Shoestrings -- AWOLNATION

Things are good. I know, as I write this, that things could change more quickly than I can write... I recall saying much the same when we last met here.

Hmm...where was I? Ah, I remember, I'm growing as a person. I am taking control of my future and doing work that is both satisfying to my spirit and rewarding in all the best ways. I get the pleasant privilege of teaching children. When I think of how exciting it was for me as a child to learn, well, everything -- it's just as exciting for me to learn something new today. Only now I can share all the things that I have learned with others and instill a love of knowledge in all those that I encounter.

I always knew that I would change the world. I had thought, for a time, that I would write a great book that would strike the heartstrings of everyone who read it and inspire them to believe in the good of the world. Perhaps even convince people that they can... defeat hatred and embrace love. Stop wars. Stop senseless death. Encourage kindness and love. I genuinely thought that this was my goal in life, and I forged my own path based on being able to effectively communicate such a great work of art to the world. It would be available in all forms and languages. Accessible. Insightful. Canon-worthy. Maybe I will write a great book someday. Maybe I will just try to finish the ones that I have already started. In the meantime I will share this gift of mine by teaching others what I know. That's what I need to do. This is what I was meant to do with my life.

I accept the things that I cannot control. I have come to accept a great deal of things that I never thought--never even anticipated--that I would endure, let alone create for myself, in the short span of my life thus far. Still, I am certain of my path. I can't see the end of the path, or even beyond the horizon. At the present moment I can see to the horizon and do my best to navigate the world with all my senses. Hopefully I will leave in my wake laughter, understanding, and kindness. At least that's the goal.

I heard a piece on NPR about a month ago about non-complimentary behavior. I was familiar with the textbook term, but hadn't really made the connection between definition and practical use and I just didn't realize that I used it so often. Every time someone expects a certain reaction or response, my absolute favorite thing to do is shake things up--tell them something they  weren't expecting. It's how I live my life. Being non-complimentary. And it's fantastic. 

Sometimes, at Kroger, I fully expect a new cashier to ask me if I found everything alright. It's a question they've been trained to ask, so they do it, and usually there's the standard reply of, "Yes." But not me. I'm in line just waiting for them to ask me just so I can say,"No!" Even if I found everything just fine. You gotta keep them on their toes. Otherwise they'll never expect the unexpected, ever. And I just can't have that. 

Something In The Way -- Nirvana

Okay soooo....update:

I'm good. Very good. You might even say that I'm fantastic! And happy! I have a new job, which is amazing. I am training to become an early childhood educator!!! So I get to work with babies (BABBIESSSS!!!) all day. This is what I needed. Last summer when we stayed with my brother and his family I loved having a baby around. I thought maybe I was starting to want another baby myself. (Which would be great!) But now that I'm here working with kids all day every day, I figured it out! THIS is what I was supposed to be doing with my life. Maybe another baby of my own isn't in the cards for me, but I'm certain that I would rather be here taking care of toddlers than anything else in the world. I am so content.

I told the ladies who interviewed me for the position that I mostly prefer the company of children to adults. I can be myself with children and I don't feel nervous or like I have to impress them. I can be silly and they love it! The hardest job I've ever had was being a server I think. I don't know how people can do it. Honestly I'd rather spend my days surrounded by children than any other job I've ever had.

I always thought about getting a job in child care but never really followed through. I guess the shit sandwich in a shit storm that was 2010 changed us all. And I have been moving toward this moment steadily. So, um, thanks, God. Thank you Mighty Cosmos Man. I may not understand your ways, but I can trust in your plan.

All the things I was dissatisfied with in my life I have been working to change. And I have. And I'm so grateful. I met someone to share my life with and be part of my family. My girls are healthy and happy and they are proud of me. Anna Lee says she's jealous that I get to play with babies all day (ha!).

My whole body hurts. But I'm okay with that. You never really know how out of shape you've gotten until you chase toddlers daily. My muscles would be sore after visiting with my siblings and carrying their kids, but, wow, I had forgotten what it was like having a baby. And having a whole classroom full of them is pleasantly exhausting.

*a car breaks down, a deal goes wrong, rumors fly, and the truth is revealed.*

I ALWAYS jump the gun. I come here, my digital journal per sé, and begin to document my life and my feelings. And then shit happens. Life moves faster than I can write it down. And then, before you know it, you pick up a child who's diaper feels soggy only to discover that it is so  overfilled with diarrhea that it spills out all sides--top, bottom, front, and back.

Suddenly you realize that the shitstorm has just begun.

Straight No Chaser -- Bush

I'm angry. If you don't understand why, I guess that I will explain, but, just know, that it irritates the hell out of me to do so. Today is Groundhog Day. Otherwise known as Mom's birthday.

I went out today, no makeup, hair a messy bun on top of my head, chucks and jeans and plaid button up. So I did manage to crawl out of bed and get dressed today. I didn't get carded for cigarettes or beer today. I can't decide if that is a good thing or a bad thing. I dyed my hair so the greys are mostly camouflaged, at least for now.

I want to yell at everyone that I encounter. I want to scream in their faces that today is my dead Mother's birthday. I don't want to have to explain to anyone why I'm upset today. I feel like everyone in the world should be mourning the death of my mother. Everyone in the whole fucking world should be sad that she is dead.

Someone at work made the comment that she didn't like when people say that God electrocutes them to teach them something, or that "My Mom has cancer because God wants me to learn something." I didn't rip her face off. I'm not even sure she knows that my Mom is dead from cancer. I didn't say anything at all, I'm getting really good at keeping my fucking mouth shut. No one wants to hear how my Mom is dead, no one wants to have that sickly sad feeling in their stomachs when they think of how it would be to lose their own mother. I get it.

And yet, here you are, again, reading my stories.

Since you're here, I'll at least attempt to entertain you. Brace yourself.

I can't call Mom.

I can't see her.

I can't hold out my arms and embrace her.

And I'm still fucking pissed about it. I thought for a while that things were changing, that I was slowly coming to accept that Mom is dead. I read another article about the stages of grief yesterday, and this one said that you will swing back and forth between anger and depression quite a lot. Well, I'm angry and I guess I'm depressed. Oh shit, the Cranberries just came on--where's the damn remote?

The other day I was cleaning out my top dresser drawer, the one with all the loose socks, and I found a neatly folded piece of paper. I unfolded it, wondering what it was and why I had kept it tucked away in my drawer. The handwriting was Mom's. It was a note giving me permission to ride the bus home with one of my friends, Amber P. The small folded slip of paper was in among the notes to the tooth fairy and the little extra button bags holding my kids' teeth.

When I was young I remember going into my parent's room and taking Mom's wooden jewelry box and going through its contents. I was careful not to take anything out or move things around. It had a tray that you could lift out. When I looked underneath I found teeth. Baby teeth. Our baby teeth. They weren't labeled or anything, just there in the bottom of her jewelry box, hidden away. I'm sure that she treasured them dearly. I don't keep my kid's teeth in the bottom of my jewelry box, they've been in this top drawer with my socks and scraps of paper with notes written by Mom. One day my kids will go through my stuff and marvel at their baby teeth in the tiny extra button bags, ziploc bags with instructive notes to the tooth fairy, and the tooth-shaped containers on necklaces that they give you when you lose a tooth at school.

I don't like to think of the terrible mixture of emotions that my girls will go through when I die. But death is inevitable. I cannot keep it from happening. But maybe I can lessen the blow. I want them to be as prepared as possible when I die, if that is even something that can be accomplished. I just have to tell them everything they ever need to know about life, love, and the world before I go.

Don't worry, I'm not going to preface these lessons with, "This is what I need you to know and remember for the time after I die." Having a conversation with someone right before immanent death is hard enough, so I don't want to complicate the lessons by initiating them with the constant reminder that I'm going to die.

I wore my scarf with the pocket on it to work the other day. The aquamarine one that Mom made me. I showed it off to my coworkers who said that she could make a fortune on the scarf-pocket thing. But, as I am apt  to do, I opened my big mouth and said, "She's dead. Sooo...." I have told them how my mother passed, and do not mean to be callous, but sometimes I wonder at my subconscious intentions when I say shit like this. Do I want these people to pity me? Not really. I just want everyone in the world to realize that my Mom is dead and to speak accordingly. Like the fucking dentist who told me to take my tooth they wanted to pull and give it to my Mom. No, bitch, I don't feel like digging her up and giving her my last baby tooth. Can't you just make a note in my chart that my Mom is dead and you shouldn't bring it up? 

I told my friend at work, who's mother had just passed away, that I didn't know quite what to say to her, "One day I got up and went the whole day without thinking about it." It doesn't matter if you are 25 or 65; when your Mom dies, it hurts. It doesn't matter how old your Mom is, you're still going to miss her and your heart will ache when certain days roll around again and remind you that she's gone.

So, if your Mom is still around, don't take it for granted.