Happy Birthday Ian, I love you.

Today, is my son’s 18th Birthday.  18 years ago today, I walked into the hospital was hooked up to IV’s and induced.  He was happy where he was.

18 years ago today, my brother was leaving Basic Training, and flying out of Texas.  I had made a bet with him that he would leave Texas before I had a baby.

Way to lose that bet for me Ian! You owe Uncle Sean a case of beer.

Not only did Sean leave Texas, he was just landing in St. Louis about the time Ian was born.

18 years ago today.

Five years ago in the process of moving and drama and a whole lot of things I’m not proud of, even more things his father did that make me hate him with a passion that burns hotter than Hell, and a whole host of other things that really no longer matter because they can’t be undone, his father took him away from me against my will.

And I didn’t fight hard enough.  Not even close to hard enough.

And his father used that, convinced Ian I didn’t love him because clearly if I had, I wouldn’t have given him away.

So, here we are.

His 18th birthday.

I haven’t had any contact with him in two years.

None.  Not an email, not a text, nothing.

And my hatred of his father burns hotter every day.

And the hole in my heart where my son should be continues to go unfilled, aching with the child I miss.  Even now, especially now, on his 18th birthday, my arms ache to hold him, to tell him how desperately I love him and miss him and how horribly terribly sorry I that I didn’t save him 5 years ago.

Happy Birthday Bo.  No matter what anyone else says, no matter what you’ve been told and made to believe, I have never ever stopped loving you and I never will.  You are 18 today, and today you are a man.  A man who can make your own choices, a man who can make up your own mind.  My heart, my arms, my home are yours whenever you come back to me.

All my love, for the rest of my life, and then some,

Love Mom

What's Going on in my world lately

I know, I’m a bad blogger.  Don’t post anything for over a week and when I do come back I password protect what I do write. Believe me the password is just to keep a few people out, so if you want to know I’ll send you the password.  It’s not a big deal.  I needed to vent and wanted to prevent a bigger fight.

Having said that…

Friday was my nephew Duck’s 11th birthday.  No, of course Duck isn’t his REAL name.  That’s his super hero identity, clearly.  This child.. boy/kid/wonder of the world is just amazing.  Those of us who know and love him are blessed beyond words.  Those of you who haven’t met him yet, well, just wait he will blow your mind.

But along with Duck’s birthday, Friday marked the beginning of the One Month Countdown to  my birthday.  We won’t discuss or disclose what number this birthday will be, but it’s safe to say it’s a few bigger than Duck’s.  Anyway, my motto this time of year is: Shop Early, Shop Often, Buy LOTS!.  Of course nobody ever listens.

Because the day after my birthday is the REAL important holiday.  The day you can legally blow shit up.  And because it’s THAT day, my birthday gets over looked.  Which is a real shame because I give everyone I work with the day after my birthday the day off to recover from the most fabulous fantastic birthday blow-out extravaganza, that just never seems to happen.

Also, I have found a new online addiction that is a wonderful fun time suck.

Pinterest is the Virtual Bulletin Board and it is Awesome.  So come follow me if you’re already addicted, if you want a fun way to kill time that’s not Angry Birds, I’ll send you an invite.  They say it’s a “fun reminder of clothes I will never afford/fit into, the home decor I will never afford/fit into our small home, the recipes and crafts I’m too lazy to ever make, the sayings I wasn’t clever enough to think of on my own, and the photos I wish I had taken but didn’t.”

Sounds fabulous doesn’t it?

And that my friends is where I have been hiding, basically, in a nut shell.  I’ve been reading more than I’ve been writing.  I’ve been working more than I’ve been playing.  And so now, I’m off to plug-in the iTouch, and listen to some tunes laying in the sun, catching some rays.

 

The Coolest 16 Year Old Guy I know

See that guy right there?  That would Scooter, Brian’s son.  I took that picture the day I met him.  He’d just finished his last race of the day.  In August.  It was H-O-T hot.

Scooter didn’t like me much when we first met.  But really, who could blame him.  I was a new person in Dad’s life, someone taking Dad’s attention away.

It would be months before Scooter and I became friends.  Brian’s dad was in the hospital and I came to stay with the kids over spring break so Brian and his mom could be with his Dad.  And even though Princess could demand every second of my attention, I made it a point to spend time with just Scooter.  Playing catch with him in the basement. I sealed our friendship by catching a baseball with my face.

Today Scooter turns 16.  Even though his dad and I are no longer together, Scooter still holds a special place in my heart.  He is beyond a doubt the coolest 16 year old I know.  Some of my best memories are of the two of us hanging out cutting up.

Like the time Brian sent us to the outbuilding to get the fishing poles ready for our fishing trip the next day and we ended up hosing down the floor and squeegee-ing the floor clean.  Fishing poles? Oh yeah, we were getting to those.

Scooter helped me move more times than either of us like to count.  It was hot, hard work, but with Scooter, it was fun.  And it got done.

So, Scooter, even though I am no longer the best future step-mom in the entire world, I am still thinking about you today Bud, and I’m wishing you eleventy-billion birthday wishes.

You totally rock my world.

 

Your birthday is a special time to celebrate the gift of 'you' to the world.

 

Happy 14th Birthday Taterbug

14 years ago you changed my our lives. Not just my life, but your Dad’s and even your brother’s lives.

14 years ago you took your own sweet time getting here.  You kept me up all night, doing things at your own pace.  Which is never in a hurry.  Unless it’s shopping?  That? You’re a pro. (Get a job, help pay for that shit you think you have to have!)

You look at the world through hopeful eyes.  You believe in the good in everyone.  Except your younger sister. Unless of course you want to borrow some of her clothes.

My time with you is growing short.  Already you are making noise about learning to drive.  Two short years from now.  Don’t rush the next 24 months.  Once we reach 16? It’s just a blink of an eye and you’re gone.  I’m not done with you  yet.

You have made me proud beyond words.  You excel at everything you put your mind to.  Your grades? Honor Roll.  The teachers and staff at school? Sing your praises.  Your phone? Constantly in use talking to your friends.  I have seen a gymnasium full of classmates stop mid conversation to run over and say HI to you.

You have gone above and beyond with our neighbors. Your patience and kindness has opened new doors for our neighbor by helping him learn to read.

Your sense of humor? Kicks my ass.  You make me laugh every day.  You get it.  You are not afraid to laugh and joke, and you’re more than happy to me the clown just to get a laugh.

You feel deeply.  If someone hurts, you hurt with them.  If they are angry, you’ll pick up your sword and fight beside them.  If someone is being a douchenozzle, you’re right there calling them a douchenozzle. Usually not to their face… but still.

In a strange twist of fate, you have an incredible amount of faith and belief in me. Even when I have little for myself.  And living up to your expectations for me as your mother?  Is what keeps me trying and striving and reaching.

Don’t be in a hurry to grow up, Tate, because I’m not in any hurry to let you go.  We’ll have plenty of time to be friends when you’re older.  Enjoy your teen years now.  Be a kid, laugh, play, dance, sing, live and love.

Because, you are loved.

Happy Birthday Taterbug.

Happy Birthday Newt!

I have sat here staring at a blank screen all weekend waiting for my muse to show up and grace me with a fantabulous topic to blog about, but the bitch never showed up.  So, my blog sat ignored all weekend long.  Which isn’t such a bad thing, after all, the internet is closed on weekends. Right?

So then we come to Monday.  Today. Columbus Day in the States and Thanksgiving for our neighbors to the North.  Either way, it’s a holiday and that bitch muse of mine? Still MIA.

That’s ok.  I’ll just take this time and space to say that 11 years ago today I got the best surprise of my life.  11 years ago today, my youngest, Newt was born.  She was a surprise, as in I was done having kids but some higher power had other plans for my uterus for 9 months.

She has always marched to the beat of her own damn drum, bending rules, doing things her way on her schedule and making me proud.  She has guts and gumption and a fearlessness I never possessed at her age or even at twice her age.  She knows what she wants and what she doesn’t.  She is sure of herself and I am jealous.

She is brilliant and witty, hilarious, and helpful, she’s beautiful in her own way and while she doesn’t appreciate it yet, those of us who know and love her do and trust that she will too in time.  She shares my early mornings with me, often sitting in the bathroom with me while I get ready for work.  Early mornings have always been our time, and even now, 11 years later, they still are.

Happy Birthday Newt.  You have brought much laughter, love, sunshine, smiles and fun into the past 11 years, I can only imagine what wild ride the next 11 years will be.

It's a numbers game

In a week I will put another year between me and 40.  My birthdays don’t bother me so much.  Can’t stop them from coming.  It’s just another year I’ve survived.

I was 4 years old when I finally figured out when my mother’s birthday was.  I was proud as punch that I knew that “Today is my mom’s birthday”.  I told everyone in church that day that it was her birthday.  Of course, just because I knew what day it was, I had no idea how old she was.  So, when someone asked me that inevitable question “How old is she?”, instead of admitting I didn’t know, I just sort of guessed.  To me, at 5, everyone lived to be 100.  Nice even round number.  In the scheme of things, and in relation to 100…. well…uh, 40 wasn’t that old or that big of a number.  I proudly told everyone who asked, “She’s 40 years old!”  (sorry Mom)

She was 24.  She wouldn’t be 40 until I was 21.

Oops.

My mom married young and had us kids young.  Growing up I wanted to be just like her.  Until i got closer to the age she was when she married my dad.  As I approached that age, I realized there was no way I was ready to get married and have a child.  I was too young.  I would be 4 years older before I got married, and two years beyond that when I had my son.  Even then, I was pretty sure I was too young.

I remember my 13th birthday, how excited I was to finally be an official teenager.  I couldn’t wait for my birthday that year.  Until my cousin took the wind out of my sails by telling me my birthday that year was no big deal, it was just another day, like any other day.  I would be the same, look the same, feel the same, I would just be one year older.   I was mad at him for taking the shine off my 13th birthday, but he was right.  It was just another day, like any other day. It was only special to me, but I looked the same, sounded the same, felt the same, was the same, except I was another year older.

From that year on, my birthdays never really bothered me.  The number of years celebrated was just that, a number.  My younger brother’s birthday’s didn’t bother me either.  Besides, I don’t care what his number is, he never ages in my mind.  My (baby) sister’s birthdays make me feel older than my own.

I was always convinced no matter how many years had passed from the day I was born, I would never be “too old” to wear blue jeans and tees.  The day I got ‘too old’ for jeans would be the day I was just too old.   So, come next Saturday, as the country gears up to celebrate our nation’s birthday, I will be celebrating yet another year survived, another year put between me and 40.

And I will be celebrating in blue jeans and a tee shirt.