Will you treat her as your own, guide her steps, calm her worries, give her confidence, and tuck her in at night? Will you stand guard as she sleeps, chase away her nightmares, and comfort her if she awakens frightened and alone before the dawn breaks?

          She is leaving, you see…and I cannot go with her.

          I keep telling myself–and everyone else–that this is a good thing. You know how much I don’t want her to be like me. I want more for her than that which I have become. She deserves better than to stay in the same place for the rest of her life…rooted by fears that have no basis in reality…paralyzed by the uncertainty of the horizon and resigned to being alone because she is afraid to take a chance.

         You stood with me…even when I didn’t think that I needed you.

         I could lock everyone out…everyone but you.

         Every time that I pushed you from me…you returned.  When I was strong, it was only because you were there to back me up and give me courage. The brave one that faced the world, fought for her kids, and learned to stand on shaky knees was only a reflection of your presence within. Even now, when the night falls and it becomes so easy to remember all of the things that go wrong…you remind me of all of the things that went right and I am able to sleep in the peace that you bring.

        So please…when she gets on that plane tomorrow…go with her.

        Watch over her as you have done with me and if, for some reason, the skies darken over her and she feels abandoned…remind her that she is never truly alone. Stand with her even when she insists on standing alone. She will, you know…because she is strong…we made her that way.

        Once, long ago, you entrusted her to me. You gave me the chance to teach her, guide her…and love her. Knowing how much you already have resting upon your shoulders, I tried my best not to ask too much of you….but that, like everything else, is now changing. I won’t ask for me….but for her.

       So God,

       If she needs you….and she will….please be there for her.

           arkmomy

        Having made several attempts to ignore my internal clock, I finally caved and got out of bed to begin the usual morning ritual.

       Make bed, punch the button on the coffeepot, let the dog out, brush teeth, let the dog in, grab a cup of coffee, crawl into the shower.  Sometimes, life is all about the routine. 

       It wasn’t until I had started the first load of laundry and was headed out for a morning cigarette that it hit me….shouldn’t the sun be up by now? Poking my head back inside the door, I glanced at the clock on the stove….0415hrs. Nope, no sun at that hour….but the stars were pretty. I saw a shooting star the other nite, so I contented myself by keeping watch for another while finishing my smoke.

      The dog thinks I’m nuts….at least he’s looking at me as if he thinks I’m nuts. He might just be right about that one. Eventually, he gives up on following me around and takes up residence on the bed as if to oversee my progress. Because he actually believes–on occasion–that he’s the one in charge, he puts on a show at being bossy by giving a low growl as I gently move him over a bit to make room so that I can fold clothes.  I am not intimidated….we both know who buys the kibble in this house.

     Seriously! Shouldn’t that sun be coming up by now? Unfortunately….no. It is only just after 0500hrs.

    This whole daylight savings thing really messes with my head. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that they do it on purpose just to drive folks nuts. Don’t they realize that there is an entire segment of society that is so ‘routine-focused’ that even the slightest deviation can cause near panic?

    I find myself watching the clock…

    Okay, so…if this were yesterday, then it would be nearly dawn because the sun is usually coming over the horizon as I drop Jon off at school…but wait…no…maybe it is too early for that because it is usually dark when we leave the house at 0630hrs…but then…the sun would be coming up earlier today so I might not have to use the headlights tomorrow morning and…………aaaaaaargh!!!

     Honestly, I do understand the reasoning behind the history of daylight savings…but seriously, times have changed! Is it really necessary to wonk up my world twice a year over an out-dated custom? Okay, that sounds selfish…it isn’t just about me….but there must be others like me.

    One would think that I’d settle down once the sun came up…but no…

    I’m still watching that stupid clock….and it still doesn’t seem right.

arkmomy

     The question is…can we fix it?

     One of the issues that will be set forth in our state elections this year is very close to me. It concerns the question of who should be fit to parent foster kids. It is, in fact, designed specifically to reduce the potential foster parent pool by virtue of the beliefs of a few.

     On one side, we have the Arkansas Family Council. These God-fearing folks would have us believe that nobody outside of the classic definition of ‘family’ is fit to provide love to these kids who so desperately need a place to call home. In the critical eyes of AFC, if you are unmarried or (heaven forbid) gay…you aren’t fit to care for children no matter how financially, physically, or mentally sound you may be.

    On the other side, we have Arkansas Families First. This group maintains that these kids need good homes and that the definition of a good home does not include restrictions on marital status or sexuality. In their opinion, it is more important that these kids have good homes than it is to perpetuate prejudice based on lifestyles.

    So…I have to wonder….What DOES make a good home?

    My own home has never been what society deems as ‘conventional’. I raised my kids alone after the death of my husband. Because I didn’t fit the accepted definition of a ‘proper home’ under our DHS guidelines, I was never eligible to even consider fostering.

    Instead, I took in exchange students and cared for upwards of a dozen friends of my own kids.

    I never minded…in fact, I quite enjoyed it. Chaotic though it was at times, I loved cooking for a large group of kids. I loved overseeing their homework and keeping up with their activities. I loved having to put out air mattresses and sleeping bags when we ran out of beds…and, of course, I loved having the help when it came time for chores. No, it wasn’t exactly what the AFC would consider a ‘family’…but I have to think that the fact that all of the kids called me ‘Mom’ must have meant something. Even though they are grown, they still call me that.

     As if my single life weren’t enough, I don’t go to church. I always encouraged my kids and their friends to explore their beliefs and make their own decisions, but I’ve never felt comfortable in churches. I’ve always resisted having others tell me how I should act or what I should believe. I’d have to credit my own Mom for teaching me to think for myself. The fact that I’ve stood on my own feet for this long is testament to the fact that she must have taught me well.

    So, who is right? What DOES make a good home?

    Does it matter if someone is married or single?

    Does it matter is someone is gay or straight?

    If you ask any of the kids in my life, they will tell you that none of that matters. To them, a good home means having parents who love you, teach you, help you grow, and encourage you to become who you were meant to be. It is just a shame that the AFC doesn’t ask kids…they might be surprised at the answers that they receive.

     Now that my own kids are practically grown, I’m too old to fit the guidelines for foster parents. Even if this law is changed to allow unconventional families the opportunity to foster kids…I couldn’t do it because I’m over the age limit. The only problem with this rule is that, while I have gotten older, I haven’t lost my ability to love or my enjoyment of having the opportunity to nurture kids and watch them develop.

    I have to believe that there are younger people like me out there. At least…I hope there are….and I hope that they show up at the polls on election day to stand up for these kids who need good homes.

arkmomy

There is a lady behind the counter who works every weekday. We do not know her name and it is doubtful that she knows ours. What we DO know is that she is always friendly, has a beautiful smile, and has learned that Jon usually gets a breakfast burrito…so she almost always has it bagged up and ready for him when we arrive.

When we arrived at the station yesterday morning, I noticed that the bananas that they keep at the counter had become quite ripe…perfect for banana bread. Since I love to bake, I asked her how much they charge for their really ripe bananas. She sold them to me at a discount after I explained that I wanted to make bread with them.

On the way out the door this morning, I snagged the last of the banana bread that was on the counter and asked Jon if he would mind if we took it to the nice lady at the gas station. He thought it was a great idea, so we took it. When we arrived at the station, I stopped by the counter and handed the bread to the lady behind the counter with the explanation that we’d ‘taste-tested’ the other half of the loaf and wanted to share with her. She laughed and thanked us for the bread.

Jon got his drink and I stopped by the coffee bar and snagged a cup before we walked over to the counter to check out. There…on the counter….two burritos were bagged and waiting for my son. I’m no genius, but even I could tell that the total she gave us was less than what our morning stop should have actually cost. We thanked her, wished her a lovely day…and made our way out to the car.

Now, I’m fully aware that this is not a grand-scale miracle; however, it meant a lot to us. Taking her some of the bread that I’d made was just normal for us…we always share those things. Little acts of kindness toward others are one of the many practices that I’m hoping my kids learn from me because being able to make other people smile makes the world a little bit brighter and it feels good. However, we didn’t expect to see that kindness returned this way…so, in the words of my son…

‘Now that was pretty freakin’ cool’

arkmomy

         I knew that this day was coming. Every kid has to learn to drive. It is expected that parents will step up and take on this job because, after all, it is part and parcel of the parental experience.

         What nobody tells you is how this will shake you up, frighten you, cause you to question exactly how high your blood pressure can rise before you have a stroke, and make you re-examine every reason you had for procreating in the first place.

          Dear Jon is excited…Dear Mom is terrified.

         In spite of my deep-seated reservations regarding my ability to handle this task, I am teaching him to drive. For his part, he has resigned himself to my running commentary and ‘helpful hints’. For my part, I try to keep my mouth shut and let him get a feel for the task at hand.

         This morning was his first time on an interstate. We deliberately chose an early sunday because traffic is fairly light and I’d like him to become accustomed to the faster pace before he has to deal with other traffic.  We planned this, so I can only assume that it was some divine joke on a cosmic level that brought the rain. It hasn’t rained much at all this summer….but it picked the one day when we’d planned this lesson.

          In an attempt to display the confidence that went no deeper than my skin, I shrugged my shoulders in resignation and announced that the lesson would proceed as planned. I made a lame attempt to convince myself that this was the correct decision by rationalizing that he had to learn how to drive in the rain at some point, so today was as good of a time as any. Pushing aside my nerves, I took my place in the passenger seat,  walked him through the controls for the wipers and lights, and tried not to grit my teeth when he pulled out of the driveway. I fought back that niggling little headache right above my eyes as I reminded him to take it a bit more slowly because even new tires don’t grab as well when the pavement is wet.

          All in all, he did well.  I only wish that I could say the same for me. The view from the passenger seat was not only different…it was terrifying. I think that I was able to hide it fairly well since he didn’t comment on it…yet. I managed to get through the experience without digging my nails into the seat or using my imaginary brake. I think the chain-smoking helped. It’s always easier to look calm and collected when you aren’t chewing your fingers down to the knuckle…and having a ciggy in hand helps with that.

          True, he spun just a bit while turning into the hospital because he accelerated too fast on the wet pavement…but we got there in one piece. Besides, the look on his face was worth it. He was so proud of himself and couldn’t wait to tell his friends that he’d driven all the way to work in the rain. I couldn’t hold back a grin as I reminded him that he’d not only driven all the way to work in the rain…but he’d done it on the interstate.

         As we traded places at the front door to the hospital, I couldn’t help but notice that my legs seemed to be having difficulty coordinating themselves for the brief walk around the car to take over the driver’s seat. Surely they were only experiencing a momentary problem because they were unused to riding on the passenger side. That had to be it.

         So, he did it….drove all the way to work….on the interstate….in the rain…for the first time.

          ….and now I need a nap.

arkmomy

     Do you know that I still miss you?

     Do you know that, no matter how many years may pass…it still hurts?

     Do you know that about this time every year, I wonder if there might have been something that I could have done differently to help you?

     It never really changes, you know…not in regards to you.

     Every year, when this anniversary rolls around, I can’t help but remember how very hard you fought. I remember how you held out long past the point where you would have normally given up simply because you didn’t want me to be left alone without you. I always wonder if there wasn’t something more that I could have done to save you.  I know….you always said that things were what they were and that they were beyond our capacity for understanding, much less for fixing. Sometimes the body just can’t take anymore.

     I prayed…you prayed. We trusted and believed and hoped for the best…but sometimes the best just isn’t as much as we want. We wanted to believe that we could grow old together…and it took some convincing before we finally realized that it just wasn’t in the plans. Even though I can now accept it…I still wish that it could have been different. One more treatment…just a little longer…all we needed was a transplant…but it never came.

     I couldn’t save you then…and I can’t save me now….not from this.

     I hide it fairly well and nobody seems to notice. There are those who would be happy to help me if I allowed them to do so…but I won’t let them. It is just one of those things that has to work it out. I’ll just keep reminding myself how lucky I was to have had you in my life at all….that always helps…at least a little bit. 

     Saving you from death proved impossible.

     Saving me from ’should have’  is proving problematic.

     We prayed for a miracle…but maybe our miracle was that we got to love each other.

arkmomy

She needs a job.

That is possibly the only reason that I’ve kept my mouth shut until now.

I will not interfere…I will resist the urge to tell her employers exactly what I think of their shoddy management practices. With great difficulty, I will refrain from writing letters to the home office to give them my opinion…not that they would care, anyway. I will not put myself in a position to jeopardize her job. It is not my place.

What I will do is wait and hope that she can find a better position with a better-managed company than this one that runs the hospital cafeteria. Never have I seen a place where employees have so many supervisors who don’t work together…they don’t talk with one another…they have NO idea what the others are doing or saying to employees. They don’t even give her an actual schedule to work until the last possible minute. She was told to come in today only to find that no hours were posted for her on the schedule.

She had to go to ALL THREE supervisors before one of them finally told her that she would be working every day this week for 11 hours a day. How on earth can anyone be expected to plan a life outside of work when the supervisors won’t even let the employee know their scheduled hours in advance? She would be thrilled to know a week in advance…heck, she’d settle for knowing 2 days in advance…but the day of? That’s nothing but poor management.

When they told the employees that they had to park on the deck and walk completely around the hospital to avoid coming in the front doors….I giggled at their absurdity.

When one of them told my daughter that she was off for the weekend and another turned around less than ten minutes later and told her that she was working….I sighed.

When they offered her three positions that would work with my hours (since I’m the one who has to drive her to and from work) only to turn around and tell her that she would have to work 12 hour shifts because those original positions never actually existed….I grumbled under my breath.

But now….when they are working her 55 hours a week and I am stuck at this hospital for 12 hours a day for the next 5 days straight….I’m flat out mad and chomping at the bit.

Still, I will say nothing. Talking to them will accomplish nothing except to put her job in jeopardy. Instead, I am devoting my time to poking around for other possible jobs for her. It will be up to her to decide which (if any) of the other jobs she will investigate; however, given the fact that she is quickly reaching the end of her rope with Morrisons, I’m fairly certain that she will find something else.

Until then, I will do both her and myself a big favor….I will stay away. I will remind myself that this is her issue and that she has to work it through. In spite of the fact that I secretly consider it grossly unfair that I’m basically held hostage by her hours…I will not grumble to her.

After all….things will work out in time.

arkmomy

             Whatever the reason, it seems a good time for me to stay off of the news boards that I generally haunt.  This illness-induced crankiness generally runs hand-in-hand with the inclination to take things a bit too personally. We all have opinions and none of us could be accused of tempering those opinions overmuch. I generally temper mine better than some, but don’t wish to run the risk of being banned from these boards that I very much enjoy. After all, I am a news junkie. I want to know everything that I possibly can as quickly as it become available, so the news ranks right up there with caffeine and nicotine on my list of addictions.

           One of the perks of living in America is the freedom of expression that we all enjoy and sometimes take for granted. Stories about abuse, the war, and politics usually run into long commentaries because everybody wants their say. Since I am generally a non-confrontational sort of person, I usually type out my comments and count to ten before posting.

          The reason for this is simple. Some stories simply hit too close to home for me to maintain any degree of neutrality. When I see someone post anti-military sentiments, constantly quote scripture in response to an argument,  or rush to the defense of an abuser, it brings out a very protective side of me. Words are powerful…especially in the hands of one such as me who is more inclined to biting sarcasm when offended. It is much harder to temper my sarcasm when I’m not feeling chipper….such is the case today.

          As I worked my way through the boards, I couldn’t help but notice that one of the posters is being his ‘usual self’. He is strongly opinionated and generally makes it a habit to see how much he can rile other posters. Sometimes, he is successful…sometimes not. It would seem from his postings that the only way that he can feel important is to name-drop semi-famous people that he has met and flash his educational merits into his postings in order to promote himself as more intelligent and well-informed than others. Based upon the responses, I am not the only one who finds him mildly annoying, distasteful, and a bit sad.  I generally ignore him because following up on his comments only validates his sense of self-importance.  Today, however, I found myself typing rebuttals only to erase them after counting to ten because it seems pointless to encourage him.  Darn shame, too…because those were some pretty biting rebuttals.

        Oh well, better safe than sorry, I guess. Maybe I’m just tired, but attempting to right the wrongs of the world is simply not within the scope of my desire today. However, being able to post on newsboards is always within the scope of my desire….so at least one goal is served by temperance on this occasion.

        So, until I am better, I’ll be pretty much avoiding the boards. Okay, so I won’t avoid them, but I won’t post. Scratch that….I will post, but I will count to ten before doing so.  Yes, that works. After all, who could expect a news junkie such as me to just go cold turkey and avoid something that she really loves?

arkmomy

For the benefit of those who might not have gotten the memo, I’m busy.

Please don’t get your feelings hurt if I don’t answer back on IM, call on the phone, go out partying with you, or come running to your house to visit. The fact that I am socially unavailable should in no way indicate my lack of caring…it is just that my priorities have shifted and I find myself with little, if any, time for chatting, playing games, or socializing.

I know that you have busy lives, too, so you must understand where I am coming from on this issue. While I can appreciate your attempts to lighten the mood by making jokes, I really don’t have time for it right now. It is lovely that you offer to help…and I really do appreciate the thought, but honestly, you do need to understand that the job does not pay well. I can offer you tea…or maybe a meal…but that is pretty much it. If there is anything else that you might hope to gain, you might want to withdraw your offer.

Testy as it might sound, I’d rather handle the job alone than deal with crap right now. Every ounce of energy that I have is being used to fix things, paint, tend yards, clean house, and shuttle people back and forth to work. Dating, sex, and romance have taken a backseat to what needs to be done. At the risk of sounding catty, I find chores much more satisfying than dealing with relationship nonsense and lies. If your intended goal when offering your assistance is in the hope that you might get laid….nevermind.

The bottom line is this….I work hard. I’m aware that things could be easier for me if I let you ‘take care of me’…but I’ve never been the sort of woman who wants to be petted and pampered. It is kind of you to presume that you could make things easier for me…but who really wants that?

So thank you…but I must decline.

I do not need assistance, or romance, or even the pleasure of your company when it comes with strings attached. What I need is someone who understands what it is to work hard, isn’t afraid to try new things, and appreciates the value of friendship for the sake of friendship.

If that doesn’t appeal…then nevermind.

arkmomy

          Dear Jon is seventeen. There are two things that he wants out of life at this time. He wants a job…and he wants to drive.

      Dear Jen is nineteen. There are two things that she wants out of life at this moment. She wants money…she wants to drive.

       In spite of the fact that they grew up together under the same roof and with the same mother, these two are very different. This comes as no surprise…it is something that I’ve known since the start. Jon is the easy-going, protective one who is driven to obtain his goals…and Jen is the brilliant, tightly-wound one who constantly questions her own abilities out of a deep-seated need to be perfect at every endeavor. Treating two such different kids fairly has been a challenge that I have embraced. After all, they don’t like all of the same things and they don’t like to be treated the same. On most counts, I’ve done a good job at ensuring that both of them felt equally loved even while respecting the very unique parts of each.

     Until today.

     Both of them have been dispatched to find a job this summer. Jon, true to form, has gone from place to place putting in applications at every available door. Jen, in contrast, has put in only a few applications at places where she thinks she might best fit. Jon doesn’t care what he does…as long as he’s doing something and making money. Jen wants to make sure that whatever job she ends up doing will be one that she excels at until she is ready to move on.

     Jon, of course, got hired first. After all, he was bound to succeed considering the number of applications he’d filled out. He will start monday and will iron those work shirts whether he wants to or not–my rule, not his. After all, appearance counts. He should do fine.

     Jen is taking a bit longer. She has finally found the job that will work for her and has had her first interview, but she must wait for the other supervisor to return from sick leave in order to complete the rest of her interview. It bothers her a bit that her brother got hired first, but she’s trying to remain positive.

     So far…so good…right? Not a perfect situation…but a workable one….until you factor in the driving thing.

     They both want licenses. We have the books. They have time to study. The rule is understood…must pass written test before being allowed to get behind the wheel. There is zero wiggle room here. Mom is nervous enough about entrusting her sole mode of transportation to teenagers, so she cannot be expected to budge on the little things.

     Jon has taken his written exam and secured a learner’s permit. Jen has not. Jon got to drive home today. It was a rather nerve-wracking experience from the passenger seat, but we chose a road with little traffic and Mom kept her mouth shut and focused her energy on trying NOT to appear uneasy. All in all, he did pretty good after some basic directions regarding where his feet should be and the location of signals, etc. He was proud of himself…and I was proud of him. I expected him to tell his sister about it when we arrived home…but he said nothing.

    I finally asked him why he didn’t tell her about the driving and he said….’She’d only get mad’.

    Jen, overhearing this exchange, muttered  ‘It’s not fair…he gets to do everything first’.

    Much as I’d love to do it….I can’t argue this point with her tonite. As a matter of fact, I can’t argue it at all.

    Yes, he got the first job…but that was because he’s started knocking on those doors long before she did.

    Yes, he got to drive first….but he was the one that studied and refused to be quiet until he’d taken his test and gotten his permit.

     So yes….he does get to do these things first…but I hardly think that it is unfair considering the amount of effort that he has put into obtaining these goals. All of their lives, I have made an effort to be fair…but I cannot be fair about this. If they want it, they will have to earn it. I cannot hand these things to them on a platter. These are not gifts, they are goals…and people have to work to obtain their goals.

Not fair, she says…and she is right.

But of all the things that I promised her…I never promised that life would always be fair.

arkmomy