Today It Feels Like It Was Yesterday

January 10.  Today makes three years.  Sometimes it feels like it has been twenty-- twenty years since he has hugged me- twenty years since I have heard him say “I love you."  Some days it feels like it was yesterday---holidays- birthdays- today.

They say it gets easier and it does. Day to day life gets back to normal for the most part.  The quiet times are the worst. Family gatherings are filled with fewer tears and more laughter, but the void is still there.  We all feel it, but we manage to enjoy each other’s company without the outward signs that we are mourning the absence of his. 

But I don’t know that January 9^th and 10^th will ever be easier.   I cry a lot those two days. Usually around the 5^th I can tell that I am a bit more emotional than usual, but I manage to keep it together.  When I cry, I make sure that I am alone so that no one will notice -- in the car-- in the shower --when everyone is asleep.  But not on the 9^th and 10^th.  On those days, there is no telling when I will fall apart.  

The poor custodian at my school had to witness it last night. I had just left my gym and used the drive home- with a quick stop by the school- to have a very cathartic cry. He was minding his own business sweeping my classroom when I came through the door, bawling my eyes out. By the look on his face, it was apparent that he wasn’t expecting to see me just as much as I wasn't expecting to see him.  I did manage to say “hi”  quickly through the sniffles, but he just stood there, broom in hand, staring at me with his mouth agape. I grabbed the papers that I had left earlier from the corner of my desk, threw a half-smile his way, and quickly exited my classroom. When I got in the car, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw why he looked so startled. It was not my entrance into the room but my appearance that had alarmed him. With a disheveled ponytail from my recent workout and the fresh trail of mascara running down my cheeks, I looked more like a scary circus clown than a school teacher.  I can only imagine what he was thinking during our encounter and the moments right after.

So today, January 10th, I will be a mess and only one thought away from losing it in front of my students and colleagues. However, tomorrow will be better. And the days to follow will too. And before I know it, summer will be here, and then fall, and then January will be back once again. And every January 9th and 10th, I will remember those days in 2015, and it will feel like just yesterday that I lost him. I will cry uncontrollably and at inconvenient times in my day, but maybe next time, only the people who understand what these days do to me will have to witness it.

"Losing Dad" Post:  https://sweetcupsofchaos.blogspot.com/2017/04/

Doing Disney (When I Really Don't Want To)

As my friends know, I live with a gaggle of Disney freaks. My husband and children love all things Mickey.  We have annual passes and make the 7-hour trek 3 or 4 times a year so they can park hop until they drop.  I, however, do not share the same feelings toward the mouse that my tribe does. I go only because I love them.  In fact, I have traveled south on several occasions and never stepped foot on Walt’s property with them.  Instead, I spent my time shopping, sunning, or just relaxing on the couch with a good book while my family fast-passed their way around Disney World.  

           

However, this year’s annual Thanksgiving trip was different. Our littlest one will be four soon and is a Mouskateer in training. He is also not as oblivious as he once was. This meant I had three choices: (1) to fabricate a clever tale about why we were the only two not going to the park or vacating the premises by lunchtime, (2) to admit the selfish truth that mommy wanted to check out a few sale racks at TJMaxx before kicking her shoes off and binge-watching the Hallmark channel, or (3) to suck it up and endure the busy parks for the happiness of my children.  I endured but not as gracefully as I had hoped, and I would like to say a few things to some people who I encountered at the happiest place on earth:

o   To security at the park entrances: step it up. Your profiling of my husband is one of the few things I actually enjoy about Disney.  He is harmless, of course, but still, I wait excitedly to see if you will perceive him as a threat and do extra pat downs and wand scans.  It is always fun to watch other park goers eye him up, as well, when you pull him off to the side. This trip was a bit disappointing, as he didn’t raise your suspicion even once. (He blames the lack of cardio in his workouts and says it has made him appear less like a member of a Polynesian terrorist group and more like Maui from Moana.)

o   To all the people who walked out in front of my stroller: please commit. If you take that step, please keep moving in the same direction.  You can't stop a locomotive on a dime, and I am using body weight (and there is a lot of it) to propel my child's mode of transportation forward. If you second-guess your decision to enter my pathway when we are nanoseconds from colliding, I can’t be held responsible for your ankle or toe injuries. It’s like a real-life game of Frogger with you people.

o   To the driver of my first Kilimanjaro Safari ride of the morning: you need a raise.  You are different from your other tour guide cohorts. You were not monotone, and you did not follow the script. You were witty, and it was breath of fresh air to those of us who have ridden the attraction ten thousand times.  I especially liked how you mocked the man on the second row when he pointed to the African painted dogs and told his daughter to look at the Hyenas. We all know those aren’t the same.  My second trip around the Harambe Wildlife Reserve 20 minutes later with the nasally blonde tour guide left me less than satisfied. So kudos to you. 

o   To the wives who made their entire family wear matching shirts to the park: next time, consider changing your husband’s vinyl lettering from glitter to mat.  It is bad enough he has to walk around matching his mother-in-law and his 6-year-old daughter, but save a portion of his dignity and don’t make him sparkle too.

o   To the gentleman who chased me from the carousel to It’s a Small World to return the shoe my toddler kicked off during a temper-tantrum (that he threw because he doesn’t understand that you can’t just stay on the ride indefinitely): thank you for biting your tongue about his bratty behavior and choosing just to smile at me instead. I am sure it was a pity smile, but I promise you I addressed the situation in the nearest bathroom.

o   To the lady in the stall next to us as I addressed the situation: He is just fine, and he will be a well-adjusted adult because of it.  

o   To the man at the Enchanted Tiki Room who had the audacity to lead his family of four in cutting the line (in front of 10 other families who had been waiting patiently) to get front row seats to watch a room full of fake birds sing: I hope you enjoyed your view, and I said a prayer for you. It involved real birds pooping in your 1980’s Rick Springfield hair, but I prayed for you nonetheless.

o   To the park goers who believe in “what you wear at Disney stays at Disney”: you are brave, and I strangely admire the risk you took when selecting your park attire.  (And you may or may not be among the pictures I took to giggle at with my hubby when we get home.)

o   To the dozens of employees that humored my son Asher each day as he met his  “asking employees their names” quota (when your name is very clearly printed on your very visible name tag):  You rock for playing along as he practiced “being more intentional" with people around him. (You got me- maybe it’s a badge they are working on in Royal Rangers.)

No. I do not love this place any more than I did before.  I will never be a fan of large crowds, overpriced food and merchandise, and waiting in long lines. I also do not like being forced to listen to Christmas music before I have eaten turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie.  However, on the drive home, I, at my husband’s request, perused sites for places to stay when we return in just a few months for the annual birthday trip for the kids.

Yes, I will go again and again and again and continue to bear the madness of that place because four people (whom I absolutely love) absolutely love Disney.  

Seeing Seth

75- The number of days since I have hugged him. 2-The number of times I have heard his voice. 24- the number of sweet letters that he wrote me while he has been gone.

Basic training is not for the weak. It breaks you down mentally and emotionally, testing your strength and determination, your will to survive in adverse conditions.  And that is just what I have been through, so I can only imagine what my son has endured.

Weeks before Seth left, I began to do my research on basic training. I wanted to know as much as I could to support him on this journey.  I, however, failed to prepare myself for what I would experience.  Frankly, I thought it would be a walk in the park with Seth under the direction of the U.S. Army.  After all, he was my “challenging” child. From school to home life, he kept me in a tizzy. His big personality and impulsive nature make my life- how do I say this- less than boring.  So when he enlisted, I saw basic training as three months of worry-free living. No more worrying about where he was, what he was doing, or if he was safe. I could go to sleep at night and rest easy.

Boy, was I wrong!!

The first two weeks I seriously questioned whether this was the right decision. Our communication went from anytime to never.  You would think that the start of a new school year and a house full of kids would keep me busy, but it didn’t. My old worries were only replaced with new ones. No longer was I worried about him being a typical 18-year-old boy. I was now worried about if he was happy, if he was lonely, if he was questioning this decision like I was.

Joining Facebook groups for military parents didn’t help either. It seemed like every time I opened a page, another mom had posted about her son being injured, in the hospital, or trying to quit. 

Then his letters began to trickle in.  It was nice to finally hear from him, but the words he scribbled on the paper determined my emotional state. If he had a hard week, I did too- at least until the next letter arrived.   And I wrote him feverishly. He needed encouragement, so I supplied it. I mailed a letter every day and sometimes I mailed two or three....one day I mailed five.

I wrote some that were never mailed. I poured out my heart in them-- pages and pages of tear-soaked, snot-stained, emotion-filled letters that he would never see.  I would write one letter about how I really felt, and then flip the page, wipe my face, and write him a letter filled with happiness and excitement.

As diligently as I wrote, I prayed ten times more. I started praying in the morning as I dressed for work, during the National Anthem and moment of silence at school, every time I opened my phone and saw his picture, in the car driving to the post office, and at night before bed. I prayed for him, his drill sergeants, fellow SITs, the base- you name it and I prayed over it.  I prayed for his health, his happiness, his safety, his PT tests, his shooting ability, his rucks. I covered him in prayer.

As time went on, I saw the answers to my prayers in his letters.  He was doing well.  It was also clear that he was changing.  Each envelope that I ripped open held a letter that was written by a young man who was growing and maturing, emotionally and spiritually. He was not just surviving, he was thriving.  That made this momma’s heart happy.

Ten weeks have passed, and we have four more to go. BCT is over, and AIT starts on Monday. This weekend is family weekend. We have made the drive to Georgia to spend a few days with Seth. Tonight, after 75 days, I will rest my head in the same town that my son rests his. He will be minutes away from me.  

1- I am one sleep away from what I have been waiting for since he walked away from me and vanished into that recruiting office. Tomorrow I get to hug my son.

It Doesn’t Always Have to Be About You….or a Post on Facebook.

Hurricane Irma is approaching Florida. She is a massive storm that is expected to hit our state soon, and to be safe, Governor Scott directed that all public schools close Friday and Monday. A short time later it was confirmed that, although our area doesn’t look like we are in the direct path now, our district is adhering to the orders and we will be closed too. I am a sure most teachers and students were giddy as they went to bed last night.  I am a teacher, and I did a happy dance.

However, this morning, my sleep was disturbed around 5:00 AM by a ROBO call from the district to make sure that all parents got word that school was canceled. 

I had two options: 

1. Get aggravated, work myself up into a tizzy, and not be able to go back to sleep

2. Take it as a sweet reminder that I have a 4 day weekend, cuddle up with my pillow again, and go back to sleep- eventually-because at 46, it takes a little longer

Once I got up and got some coffee in me, I had two more options:

1.  Jump on Facebook and complain publically that a 5 am call was ridiculous

2.   Drink my coffee and watch Shaun the Sheep with my 3-year-old

I chose option two both times.  

First, it was just a phone call. Seriously.

Next, it doesn’t always have to be about us. Yes, the call may have been annoying, but if it helped one student and her parents not get out this morning and go to the bus stop, then wasn’t it worth it? Not everyone in our community has smart phones and Facebook. Some parents work nights and might have missed that evening call on their landline. What if everyone in our community started thinking about everyone else involved in a situation rather than making it just about themselves and their comfort and well-being? What if we all stopped looking at the world as only revolving around ourselves?  What a world it would be!  

Now I fully understand that at a certain age, sleep is sacred, and I know how hard it is to go back to sleep when it is disrupted.  However, what good does it do to post your aggravation on Facebook? Did it act as a sedative? Did you gain anything from it other than rallying other Negative Nellies in agreement?  Do an inventory of your Facebook page. Count up the posts that are complaints, criticisms, or anything else that can be viewed negatively in any way. Then count up your uplifting posts.  Are you spreading good or adding to what is already wrong with our world?  

Here is a challenge: Try for one month to not post anything that is negative in any way about anybody: your family, teachers, bosses, the President, liberals, conservatives, Christians, Muslims, Bama Fans, the person driving too slowly in the fast lane. See how quiet you become. In fact, replace those negative remarks with something positive. Then see how different you become.

So now, I am off to enjoy my four day weekend.  But to all of you out there who hate being woken up at 5:00 am by unneeded ROBO calls regarding school closures, you may want to turn your phones on silent before you go to bed Sunday night.