You know how you get that song stuck in your head?
And you really don't want your brain to sing it anymore?
You begin to wonder if this really might be the most effective way to torture an enemy?
As in, "please please we will surrender if you just stop playing Justin Beiber."
Two Halloweens ago I visited my daughter and son in law.
There was this AMAZING house that I blogged about.
If you want to take a peek then go here:
.http://themomshell.blogspot.com/2012/09/halloweenseriously.html
Anywho the long and the short of it is they played this music the entire month of October every night blaring from strategically placed speakers around their now pirate filled lawn.
Being somewhat of a connoisseur of Halloween I didn't mind that they had the Halloween spirit...
WE HAVE SPIRIT YES WE DO>>>WE HAVE SPIRIT>>>HOW BOUT YOU!
But I went home to Texas with the above pictured song running through my brain like a band of rogue mateys.
It took me quite a while and a trip to a 12 step program to get rid of the monotonous ditty.
AND THEN THIS HAPPENS:
I cannot watch her walk without thinking about a drunken sailor.
And she seems to have enough belly there
Although I would NEVER use a rusty razor.
And so my friends I fall victim to the sea shanty again.
I only hope that I have passed a little bit o' the sea to you today.
My little grand baby is learning to walk.
But I guess that really that is not completely accurate.
The learning part started awhile back with her watching. and waiting. for her bones and muscles to grow.
Observing other people walking.
Then slowly pulling herself up with her disproportionate little arms on unsteady chubby little legs.
Surfing around the furniture, not sure when to let go.
And then as if a miracle lunging forward a step only to fall down again.
and again
and again.
And now today, as if she is tired of waiting for her gawky little body to get it's act together, she is lunging forward,
stomach pushed out,
legs straining to keep up with her torso.
At a quickened pace as if to suggest to her little frame,
"I will walk and you better get used to it."
She tucks her upper lip in with steely determination.
And I can't help but laugh out loud.
She resembles more a monkey than a human
with her unsteady gait and her wobbily legs.
And the sound that her little hands make when they slap the tile floor in my kitchen makes me stop my laughing and wonder how much it hurts each time she fails and falls.
Only to laugh again as she picks herself up and starts all over again.
My grand daughter is teaching me.
I am trying to learn how to walk too.
Trying to pull myself up in a new chapter of my life.
Holding on to the furniture around me with a death grip.
But I am not as fearless as she.
I worry too much about the pain of the tile beneath me and the laughter of those watching.
I second guess my ability to take a few steps....
Never imagining that I could someday run.
When I said that I always wanted to be a mother.
What I failed to mention is that I had confidence in my ability to do so.
When I was a teacher I always knew that I was equal to the task.
Every summer job I ever had I knew that if I worked hard enough I would be successful.
Now that I am testing uncharted waters with starting my own businesses
I find myself standing on wobbily legs.
Not wishing to find out what it feels like to hit the ground.
So I want to thank you Kate.
For being braver than your Grammy.
For letting me be inspired by watching you.
Grammy is going to join your unsteady pitter patter parade.
And just keep getting up, tucking in my upper lip and trying again.
I always knew who I would be when I grew up.
Apart from the occasional daydream of being famous like one of the cast of the Brady Bunch or a stewardess, there were few distractions to my plan.
No one ever told me who to be or what to do with my life.
My expectations were not low.
My self esteem was fairly high considering I hit puberty and became a chunky girl with coke bottle bottom glasses.
My parents always applauded my intelligence and gave me every opportunity to be what I wanted to be.
As far as society's views, I was happily ignorant to the what was going on around me, often times not even stopping to understand any current events.
I was an avid reader consuming 4 or 5 books a week, sometimes staying up until 2 or 3 am to finish a book. Although some of the books were the domestic Little House on the Prairie, there was also Nancy Drew, Girl Detective and a smattering of grown up books from my parents book shelves far beyond what the other kids my age were reading. Catch 22, Helter Skelter, I Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee and The Good Earth and anything Stephen King was scribbling down on paper.
My parents did not pressure me or try to influence me.
My religion (what little I absorbed in my attention distracted mind) did not make me feel pressured.
I knew who I was.
I knew who I was to become.
I wanted to be a mother.
I know....many women want to be a mother. Heck, every single person who has lived or lives on this planet has a mother in one form or another.
Hard to explain but I feel it was different for me. I didn't just want to have a family and hold the title of mother as I pursued my life.
I wanted motherhood to be my life.
Even as I type this I know there are people who are shaking their heads or clicking their tongues either wondering why I would think that is special in any way, or on the contrary, why I would not want more.
I am not scared of judgement.
When I held my firstborn in my arms I knew the road that I was on was the right one.
Lest you think that I am a sappy mother with rose colored glasses let me say that the first few years of motherhood were.......
well in a word.
hell.
I did not expect the position or job description of motherhood to feel like a heavy yoke upon my neck.
But it was.
I did not spend my days giddy with happiness at the opportunities that lay before me.
Often times I cried because I knew there was no turning back. This was to be my life.
This was who and what I was.
Time and practice gave me new perspective.
More babies let me know that I was not responsible for every action of my children but also not responsible for every achievement.
What I will say is that now that my youngest is turning 21, the legal age of an adult.....
is I gave it everything that I had.
I left it all on the field of motherhood.
For better and for worse...
I was all in.
I would like to be able to say now,
"And she basked in retirement and the glory of her now raised children, and lived happily ever after."
I cannot.
I am still...all in.
And I don't see that ending just because they are not physically and emotionally clinging to me.
I am a mother.
But I now face the reality and societal pressure of what else am I.
And that is the question de jour.
Teacher?
Photographer?
Jewelry Stylist?
I am trying to weave through the minefield of discovery and have my good days and my bad.
Lately I mostly feel like a multi meal.
Never heard of a multi meal you say?
So here I am with my mother main course and my photographer/jewelry sides I am trying to squish it all together to produce the finest multi meal I can.
Pray for me.
