Teenaged Drama Queen

Teenage Drama Queen

This post is to all of the mothers out there who are one eye roll away from strangling your daughter. The one who thinks to herself, “once she is in college maybe she will grow a little, and realize what we have sacrificed for her. Our boundaries are because we love her.  And maybe when she comes home for Christmas break she will be NICE!!!!” I get it. I was a teenage daughter once, and I could not WAIT to get off to college. I had my first kiss, sweet sixteen, proms, and graduation behind me.  I was such a sassy mouthed teenager, who knew everything. My mom and I would stand toe to toe arguing, more so me and my dad because we are so much alike.  They did not know anything! Ugh!!! But, little did I know at the time what a wise and strong woman my mom was; and that one day I would consider her my best friend. The one I would turn to for anything.  I would one day call my dad and apologize for all the wrongdoings I did as an angry child. I would realize that he really does hang the moon. Gosh, he treated me like such a princess.  If, I only knew then what I know now…

I was on Adalynne’s blog for the first time in a while today. I smiled as I was reminded of some of the details of her; Adalynne. She loved the movies! I remember that she came home on a Friday, and I daydreamed about taking her to church that Sunday. That was something Ryan did not agree with. I don’t know why he didn’t just let me have that…”wish” that daydream? It was not something that was decided by me or Ryan. She went home, to her forever resting place, on Saturday night.

Anyway, someone had commented on a post that I had written, asking me to write them back. I did so, with the greeting “I am Adalynne’s mom”.  That seems so trivial, introducing yourself as your child’s parent. “Oh, hi I am Harrison’s mom”, to the new kid’s parents the first time you meet them. The kid who you had heard all about with excitement.  Or, “hi I’m Houston’s mom” to his soccer coach. I have made the introduction as Harrison, Houston or Hamilton’s mom dozens of times in their lives. I have not even thought twice about what a gift that introduction is in of itself. It hit me like a pallet of concrete tonight. I am so blessed that I get to raise these boys with very stinky feet. Their feet literally will smell up the ENTIRE downstairs. They talk back and drive me nuts. They chew with their mouths open, even though since they were two we have worked on table manners. I have even threatened, gasp, to make them eat outside with the animals if I had to ask them one more time to chew with their mouths closed. They are these little people who are learning the ways of the world in the only way that they know how. There is this boy in our house who cries wolf way too much. He likes to stretch the truth. Okay truthfully he lies a lot. Even though I have been embarrassed by his tall stories, I have been given the gift of being able to teach him why honesty is always better than lies.  They are going to repeat things that you have said at the worst possible time. They are going to test your patience, when all you need is compliance. I love their stinky feet, speech impediment, learning difficulties, hugs, and most of all the time I have been given. I have been blessed. I have been able to raise three little boys. I am doing the best I can. I know that there are days when I could have done a lot better. There are times that I have gone to them and asked for their forgiveness. There are so many things that I wish I could do over, and I get to. If it is the chance to teach them how to deal with stress, dropping my stress off at the door when I get home from work, biting my tongue in front of them, or giving of my exhausted self when all I want to do is climb into bed. I will continue to make mistakes. I will continue to question if, as a mom, I am doing what is best for them. That is a gift. The snotty noses and stinky diaper changes are all times that we have been given to show our love in the smallest of ways by a swipe of a tissue or several swipes of baby wipes.  People who know me well, know that I am a self proclaimed “terrible housekeeper”. I gave up while I was in nursing school several years ago. I use to spend 8 hours every Friday cleaning. It always put me in a terrible mood and by Saturday the house would be trashed again. It was not worth it. I just don’t have the energy during the week, and the weekends I don’t want to spend my time cleaning when we can be doing something else. Well, today I was cleaning; really cleaning.  The way I did years ago. I was on my hands and knees razor blading, who knows what, off of the floor when I realized I need to go change a diaper. I think it was a fruit snack. I go to change Hamilton's diaper only to realize that’s not chocolate all over his little grubby hands. I dropped everything. I tell Ham, for the 50^th time, not to touch his dirty diaper, “that’s yucky, gross!” I helped him wash his hands, as I am using my toe to start the bathwater, wondering if the towels in the dryer are dry, wondering when I can throw his soiled pants in the wash, and then thinking I just bleached this bathroom.  I have “baby love” all over our windows. Baby love is so much nicer that saying, hand prints, nose goo, spit up, and all the other trails little ones leave behind. A lot of the baby love gets cleaned up immediately.  Honestly, it pulls at my heart strings to clean their hand prints off the glass doors. Those tiny hand prints will one day be big, and considerate enough to know how to not leave them behind. Those hand prints are a moment frozen in time. Kids are so messy and chaotic.

When those children become adults, please know how blessed you are to have them in your lives. That all the trials and tribulations of parenthood were to better the life (or lives) you were responsible in shaping. I sit here today, and I am so thankful for all of the sacrifices my mom and dad made raising me and my three brothers.   Sit back and reflect the sacrifices you had to make. As a mother who has lost a child I wonder what it would be like to have an adult Adalynne in my corner. An Adalynne we shaped with our morals and values. I imagine what it would be like for her to bestow her adult wisdom upon us. What would it be like to sit back and say, “Wow where did that come from? We did that? When did she become an adult? We did great, she is incredible,” as a look at Ryan.

Please remember that not every mom gets to live some of the moments we have been given; the moments that are fleeting in raising our kids, the ones that seem so mundane.  Not every mom will know what it’s like to braid their little girl’s hair or paint her nails; argue with her to sit still while trying to get the tangles our of her matted hair. There are some of us who don’t get to go through the princess stage or tomboy stage. We will never know what it’s like for their teenage daughter to roll her eyes at us, because we are so dumb and don’t know anything. There are some of us who have to get on our knees or look up at the sky when we want to talk to our little girls. For Adalynne’s birthday and Christmas I pick out what flowers will weather the storm best. I long to know what our house would be like with her in it; Halloween night, her art projects on the refrigerator  Would she be a picky eater like Houston? While my intention is not to make anyone feel sorry for me, but rather let it be known that those moments are a blessing. I need just as much reminding as the next mom. Today was the first time in three years and ten months  that I was  given to the gift  of being able to introduce myself as Adalynne Dior’s mom.

As a mother who has lost a daughter, a daughter who has held her mom’s hand during breast cancer, who considers her mom superwoman, and a mom raising three snaggle toothed boys I know I am blessed. Some days I am just too exhausted to realize it.