frazzled & frumpy

During my stint at work last month, I met a lot of new people. A couple times, when I introduced Adam as my son, I got this response -- "You do not look old enough to have a 20 year-old son."  To which I would demurely bat my eyelashes and say, "Why, thank you." I don't mind looking younger, I mean, come on, who doesn't want to? I don't usually feel my age, either. Not what I thought it would feel like, anyway. And, with 50 looming on the horizon, I'll tell you, that big number doesn't seem so old now, either. But, sometimes, I want to wear my age. It weighs on me, and I'd like to it to be acknowledged. I've earned all those gray hairs I so carefully hide with the help of L'Oreal. I may not have a bunch of crows feet yet, but trust me, my body has signs. For example, when I was told I look young, I could have lifted my shirt and showed off the stretch marks and stretched skin from carrying 7 extra large babies. (Of course, t...

(image from justbringthechocolate.com) I've been without a car for two weeks now.  The pile of junk that's been masquerading as my husband's car has become feeble and weak, like an old man, coughing, shaking and sputtering.  We drive it the four blocks to church, but that's as far as I trust it. Mostly because we could walk if it died altogether. This has led to my unwilling confinement.  The walls of my home have steadily moved inward until I feel like I'm living in a closet.  The noises that are a normal part of our everyday routine are louder, bouncing off the ceiling and echoing in my head. It's not that I have so many places to go, but it's nice to have the option, especially when the diet Coke craving raises its ugly head. It makes me sad, to feel so dissatisfied and impatient with our home.  I love it.  We've been here for five and a half blessed years.  Our search for this house didn't take long.  All of the powers of the universe...

Today,I went to pick up my oldest son, Adam, from Job Corps. It's only 5 minutes away, but miles and miles from the restrictions and schedules of life at home.  He's on his own, making decisions that I have no say in. (He keeps reminding me.) I brought Noah with me to pick him up.  Of all my children, Noah misses him most. We drove into the parking lot, watching the line of 'grown-up' children loaded down with their belongings.  I saw Adam in line and walked toward him. He saw us and called to Noah.  "Look," I bent down and pointed to his brother.  Suddenly, his four-year-old legs took off running.  He ignored the snow on the ground, making a beeline for his brother. "Adam! Adam!"  he yelled as he ran.  When he got close, Adam bent his 6 foot 4 inch frame to scoop him up in his arms. I resisted the urge to sit in the snow and cry. I never expected my children to always get along. I come from a family of 7 myself, so I know .  And, I ...

19 years ago, at this very hour, I went into labor for the first time. The contractions were tentative at first, irregular, but definitely more intense than the braxton hicks I'd previously felt.  These followed an appointment with my doctor, where he performed what must be recorded in the annals of medieval torture.   Stripping of the membranes. Holy white-hot pain!  If I hadn't wanted to have my baby so badly, I would've taken my foot out of the stirrup and kicked  him in the head. (On a side note- I've had two OB's, both of them men.  I adored them and was completely satisfied by the care they gave me. BUT, every time they said to me, 'This will hurt a little' and then went on to cause pain they couldn't comprehend in an area they don't have, I wanted to flick their ear. Or gouge their eyes with my big toe.  Looking back, it may have been more prudent to have a female doctor. *sigh* Live and learn.) So, my contractions began and the 'plan...

Adam at 6 months.  I didn't cry when my kids started school. Not once. I was glad. Yep, call me a bad mom, but it's true. I. Couldn't. Wait.   Not just for the break for me ( tho' that was part of it), but for what it meant for them. Learning new things, making friends, fun. Okay, mostly it was for the break for me. Next year, when Noah starts, there will be no tears. Trust me.  Adam is moving out tomorrow.  He's going to Job Corps where he'll get his diploma and get job training in culinary arts. It's a whole 10 minutes away. We've known about this for a couple months, but tonight, as his dad gave him a blessing, it hit me. My baby is leaving home. As I sat and listened to the blessing, I had this strange moment. His life flashed before my eyes. Seriously. I saw him as my black-haired baby, my tow-headed toddler, a kindergartner, a scout, and now, this- He's all grown up.  He towers over me.  He makes his own decisions and things like this m...