Tag: milestones

Waiting

What do you do when you’re waiting? When you’re stuck between past and future? When you have to be in the moment, but you’re unsure about what to do while you’re there? Doom scroll. Start cleaning. Baking. Pour another cup of coffee and shake the coconut milk to oblivion to get it a little frothy, even though nothing will save the burned coffee taste? But you drink it anyway. Do you dare go upstairs? Stop thinking about what’s to come? Over think what’s about to come?

It isn’t bad. It’s bittersweet. I keep playing back all of my failures, but will myself to shove those out. I play back all of the successes. Setting up his room, soon after we moved in. Pale blues and purples with John Lennon themed nursery decor we found at Babies R Us. The nights I’d army crawl out of his room on my belly after putting him to sleep–this kid rarely slept–so he wouldn’t see me and start screaming. The itsy bitsy spider my hand puppeted every morning to wake him up, running up and down his arm and ending in a tickle fest. His Thomas the Tank Engine train table we scored on Craigslist and all of his trains. Then the Disney Cars. A stint with SpongeBob. Then the LEGO sets. So many LEGO sets.

A big boy bed. Birthday sleepovers. Stuffed animals. Foxy. Kisser, a red and white giraffe with heart shaped spots I bought him one Valentine’s day that got left behind at a department store. Some gentle soul took Kisser to the shoe department and we drove back to pick it up. Turtley, a plush sea turtle I bought him on a field trip. A bulletin board tacked with letters from Grandma and a few teachers, notes I’d leave in his lunch box. Pictures of K from across the street, friends since 5th grade. Prayer cards.

Later, I stopped going into his room. “I need my privacy.” A cello took up my space. Then a keyboard. Guitar. A desk with my old laptop. Pandemic learning when we rarely saw him, but there wasn’t much learning going on, or so I thought. Online senior year because that’s how it turned out. But I’m supposed to focus on successes. Despite the bumpy last few years, he composed a piece of music, played in a community orchestra for a year, found a job the week after graduation, saved money, made a plan to move out, researched apartments, asked questions, found a roommate, combed through an apartment lease, made deposits, and packed his room.

He’s on his way to pick up the key. My husband will help him load those first boxes, then his roommate will stop by to help. I can only watch because I can’t lift anything heavy right now (doctor’s orders). I don’t know how I’ll react yet. Make jokes. Laugh. Cry. Most likely, I’ll give lots of reminders.

The big LEGO sets will move into our living room for a few days until he can transport them. Since he enrolled in The University of Life (pandemic killed his quest for higher education for now), he’s been home. However, we didn’t see him often because of work and time with his friends. I should be ready for this. He’s ready for this.

I haven’t looked in his room yet. I sit here and wait.

Tuesday, December 13, 2022

Milestones II

Tuesday Slice May 18, 2021

Almost four years ago, I wrote Milestones. Here we are again, at another one.

This one hits hard. In spurts, like the others. Sometimes when I expect them. Mostly when I don’t. But they’re hard. There’s the time of the first orchestra concert of the year held in the cafeteria because rules said they couldn’t use the auditorium. The original plan was for them to play in the amphitheater, but a football game was scheduled at the same time. As usual, sports win. Not all students were able to make rehearsals, so attendance was sparse, but on they played. It’s hard not to think about “how it used to be.” The tears come in the car driving back home in the dark.

One of the first concerts back in the auditorium was postponed twice. Once because of dreadful rules. Again. The second time because of the Great Texas Freeze. They did make it back, but low audience attendance (more rules) felt odd and no one congregated in the lobby afterward. I wondered if this would be the last performance.

It’s hard not to get choked up at the “Countdown to Graduation” drive through celebration to pick up the senior t-shirt and goodies. This is is not what’s expected of senior year experiences. Poor kids. We didn’t attend the drive through parade last weekend sending everyone off from locked-out of school virtual learning, into the big, beautiful—or is it cruel—world in the best way possible to commemorate the end of the first 12 years of education. No tears shed on that one.

Maybe I’m getting better at rolling with change, but it’s hard not to be selfish with this milestone. Two more weeks. It’ll be okay. I think I’m fine now. Until the last orchestra concert. This is the last time I’ll drive to the auditorium. Rules required tickets, but all available spaces “sold out.” I prepared myself, but forgot to bring tissue. A mask makes a good alternative.

I decide not to take video of this last performance. It’s getting recorded. I relax and enjoy the concert. Then my kid takes the stage and they play a piece he composed. And I cry, swallowing the little noises that come with overwhelming moments of life. This is what it’s like to birth a teen into adulthood.

Giftology 101

On Friday, my husband “retired” from his full-time job. The plan was to decorate the dining room, bake a coconut cake, and set up a golf outing with his friends. That was the plan. Plans don’t work well for me. Somehow, the day slipped away.

I reminded him to let me know when he would leave the office. 3:00. With traffic, that meant I’d have plenty of time to have everything ready by 4:00, even with a scheduled kid pick up from school. If he left the office at 3:00, I figured he’d be home by 4:00 at the earliest, 5:30 at the latest. I went about my day. Noon came and went and by 1:00, I get a message: “I’m on my way! They took me to lunch and said for me to go home afterward.”

Screech! Change of plans. No homemade coconut cake. Rush to the grocery store. Order balloons. Choose a cake from there. Pick out a card. No time for getting a tee time arranged with so many different possible dates and schedules. We’ll order take-out for dinner. Forget the decorated dining table. The house was still a mess.

I arrived from the grocery store, a small boxed cake in one hand, a six pack of Coronas and strands of balloons trailing behind me in the other, relieved the card sitting on top of the box didn’t blow away. I tapped the front door with my foot, asking to be let in. His parting gifts and greeting cards from work welcomed me instead.

“Congratulations!”

I set everything on the table, trying not to let my tardiness bother me. “You got me balloons. And beer. Thank you.” It didn’t seem to bother him. He showed me the goods, pulling out one of the cards. The same exact card I selected. Out of 500 cards, I chose the same one his office staff did. And how is it I can’t match winning lottery ticket numbers?

I revealed the golf outing gift, but let him know he’s in charge of finalizing arrangements. Tee times weren’t available as far out as I had planned to schedule one. We’d have takeout for dinner with a grocery store bakery cake for dessert. It turned out well. Not how I planned, but a celebration was had.

No matter how hard I try, somehow celebrations creep up on me. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Baby showers. Retirements. Mother’s Day. Oh, Mother’s Day. That’s on Sunday. This Sunday. I’ll add that to a pile of gifts yet to be purchased. The harder I try, the worse it gets. I eventually send gifts, no matter how late they may be. No one has yet to decline one.

Tuesday, May 4, 2021