On Being a "Good" Mom

I have always considered myself to be a pretty good mom.  I am laid back but have high expectations of how my 4 children should behave.  We are currently THE house.  The one that the teenage boys flock to after school to play the sport of the day.  Usually there are at least 2 extras around for dinner and it makes me smile when they call me mom (even though I can't claim them on my tax returns).  

A few weeks ago, my son told us that in health class they learned how to properly put on a condom.  I wasn't sure how to react so I replied with the token, "really? hmmm."  He proceeded to explain how they did it and said that anyone can buy a condom no matter how old they are.  My son is 14 and in 8th grade.  My husband (who is usually a little too lenient for my taste) felt that it was too soon to be teaching this to our firstborn who up until last summer thought that it was against the law to have sex until you turned 21.  My opinion tends to allow for information with conversation.  It is fine to learn about condoms, as long as I can be an involved parent.

I was just chatting with a co-worker about high school looming in the distance. She said that her spouse was emptying the garbage in their son's room and found a condom.   Really this didn't surprise me.  I am not naive and I realize that the majority of high school students are sexually active.  Again, my thought is to give them the necessary information to make responsible choices.  

Then last night I was completely caught off guard.  I had dinner with a friend and her son who is a high school senior.  This young man is a popular, varsity baseball player.  We talked about a variety of subjects including the obvious- girls.  He said that he didn't want to get serious with a girl at this time in his life and that he is waiting to have sex.  Wow.  Wasn't ready for that.  

My desire to be a "good" mom, one that is easy to talk to, a mom that can get along with all of my son's friends led me to forget what it means to be a mom.  It concerns me that I may be inadvertently supporting pre-marital sex by encouraging this openness with my son.  My generation needs to remember that although we are different than our parents, and that we must remain abreast of the times,  we must still give our children the guidance they need to make good choices. Their choices.  Not only do our children need to know how to put on a condom, but they also must know about abstinence.  They must realize that it is okay and even admirable to wait for this significant milestone.  And WE need to remember that being a parent is so much more important than being a friend.    

My Imperfection

It amazes me how I can have a million things swarming through my head throughout the day, yet in this moment of peace, as I focus on my new obsession of writing every day, I cannot think of anything profound to say.  I am awfully good at giving advice- ask my sister, husband, four kids, mother, classroom of students, friends or pretty much anyone in my town of 25,000 people.  Because of this current lapse of words, I will begin by writing about me.  Now I could go on and on about things I do, qualities I possess or lack, my family, etc.  But I feel that the following narrative may give you more of the real truth.  

It was a Wednesday afternoon.  I had spent the previous two days attending an out of town conference.  After a grueling time of picking up the pieces in my classroom due to an incompetent sub, I was ready to get home and take a hot bath.  Driving up the street, avoiding the swarm of students who were free at last, I thought about my own four children who I knew were going to be ready for some mommy time.  My husband left on a business trip and after two days of fast food, I decided that I would forego the bath and try to be "perfect mom" and make a nice dinner for the kids.

A quick trip through the grocery store and I had a swing in my step as I headed for the car.  I can do this, I thought.  Work full time, go to grad school, take care of a husband and kids....  I am great!  It was a good day- the sun was peaking through and I had even gotten a parking spot right next to the cart corral!  

I threw the bags in the back of the Durango, grabbed the hatch and whack.....shit.

I am in a daze....somehow the hatch landed right on the top left side of my head....what the hell...??

My first reaction was to look around- remember, I am great.  

Hopefully no one saw this small catastrophe that just occurred.  Two people on my six...far enough away to not have noticed.  I reach up to my head and feel a damp stickiness.  What to do.  The next 15 seconds brought a variety of scenarios.  Going in the store might offer too many unknowns for a control freak like me.  Can't go home- might scare the kids if it is really bad.  Off to Sister's house.  Driving with one hand glued to my exposed brain (I have obviously taken first aid courses!)  Woman in front of me will Not Get OUT OF MY WAY!  I may be dying for crying out loud!

Sister takes a look and says shit.  We better go.  Go?  Go where?  Stitches?  No.  I have to make dinner.  Remember, being perfect mom tonight.  Plus stitches = pain.  I am really NOT  into pain.  

My feeling of life being great turned into 10 staples, bloody hair that couldn't be washed for 24 hours, 7 kids up late with another crappy dinner (my sis' kids ended up at my house) and 1 more sub in my classroom the next day.  I don't even think the teenage doctor appreciated my asking for an epidural before he stapled my head shut.  

But, ya know....life is great.  Sister and I had a good laugh.  We got the chance to bond- something that rarely happens much anymore.  The kids had a great story to share with their friends.  Husband felt bad that he wasn't home to care for me (yeah, right!)  

Shit happens.  Not just to me...to everyone.  Life is fragile and as we go about it trying to create perfection in the middle of chaos something like this happens and we realize that we are not in charge.  But the shit of life is sometimes what allows us to realize how great life really is.  

We saw each other from across the room in a hotel bar Mallorca. He had that slight smile that made me realize he wanted to laugh but didn't want to be rude. Cindy and I were trying our hand at playing pool without much success. It was balmy outside with a slight breeze in the bar that was open to the night air. Once Cindy and I realized we were being watched the game became much more animated. Two young girls ready for adventure in a foreign country. 

He spoke no English. I spoke no German. The minimal Spanish we each possessed was enough as we walked along the beach the next day while watching his daughter run through the waves. Greying hair, a chiseled jaw and dimples. 36 years to my 20. It was a beautiful day to just be. 

Dinner with Cindy and his daughter and then an evening walk on the beach. Alone together at last. A large rock at the edge of the ocean underneath a million stars. Trying out new words with a mix of three languages. Finally a kiss. The Kiss. 

Our last day on the island. We would leave in the morning. Cindy and I had big plans to see the sights. How could I focus when my mind kept reverting to The Kiss and how much I wanted to feel this MAN's soft lips on mine once again?

Finally nightfall. Back at the bar. 43 liquor with pineapple juice, a tanktop and mini-skirt. Ready for anything that would come. He takes my hand and leads me up the narrow staircase to his room. We must be very quiet. He removes my clothing in a gentle manner while watching me for signs of hesitation. He is amazing. After, he holds me as I quiver in his arms. I want this moment to last forever. He kisses my cheek as a tear accidentally slips out. I hear him whisper, "Ich liebe dich." 

Weeks later, back in Spain, I open a card with no return address. On the card are the same three words...Ich liebe dich...

I never heard from him again, but 20 years later can still picture his blue eyes and smile.  A memory- my memory.  Something that can never be taken away, yet never replicated.   

One More Last

Before you slept you curled my hair
through your tiny fingers 
The tighter the weave, the safer you felt 
The repetition became tiresome, even annoying
yet now what I would give
for just one more night...

The frustration I felt as you struggled 
to communicate;
tantrums, flowing tears
from both our eyes
the anguish you possessed 
around people and places 
my desire to always
keep you safe.

My fearless wall climbing
Spiderman
ball in hand 
always focused
discipline will get you through
pushing challenging 
what you lacked in age
you possessed in skill

Head kisses on top of blond curls
snuggle time 
eyes of blue, endless lashes and
dimples that can melt a heart
even after a window breaks 

So much pride comes as a child matures
yet brings pain as a mother watches 
and feels 

each of the lasts 

           slip away
If we could only go back to have 

one more last...

Well, here I am...

Not sure about where to start with this.  I have been catching hell from my husband about being on Facebook all the time.  I admit, I am somewhat of an obsessive person, but who isn't when it comes to what they enjoy?  I am hoping that this blog will fill my need to communicate with the outside world.  Be patient with me though...I have not written for anyone but myself and numerous Professors.