Mom is Just a Nickname

<btw, this is a real post, not part of the story.    >

Thirteen years ago today, I became a mom.

This phrase keeps running through my mind.  Like a broken record, it keeps replaying, reminding me of just how long it’s been since my first-born made her appearance into the world.

At church yesterday, I listened to some folks describe their parents, their families of origin, and I wondered how my children would describe me when they were all grown up and I was a mere memory in their life.  Would my first-born daughter always feel that I preferred her brothers, because she felt that they got more time and attention from me?  Would she feel that I was aloof with her, simply because I never know what to say to her?  Would she know that I love her?

But as I sit here with that sentence running through my head, “Thirteen years ago today, I became a mom,” I know that she is the reason I am a mom.  When I found out that I was pregnant, I became a mom.  I became anxious to do everything right for her.  And as my belly grew the slightest bit round, I was so eager to show it off.  I loved being pregnant, I loved the fact I was going to be a mom, I loved the fact I was going to have a baby.  As my belly grew big and heavy with her, I happily (and somewhat painfully) waddled about, ready to meet the tiny creature that kept poking me in the ribs.

And on the day she was born, when the pictures show that she was red and wrinkled and I looked exhausted, all I remember thinking is that she was the most beautiful thing ever and how amazing it was that she’d come from inside me.

Thirteen years on, I still think she’s most amazingly beautiful.  I think she’s incredibly intelligent and talented, that she has a smart mouth (I wonder where she got that from?) and that she’s got wonderful things ahead of her.  And I still marvel that once upon a time, she was a tiny creature inside my belly, shoving her toes into my ribs.  She’s nearly as tall as I am now, and her feet are bigger than mine.

Thirteen years ago, I became a mother.

Being a mom is sucking all of my time up.  One of the kidlets has lice, so every waking moment, it seems, is dedicated to picking lice and nits and doing laundry.  I’m also really trying to get up that oomph I talked about to get the house clean and keep it clean.

For some reason, the baking bug bit me the last couple of days.  Homemade cornbread to go with the homemade white chicken chili; homemade pear-blueberry cobbler; homemade whole wheat banana bread.  I wonder what will come over me next? I wonder why that energy isn’t being more appropriately directed to cleaning the house?

For reasons which shall remain nameless here, we’re getting rid of a Sauder-style bookcase (ok, a watermelon went bad and sent its watery juiciness beneath it – I swear my house isn’t THAT bad).  My husband and I spent part of the day sorting through the books on the shelf and found a bunch to get rid of.  Sometime this week I’ll take a trip to the used book store and see what kind of store credit I can get for them.  It may not be much, but it will help pay for books for the kids and such.  Hey, I wanted to get a move on decluttering…just not sure I wanted to be pushed to it by a rotting watermelon!

Anyhow, this mom has got to get back to picking “nits and fleas” (as my youngest kidlet put it)….so, back to being ‘Just a Mom’ for awhile.

He deals the cards as a meditation
And those he plays never suspect
He doesn’t play for the money he wins
He doesn’t play for respect
He deals the cards to find the answer
The sacred geometry of chance
The hidden law of probable outcome
The numbers lead a dance

Hard financial times lead us to thinking of what luxuries, pleasures, and possibly necessities would we give up if we had to.  It’s been on my mind lately.

I realize that I’ve been slowly letting go of a number of things which previously I would have thought of as necessity.  Yet there are other luxuries which I keep buying. I rationalize that they are things that would be useful to have, should the need arise, but the flat out fact of the matter is that at this point, they really are luxuries.

Here are some things I’ve let go of in the last few months and years:

• Cable/Satellite TV.  Toph and I have let this go a number of times since we got married.  For one reason or another, we sometimes decide it’s worth the cost, but at the moment we are without…and functioning just fine without it.  We have a digital converter, so when need be, we can watch the news and such.  Otherwise, we get movies from the library or from the Red Box, or *gasp* we do things which are not TV related.  (Oh, the horror! heh.)

• Shaving.  What? Shaving?  Well, I haven’t shaved in almost two months. Not my legs, anyhow.  This was less a matter of ‘letting go’ for the sake of our financial security and more a matter of me rebelling against the establishment, I think.  I kept asking myself, “Why am I shaving? Who am I making happy by doing it?”  I decided that I’d let my legs go furry and see what I actually thought of it.  So far, I like the freedom of not having to shave every other day or every day. I like not having little razor burn bumps on my legs. And I feel like my legs are finally getting a chance to heal all the old shaving wounds they have received in the past.  And in the meantime, I’m saving money by not going through razorheads.

• Shampoo and Conditioner.  Another case of doing it for something other than money matters, but it is saving us money.  I began to investigate going ‘No ‘Poo’ years ago, but never got up the nerve to do it.  Then my head began rebelling. No matter what brand, formula or frequency I used, my head was itchy and flaky. Yes, I even tried dandruff shampoos.  Almost six months ago, in my last fit of frustration, I began to reduce how often I shampoo until I was down to only once a week.  Then about a month ago, I began to use baking soda, apple cider vinegar and if I really need some deeper conditioning, olive oil.  I’ve heard that you can use lemon juice instead of apple cider vinegar, especially if you have or want more blonde highlights.  I’m happy with my head of reddish highlights at the moment, so I haven’t tried it.  The bottom line of the switch is that I’m not buying shampoo, conditioner or any of the other miscellaneous hair products that were previously so necessary to me to have a nice head of hair.  And, after an initial period of frizziness, my hair is settling down and looking fine.  Happy head, less money spent. It works for me.

• Meat. Could you go vegetarian?  We are working on reducing our meat consumption, for our health and wallets, as much as any environmental reason.  We have been discovering quite a number of delicious and filling meals with our experimenting…and they are cheaper!

• Paper Products such as paper towels, napkins, plates, tissues, feminine products.  We have reduced our paper towel usage by using (and reusing) cloth rags for most things.  We use cloth napkins most of the time, and, with rare exceptions, we use our regular dishes and cutlery instead of paper dishes and plastic flatware.  The tissues we haven’t given up.  I’m still wrestling with the sanitary issues of handkerchiefs.  I did give up most disposable feminine products almost 8 years ago, though. I use cloth pads most of the time now. (Sorry if that’s TMI, but it falls in with this category and it’s an important, money saving, switch that I made.) I also used cloth diapers on X when he was little, for the most part.  X hasn’t reached nighttime dryness yet, so sadly we do spend money on pull-ups, but part of that is my own reluctance to invest the time and energy into finding a good overnight cloth diaper that doesn’t seem like a diaper for him…only to have him give them up a week later.  I have hopes he’ll nighttime train soon.

• Newspapers.  Instead of getting a newspaper delivered, read it online.  The downside of this is that you don’t get the coupons without a Sunday paper.  Most of the sales flyers are available online or can be sent in email, though.

Anyhow, the point of all of this is just to point out how many things we use which have less expensive alternatives that have all but been forgotten about in this age of convenience and disposables and expectations.  We have options, if we but take the time to look around and commit the energy to changing our ways.

What have you or would you give up in order to live on less money?

When I was twelve, if anyone had told me that I’d be pregnant in 8 more years, I might have laughed at them. Although I did have great aspirations to be a mother some day (there’s a reason friends called me ‘Momma Beth’) I really did not think it would happen in 8 years. Although 8 years then seemed an eternity away, still it seemed like 20 years old was too young for me to consider becoming a parent.

12+8=20 and there I was pregnant with my first child. Luckily, also happily married to a great guy with lots of love and support from both of our families.

At the age of 20, if anyone had told me that in 8 more years, I would have had two more children but also have lost one, I would not have believed anything that person had told me. Well, maybe having two more children in 8 years was realistic, but not losing one. The thought of losing a child was inconceivable to me then. I lived in a happy world, with a good life spreading out before me. It was not a life tinged with sadness or tragedy. I had such a blessed life, that I could only think “That can’t happen to me.”

At the age of 23, I had my second child. And five weeks later, he stopped breathing. And still the thought that tragedy could strike my family was not one that I felt applied to me. I still had hope that my second child would recover fully from his brush with death and go on to lead a long and fulfilling life. The doctors tried their hardest to put his future into realistic terms for us. The walls of my safe castle were crumbling, my world was no longer full of the bright colors of optimism and joy. Instead, a strong hand had brushed every thing I saw with gray, black and brown. I quickly came to realize my easy, blessed life was changing in horrifying ways. Thinking 8 years ahead then was not an option. It was all I could do to survive, day by day, hour by hour. The future was not mine to dream about.

At the age of 25, the question of Sullivan’s future was answered. He died. He had no future in this life, beyond that of our memories. I became intimately aware that “IT” could happen to anyone, anywhere, without rhyme or reason. As the days and months passed after his death, I began to see a future ahead again. Each day that passed painted a new kaleidoscope of colors in front of me. The world still held grays, blacks and browns, but they became balanced by the endless shades of other possibilities. At the age of 25, I had no idea what my future held. But I wanted another child. Eight years ahead seemed far distant still.

I’m 31 now. I’m still looking forward into the murky future, trying to resolve the whirling mix of colors into some order that makes sense. I’m still trying to find my own path to the future, while realizing that every day lays a new stone on the path to that future. I don’t know what the next 8 years hold for me or for my family. I hope, I pray, that my two children will continue growing and maturing into the next 8 years. In 8 years, J will be 18 and moving out into the great world beyond, hopefully filled with all the hope and optimism an 18 year old should have. In 8 years, X will be 12 and my hope is that he will still have that boundless energy and curiousity that he was now.

But now, looking back 8 years, I see so many twists and turns in the path. It’s hard to believe that almost 8 years ago, I gave birth to my second child…thinking I was giving him into the world to love and nurture to adulthood. It’s hard to believe that six years ago, I said goodbye to that boy. Instead of raising him to adulthood, I watched him soar to the heavens.

Sometimes, when I see a picture of my family now, there’s a shadow figure standing there beside us. A boy with curly light brown hair and bright blue eyes lit with the mischief most 8 year old boys seem to share. He’s tall for his age, and strong. He’s there with us, always, even if only in my head. I wonder what he’d be like now, if he had never stopped breathing that cold December day. And then I wonder what he’d be like now, if he had stopped breathing…but then hadn’t died two years later.

8 years…it’s amazing what a difference 8 years can make.