There are few chores that I like less than laundry. It’s not the sorting and washing that I mind. I could do that with my eyes closed – but then they probably wouldn’t be sorted very well. It’s the folding and putting away. I don’t wanna do it!

Why do we have all these clothes anyway? And how is it that every single article of clothing gets dirty every week? How many people live here?!?!?!?

I am worn out. I need to go back to work to recover from this weekend! I spent a large part of this weekend doing laundry from beginning to end. I’m sure that’s how “normal” people do it all the time but normally, I would wash and dry and then leave the clothes in the dryer until somebody else gets motivated to put them away. I couldn’t get away with that this time. There was just too much to do. We’ve had some busy weeks and weekends lately. Not many chores have gotten done but we’ve sure had a lot of fun.

LadyBug turned 21 in August! There were birthday dinners, a kayaking trip, mom/daughter movie night, a trip to a brewery for tacos & music, and lots of presents! Mostly cash because she’s saving up for a trip to New York City. NEW YORK CITY!

She’s also been working at a local pizza place/arcade and was wearing herself out – physically and mentally. It was supposed to be a summer job but it kind of spilled over into her regular job and THAT was just too much. She doesn’t have her own vehicle yet so that meant the mom taxi was in full operation on weekends. It was rough for a little while but she started it so she needed to finish it (unlike the laundry). Fortunately, for everybody she worked her last shift last night. Her upcoming weekends should be a little less hectic. Mine too, hopefully!

The Boy has been pretty restless all weekend. He has exhausted me. He met his daily quota for questions by noon on both days! He’s watched a couple of movies, sent some emails and made a slide show in Google slides. He built a jail, took a dog-shaped balloon as his prisoner and then taught the balloon Kung Fu to help it escape. He turned his bedroom into a dojo and then changed his name to better suit a Kung Fu master. He can’t find his new gray sketchers but he has found every old toy that I sat aside for the give away box (and of course, played with all of them and they are all his favorite). He called a family meeting and held a drawing for a key card pass to his room. He has played every single game we have on the XBox. And I have heard so. many. puns.

The weather has been gloomy so I’m sure that’s part of it but also, I think he’s nervous. He volunteered to perform in his music class tomorrow. He plans to play his guitar and sing The Apology Song from The Book of Life. It’s a great song. Very soulful and a bit of a tear jerker if you’ve seen the movie. I’m sure he thought this would be a great opportunity to show off a little for his friends and I’m sure his music teacher is excited to hear him play this lovely song. There’s only one problem…

He has had exactly ONE guitar lesson.

Basically he knows the names of the strings and the parts of the guitar. Oh and he knows how to hold it. I think the teacher is expecting a little bit more than that, though. I’m trying not to discourage him. We had a long talk about what to do if the class cheers when he finishes (be gracious, say “thank you” and “I’m sure I’ll get better with practice”) and what to do if the class doesn’t cheer when he finishes (be gracious, say “I’m sure I’ll get better with practice”). 

Part of me wants to be supportive. Another part of me wants to make up some lame excuse to pick him up early tomorrow. But he wrote down all the words to the song. He has strummed and strummed and strummed. Never the same chord twice but he has definitely strummed. I have to let him finish this and just be there to cheer if it goes great or buy the ice cream if it goes terribly. That is really hard sometimes.

I’m kind of glad this weekend is almost over. I think this upcoming week will be a little easier for LadyBug, knowing that when she finishes her work week she won’t have to go to a second job. I’m sure The Boy will relax a little once he survives his live performance. Maybe we can begin to get into a groove for this school year with more balance between work/chores/play. I already feel better now that the laundry pile is much, much smaller! Maybe next weekend, I’ll clean The Boy’s room! No, wait, next weekend I’m doing a 5K. Oh well, eventually everything will get done.

For now, I’m gonna go lay out my nice, clean clothes for work tomorrow. Help LadyBug make her plan for the week and get The Boy to bed.  He just walked out of his room and asked me if I would help him make some clothes for his StickBots.

No, Boy. That’s just more laundry!

I had planned to share that last love letter that I wrote to my mom but it seems to be lost. Forever.

The site that I posted it on back in 2014 is now extinct and apparently there’s no way to recover my post. I searched everywhere for a printed copy and then I searched the laptop that I wrote it on, my external hard drive, my entire archive of emails, and all the jump drives I can find (but I’m sure that there are more jump drives somewhere. Probably hanging out with all the scrunchies I’ve ever owned and socks from the dryer).

It’s gone.

I keep trying to think of some other place to look for it but I have run out of ideas. Unless somebody happened to print it and save it for 4+ years, it’s definitely gone. I’m pretty sad about it. I cried a lot yesterday but right in the middle of my crying spell the bff texts me. It’s like she knows. She’s so weird. Anyway, I think I’m just going to have to deal with it. **sigh**

I declare today Womp Womp Wednesday.

The little bit of good news is that in my search, I found a Jurassic Word Document that I had to turn in for a class. It has stats and details from my blog, Spinning Plates and it has some of the posts. Not the one I was looking for but some that I enjoyed reading.

I want to share one of those posts with you (it’s actually the post from this day, seven years ago) but first I have to give you a brief background.

At the time I wrote this particular entry The Boy was <1, LadyBug was 14, I was working full time, going to school part time, and my professor had declared that not only did we have to create a blog and write at least once a week but WE HAD TO SHARE OUR WRITING WITH OTHER HUMANS. It terrified me. So, I had a heart attack.

Not really.

I was sure it was a heart attack but the EKG disagreed with my professional opinion. The doctor basically said that I was stressed out but fine for the time being. She suggested I find a way to release some stress and that blog became a great way for me to do that. I found that it is a lot easier to share your writing when you don’t have to sit there waiting for the person to finish reading it. (Awkward!) I also found that humans, my humans anyway, are pretty great. Gentle and warm and supportive. Those are some of my favorite qualities in humans! And also bras.

I hope you like this one!

This Too Shall Pass  Originally published September 12, 2011 on http://www.thespin.blog.com

Usually Monday’s are terrible but after Friday’s excitement I was ready to get back to a little bit of normalcy. Ready for my family to stop looking at me like I might spontaneously combust at any moment. Ready for the teenager to quit worrying about me. Although it was nice to have her be so sweet to me for a whole weekend!

Don’t get me wrong. She is a wonderful child! But she’s a teenager. She rolls her eyes at me on a daily basis. I know that she loves me but its hard for two people who are so much alike to get along. And she is JUST like me. (I don’t know how people put up with me.) If she wasn’t so cute I would have sold her to the Gypsies a long time ago.

This weekend was different though. After I explained to her why I was in the hospital and what the doctors said, she seemed fine. She listened to everything I had to say and made a very sweet gesture of refilling my water glass and straightening my blankets. Then she went about her business as usual.

It wasn’t until she had been asleep for a couple hours and I was reading “Three Cups of Tea” that I hear her climbing out of her loft bed (unfortunately the entire neighborhood can hear her climbing out of that damn bed). She walked into my room all sweaty, sniffling and covered with tears and looked at me with a face that I haven’t seen since the last time I had to check for monsters under her bed. I instantly knew that she had a bad dream and she needed mommy to make it all better.

Yes, you read that correctly. My big tough teenager NEEDED MOMMY (that’s me) to make it all better! In the few seconds that I looked into those big teary eyes (with THE longest eyelashes in the world) I saw the tiny curly headed little girl that needed me so many times. I could almost feel me scooping her up into my arms and holding her tight, giving her noonie (noonie = rubbing her very softly with just the tips of my fingernails) and singing to her until all was right with the world again. I could ALMOST feel…oh wait…uhhhhhh…she’s climbing into my bed…she’s flopped on top of me!…Oh God…when did she get so enormous????

And there she laid with her big pointy elbow in my spleen, gently sobbing. Well, she’s a teenager and I’ll take her lovin’s any way I can get it.

Then she told me all about her bad dream. It was terrible. She said I was dropping her off at school and when she turned around to wave goodbye I was passed out. She called 911 and when they got there (instantly because there’s no traffic in dreams), they told her I was dead and took me away from her. Forever.

By the time she got to this part OF COURSE I’m sobbing too. She never showed that she was THAT worried. She listened to everything I told her. She was bummed when I said we weren’t going to the football game. She didn’t have any questions. So why was she so distraught now? Because she’s JUST like me. She keeps all her worries (SO many worries) inside until they’re bigger than her and come bursting out of her seams (or perhaps has a pretend heart attack).

We had a great talk about how I love her so. I promised to take better care of myself so that I will be around for her and the boy for a long, long time. I told her that she needs to learn to let go of some of her worries too because this situation seems very big and oppressive right now but “this too shall pass”. Everything does. When you’re so heartbroken that you think SURELY the sun is not going to rise tomorrow – it does. It just keeps on shining, taking us to one day after another. And each day that big oppressive weight on your shoulders gets a little bit lighter. I told her that one day (many MANY years from now) when I do leave her that the sun will keep shining until it doesn’t hurt so much and she will be just fine because everything I’ve ever told her is inside her somewhere and when she needs it most or when she least expects it, she will hear my voice and smile.

And then we both smiled.

She squished me for a little bit longer and then I sent her back to bed. And then I took my own advice. I let go of SOME of my worries about her. She’s going to be just fine. WE are going to be just fine.

Tonight she came out to kiss me goodnight after her shower and asked “What do I smell like?” (our nightly ritual) I sniffed her and said “Smelllllls liiiiiike……Guacamole!”

“MOM!” She giggled and rolled those big ol’ brown eyes. But that’s okay. The eye rolling, the sass, the skinny jeans – They too shall pass.

 

It’s funny how you don’t always know when you’re doing something for the last time. Somebody once told me to ponder the fact that one day you’re holding your baby and you put them down AND THEN YOU NEVER PICK THEM UP AGAIN. That was the last time you carried your baby in your arms.

I pondered it. I didn’t like it (but it wasn’t terrible).

I don’t usually mind getting to the last of something. In fact, one of my favorite lines from a song is “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” Pondering the last time I picked up my baby just means that he is growing up strong & healthy and he is able to carry himself around until one day he’s carrying me!

Usually, I’m okay with endings. Usually.

If you know me personally, you have probably read a poem or story that I have written. Maybe you kept up when I blogged (occasionally). Maybe I left a love note on your window. Or maybe you’ve read a Facebook post that I poured my heart into. You know I enjoy words. I love to brew the perfect potion of words that conjures up long lost feelings and memories in the reader. It fills my soul when somebody I love savors the sound of my words and falls into my stories heart first. That is my love potion. That is my magic elixir that heals my hurts and heightens my joys.

If I have written to you or about you (or if you think I wrote about you – you’re so vain)…it means I love you. Even if I wrote mean words to you, it means I care enough about you to share my precious words. (Also, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. Sometimes, I get a little carried away with my words.)

I never thought my words would come to an end but on New Year’s Day of 2014, a chain of events began that left me with no words.

On January 1, 2014, I wrote the last love letter.

My sister called that morning and told me that things were not going well with my mama and I should probably get down there but she wasn’t sure if I would make it in time. She didn’t want me on the road while I was waiting for news like that. She told me to wait a little while and they would keep me posted. So, I waited and while I waited I wrote that last love letter with my whole heart and soul and all my beautiful words. I wrote it with stops and starts, with tears and laughter, with love and so, so much sorrow.

I totally understood that I should not be driving in that emotional state. Plus, I had responsibilities. I had a 3 year old son (The Boy) and a 16 year old daughter (LadyBug). My husband (Big Love) and I had a tire shop that we were ruining together (not a typo-I’ll tell you about THAT later). I couldn’t just hop in a car by myself and drive home. So, I did what any logical, reasonable person would do. I called my BFF and cried until I was out of tears. Then I got on my treadmill and ran until I was too tired to feel anything anymore, including my legs.

AND THEN…my BFF called me back and she said, “Let’s go. I’ll be packed by the time you get to my house.” I said, “Okay” and then I packed up myself and my love letter, Ladybug and The Boy, and we left.

We stayed for a week and I was so glad that I got to spend that week with my mom. The Boy sat on her bed and read stories to her. We sang to her and brushed her hair. We made a few more memories while there was still time. Then, she seemed to be stabilizing so we came back home. I tucked the letter away for another time.

You see, that letter…it was a love letter to my mom, about my mom, that she would never get to read. I wrote about her life and how there were so many things that she aspired to, really huge, world-changing aspirations. She planned to do great things but when it came down to it she decided to live a simple life and raise great children. I guess it was also a love letter to my siblings because I really do think they turned out pretty great.

A month later, I got the call that they were moving her to the Hospice House. The Boy and I made the trip again. Again, I brought the letter. I would have loved to read it to her but I couldn’t. It was written “In Memory” of her but she was still here. Only…she wasn’t. Not really.

My mom had dementia. She fought that filthy thief that stole the 4 or 5 languages that she spoke and the wealth of knowledge she accumulated from the many books that she read. Eventually it stole her ability to read. It stole her peace of mind and independence. It stole her away from me and it stole my words. That letter was the last time I sat down and wrote from the bottom of my heart.

Until today.

Sure, I’ve written stuff since then but my voice has changed. What used to flow so easily, suddenly requires so much effort. It requires a lot of thought instead of just pouring out of my heart. I’m untrusting of the words that were once so loyal to me!

There’s something about losing a parent that changes you. It’s like joining a club that you had no interest in joining but you have to because only people who have experienced it really understand it. Losing my mom was just the first of many events that continued to crush my spirit. It was a rough couple of years. I tried putting it down on paper to process it all but I just had no words. I’ve been a little broken ever since. I think I’m doing a pretty good job of putting the pieces back together except I still can’t listen to certain songs without crying. Actually, that’s not new. Music does that to me but I’m a work in progress.

That’s right…IN PROGRESS! I’m not done yet.

Usually, I’m okay with endings. But not this time. That can’t be my last love letter because what if Dementia creeps up on ME before I have a chance to tell my grandkids how I met their GrandPop? (It’s a great love story. I’ll tell you later.) What if after I’m gone my kids don’t remember how much I love them? What if before I’m gone, I don’t remember how much I love them?

That can’t be my last love letter because I have so much love left to write.