I am your mother but I am also your friend. You and I talk about everything ... or so I thought. You tell me how your day went, I listen and I ask questions. I am always intererested in your life. Sometimes you let me read your journal, your e-mail, your texts and we are friends on Facebook.
Today I read the note you were going to give to your boyfriend. You didn't ask me to read it, didn't give me a copy and I really can't explain why I decided to do it. You didn't hide it, it was right there in plain sight. Did you want me to read it?
I am shocked. I had no idea things like that were going on with you two. I know you just turned fifteen and he is sixteen and the whole raging hormones thing is going on but I felt like someone hit me in the chest with a sledgehammer.
I have high hopes for you, I respect you and I want you to respect yourself enough that you won't let your boyfriend talk you into going any further than you two have already gone.
Please don't do something that you will regret.
I wish I could talk to you about this but I don't know how to bring it up. I don't want you to be angry with me for reading the note, don't want you to feel like I don't trust you and that you can't trust me. I want to tell you that I've been there and done that and I wish that I hadn't because it's not love, it's lust that makes you both feel like that. Going further will only hurt you. He's already hurt you and if you two get back together and you give in to his desire for sex he will hurt you more once he gets it and then leaves you again.
Please, please listen to me. I love you and don't know what to do.
This is the week I am finally potty training you.
I know you can do it, despite what people, including me, have said in the past!
SO! I have stickers, candies, chips, soda, apple juice, cupcakes, and cheese to bribe you. I have movies, games, songs, puppets, and two week old kittens for us to play with.
We are going to do this kiddo.
Autism or not, we are going to potty train you before your sixth birthday.
I see it is far past time I introduced you to one of the guiding principals of parenting. That principal is "Wait A (insert expletive if desired) Minute."
You see me unloading the dishwasher. You see me reloading the dishwasher, trying to puzzle things in for maximum load. You've seen me do this several times. You know it takes a little while.
You are a very helpful daughter, and I love you very much. You want to help, and I am grateful. You're trying to make dinner: thank you, sweetheart.
But could you just WAFM until there's actually room to work? And/or until the chicken you want to cut up, bread, and fry has thawed enough so that you (or I) can actually cut it up? And maybe give me some time to wash the pan you want to use?
I love you very much, and if you don't learn to wait you're going to get the Death Voice. And you've had a difficult day, with more ahead, and I really hate using the Death Voice. A few minutes and I won't have to and you won't have to hear it.
Love you, Mouseling
That lady who's way behind on the housework because of working nights.
Dear Little Girl:
You crawled in bed with me this morning for some snuggle time, and as I kissed your beautiful little face and played with your fluffy fly away hair, and as we talked about your tiny new tooth coming in, (I wish I knew where you put the baby one you lost last week), I reflected about how different it was for us this time last year. This time last year I was nervous and frustrated about the upcoming open heart surgery you were to have, counting off the things I needed to do before we left, things I wanted to do, praying, pacing, etc.
You however, were serene this time last year. You played contentedly in the peds surgery room, not worried that the surgery was pushed back 4 hours from its original start time and then pushed back two more hours because someone in the ICU had a cardiac emergency that required your fabulous surgeon's attention. You didn't seem to care that you hadn't eaten or had any water since the night before. You were quiet and calm; I think you knew that we were taking you here to make you better. When they were finally ready for you and when the nurse came to get you, you awed and amazed everyone by quietly taking her hand and walking down the hall to the OR with her, away from your Daddy and I. Even while I was scared and worried about the surgery and praying for the outcome I thought I could only dream of, (the repair of your mitral valve and not a replacement), I still was in awe of you as you so trustingly walked away with the nurse to a room that, once you woke up, would leave you several days of pain and discomfort.
And now, a year later with a fully repaired mitral valve, (my prayers and those of all others who love you were answered), just look at you now. You still have the almost miniature doll-like face, but you've grown 3 or 4 inches, have gained 8 pounds, are talking up a storm and continuing to wow your cardiologist with the constant decreasing size of your left ventricle and the calmness which you approach any doctor visit.
I try to tell you often, even though I'm not sure you quite understand, but I'll put it here for public knowledge. I am so glad you are my little girl! I think you're an angel from Heaven, but then maybe Mommy is biased, I don't know. Whatever the case, thank you for choosing me as your mother. I am honored to be so and hope and pray I do the best job as a mother, since you deserve nothing less.
All my everlasting love,
your proud Mommy!
Today I met another kid who reminded me of you. A lot, and in good ways. Like you did a few years ago, this person was wandering far from home, having an adventure in a big city. The fact that *this* is his version of "big city" is rather cute. He was not dressed for the weather, in spite of it being January in Flyover Territory. Does that sound familiar? He wasn't sure where he was going, but he wasn't afraid to ask bus drivers and total strangers. He wasn't shy about complimenting babies, being teased a little, and telling people his name. Remember when you were 14 and used to dig holes in your hoodie sleeves for your thumbs to stick through, and holes in your pants knees that showed the layer underneath? Yeah, him too.
It was hard to not get off the bus and walk him to where he was going, just to be sure he got there OK. He shook my hand and said, "I hope I can meet you again." I just said, "See you around!" And I will, when I see you, or someone like you.
I'm going to go listen to "RENT" now. It'll be "Voice Mail #1" and I'll sing it perfectly. You're not here to sing your part, but that's OK.
"That was a very loud beep
I don't even know if this is working
Mark - Mark - are you there
Are you screening your calls -
We wanted to call and say we love you..."
Kiddo, you've been having Adventures In Stress lately. You're right, being a grown-up IS hard. I won't be jumping in to save you from everything, because I never did. You're getting by, and you've got friends who are making sure you keep on doing fine. Still, a parent worries. I think it's built in, but I'm going to call my dad and see what he thinks.
Dear Baby Girl,
Christmas ornaments are not for human consumption. Not the foot that broke off the frog, not the googly eye that fell off the penguin. Christmas ornaments are not for human consumption.
Your nanny, who found said googly eye in your diaper this morning
Dear Baby Girl,
Cat food is not for human consumption. Cat food is not for human consumption. Cat food is not for human consumption.
Your disgusted nanny
Darling Drama Queen:
I'm sorry things have been so hard between us over the past few weeks. I do want respect from you and I do want a nicer attitude from you. I am trying very hard to be patient and to work with you on being better by being the best I can be. I'm not perfect, but I'm trying. You've got a long way to go, but you're trying.
With all that said, I love you so very much.
I cannot believe how beautiful and big you are, not my tiny snuggly baby anymore, but still as beautiful and lovely as the day you were born.
You're cute, funny, nonjudgmental, not prejudice, tolerant of others. I love your sweet voice when you belt out those awful rock songs you like. I love hearing you sing them. I love your shrieks of delight when you get a school project done or when something funny happens on TV, and your screams of terror when you see a bug.
You're such a complex, complicated, delightful, irritating, loveable, sweet, gorgeous, stubborn and magnificent girl.
Thank you for letting me be your mom.
Thank you for these eleven and a half years, for all the good times, and even for the few bad times. It's because of you that I'm the good mother that I am, to you and your little sister. Thank you for showing me that I could be a mother. Thank you for coming into my life.
I will always always always love you.
Since I figure most of you are going to be able to spend time with your mothers or children tomorrow, or are going to spend time on the phone with those same mothers or children, I'll say it now.
Happy Mother's Day.
Thank you for the love you share and demonstrate to the people you have brought into your family through bonds of marriage or friendship or adoption. Thank you for the wiped faces, the cleaned-up messes, the long talks when it's a struggle to stay awake or to stay calm. Thank you for your influences on your children, your emulations of your parents, and your strength of personal character to blend the love of others into something uniquely your own. Thank you for the patience, the rules, the advice.