.

I never dreamed they would do something so hurtful.  It has left my belly filled with so much sadness that the baking seems like Heaven, and I'd gladly play three million board games. What did they do you ask?  What could be so terrible?  Saying the words out loud burns my throat and sends tears rolling down my cheeks every time, but I'll tell you anyway.  I'll tell you because you need to be warned.  Your children could do it to you, and you too will feel shocked, devastated and blindsided.  My two children.....they grew up!

How could they do this to me?  I drove them to college yesterday.  I helped them set up their dorms.  I took them to the book store.  I filled a shopping cart with all they could possibly need...and a lot they probably didn't.  I hugged them both as tight as I could.  I left my heart (times two) standing in front of a dorm building, waving goodbye with one hand while clutching last minute jugs of fabric softener in the other hand. Then I drove home, blinded by tears. I didn't know I could drive without a heart; hell, I didn't know I could survive without one. So, now I'm starting this blog because I think if I speak the things in my head aloud, people will think I've gone insane.  So, this is my blog...uncensored, raw, true emotion, anything that runs through my head as I grapple with the letting go of my two oldest children. Stay if you will, but don't judge...blogging is cheaper than therapy.  Besides, I'm working without a heart...I left it three hours north yesterday.