Almost that day

The day comes closer. It's just another day. The day before my daddy will have been gone for two years.

It's the day you will have been gone for one year.

I open your blog and stare at it, reading the post you wrote about our last visit over and over again. I smile when you mention me dropping the hood off the fish tank. I smile when I remember our Christmas card addressing. I smile when you talk about the meal you ate.

Then I cry.

Big sobbing, heaving, cries. Missing you like you were just here yesterday.

Some days aren't hard. Most days have happiness. The past week has been filled with birthdays and visits from Nana. But I missed M's birthday, and I could just kick myself. I'm no good at the long distance not quite an aunt thing. I miss your boys.

Moons and planets and stars and books and photos and blogs and scarves and fish and yoga pants and killer ponytails and everything.

It all reminds me of you.

Always.

WHAM. Done.

The therapy. It is tough. I'm often left all thought out, cried out, and tired out before I can open this page and begin to write.

But it's helping.

I'm supposed to be making connections. That's my long term homework. It's a hard assignment for me.

There are reconnections that I'm enjoying, and some that I'm not so much. It's good to get back to a friend you drifted from unnecessarily. A good friend.

But connections are hard for me. Trust is hard for me. Depending on someone is hard for me.

All I really want in life is to feel like I matter to the people I care about. It sounds simple, right? But it's not. There is this widely held notion that I cut off relationships with a cleaver. Just put them down on the chopping block and WHAM. Done.

It's partly true. I did call my ex-husband on Valentine's Day and tell him it was over. A seven year marriage. WHAM. Done.

But it's not like I didn't talk until I was blue in the face before that. It finally got to the point where if I felt like I was any less important, I would just drown.

I do try and tell people what I want or need. I do try and communicate. I think in the past, I've been too worried about pleasing people and not coming off as pushy or demanding. I think that I poorly communicated and then would just finally break. I also think that I had expectations far above what they should have been and then just plowed ahead to make my life meet them, whether the people around fit into them or not. Ahem, pushy.

It's just that there comes a moment when I can't stand one more ounce of pain and disappointment and I break. I lash out at what I see as the cause of the pain, and I break free of it. Not ideal, I know. It's how I have survived so far.

That isn't going to happen with Kevin. I know I matter to him. He shows me. He listens to me. He talks to me. We fight hard. We love each other harder than we fight. It is quite obvious that I am important to him.

And now there are children. There is mattering to someone, and then there is being a mother. There is no kind of being needed like the being needed of being a parent.

These holes I have are being filled. I know that I have to fill them myself too. I have to start mattering enough to myself, whatever that means. Or maybe it's that I have to give myself the right relationships to know that I matter.

I have spent the past several years feeling guilty that I didn't feel sorry enough for broken relationships and things people mistakenly blame on me. I'm done with that. I don't feel guilty. I'm not sorry. I'm incredibly happy. I have finally done what was right.

Just in case I needed affirmation on the decision that I'm done shouldering guilt and letting myself assume that I'm just an asshole - I had a dream.

I was in my old house. There were a lot more rooms than when I actually lived there, and they were full. Every room was full of people I was trying to take care of. I was roaming from room to room just letting people down because I hadn't been able to get whatever food they wanted or they were cold or they wanted a different view or whatever. I ended up back in my living room, drinking and crying when new friends walked in. It was Liz and her husband. They had come down from Brooklyn because they heard I had a great place to stay. She handed me a tissue while her husband went into the kitchen and got some more beers. Then, she looked around and said,

"Shit, Marty. Your old friends suck."

Harsh, I know. But dreams, at least my dreams, are often extremely exaggerated. The sentiment is there, though. It's time to make connections. Connections that I won't feel the need to WHAM and run from. It's way past time.

Deliberately

I'm not going to lie. 2012 sucked giant donkey balls. 2011 wasn't that much better.

Declaring that 2013 is going to be better just seems like a dare to the universe to whack me even harder than ever. Not something I want to even tempt.

So, I will declare only what I know will happen.

In 2013, I will turn 40. There won't be any complaining from me. I feel good. I'm lucky to get to turn 40. 

In 2013, Christopher will start kindergarten. I don't know where, and I don't know that I'm altogether alright with any of it. It causes me more anxiety than I would like to admit.

In 2013, Colin will start at Arts Together. I'm happy we have two more years to be there.

In 2013, Mallory will start her last year of high school. So we have one starting preschool, one starting kindergarten, and one starting her senior year. 

In 2013, Kevin and I will have been married for seven years. How is that even possible?

There are goals I have for 2013. I want to keep the house neater. I want to be in the 140's before I'm 40. I want to have my the way I eat when I'm counting points become more natural for me - have it not be a diet, but just the way I eat. I want to sew more. Write more. Play more. Sing more.

I want to be more present in my life in 2013. Aware of my children and their needs. Aware of my husband and his needs. Aware of my friends and their needs. And of course, aware of myself and my needs. 

It's so easy for me to just get stuck in my head. It doesn't take much for me to curl up like a pill bug and roll into my little hole. I'm going to let that be alright if it happens deliberately, but I'm going to try not to let it happen with me unaware.

In 2013, I will try to live deliberately, making thoughtful choices in my body, my mind, and my soul.

It's not a resolution. At least, not a New Year's resolution. It is a goal. One that my whole life has been leading up to. I think I have the tools to reach it finally. 

I guess we will see.

Merry Mammogram

Just in case the world doesn't end tomorrow, I went ahead and had my mammogram today. It's been a few years since I've had one. I've been a little busy having babies and breastfeeding. Which brings us to a couple of interesting conversations at the radiology place.

Tech: Any chance you could be pregnant?
Me: Not a chance. I still breastfeed though. Not much, just a little.
Tech: Oh. When was the last time you breastfed?
Me: I don't know. Maybe three days ago? He's pretty sporadic now.
Tech: How old is he?
Me: Almost three.
Tech: So how many times a day are you breastfeeding?
Me: Oh, not even once a day. Just when he comes in at night and I'm too tired to put him back down.
bbbTech: Um, how long have you been breastfeeding?
Me: Five years.
Tech: No, I mean just this time?
Me: Five years. I have two children, and I never stopped breastfeeding.
Tech: *blank stare*
Me: *stares back*
Tech: Um, I'm going to have to talk to the doctor.
Me: Okay, but they said it wasn't a problem at my doctor's office.

insert Jeopardy music while I wait in my little open front gown.

Doc: So I understand you stopped breastfeeding three days ago?
Me: Well, it doesn't exactly work like that. The last time my son nursed was probably three days ago. I don't know if he will do it again or not.
Doc: And how old is he?
Me: Almost three.
Doc: Huh. I don't have kids. But I have a dog who is almost four. I guess I can understand wanting her to still be a puppy.
Me: *blank stare*
Doc: You know, still my baby.
Me: Ummmmm, okay. It's actually called child led weaning, and it's quite common.
Doc: Well, I don't recommend that you get a mammogram today. I won't deny it to you , but you really should wait three to six months after you stop breastfeeding. I mean that can't be long from now, can it?
Me: *blank stare*
Doc: But it's up to you.
Me: Thanks. Let's get this done.

Yes. I still nurse my son because I want to continue to think of him as a baby. WHAT?

No. I still nurse my son because sometimes he still asks, and it's the least I can do for him to let him decide when to be done for good.

No. I still nurse my son because sometimes I want to sleep as much as possible, and I don't want to get up and sit in his room while he goes back to sleep at 3:00 in the morning.

No. I still nurse my son because I'm lucky to have been able to do so.

No. I still nurse my son because I damn well want to.

We are essentially done. It might have even been a week since he last nursed. It doesn't matter. There isn't any milk left. It's just the comfort of it that I can offer him.

But really? Please.

It didn't make me mad or angry. Maybe a little irritated. I was mostly just surprised. Surprised at how little yet another doctor knew about a real nursing relationship between mother and child.

There is a lot of work to do, ladies.

Thank a teacher today

Each December, the children at Arts Together put on a brilliant production of The Nutcracker. A little spontaneous at times, and a little abstract at others, it's a tradition and a treat.

Last year, Christopher didn't want to participate. He was the "music helper." I knew that was what his dance teacher did for him to help him feel included even though he refused to join in a lot of times.

This year, here he is as a Russian Dancer:

What a difference a year makes. What a difference a teacher makes. What a difference a class dynamic makes.

I appreciate that they didn't give up on him. 

Then, tonight, our sweet friend Kara gave us tickets to a fundraiser for the Carolina Ballet (we are so sorry for your loss, Kara). We got to meet dancers, eat cupcakes for dinner, and both boys fought the Mouse King fearlessly. And Christopher? He showed a real Russian Dancer from the Carolina Ballet how to do the Russian Dance, preschool style.

When the dancer asked him how he learned to do that? Christopher said, "Four year olds can do anything."

Thank you, Amy. Thank you, Karen, Renee, Nan, Rebecca, Emma, and Brenda.

Nurse nurse

He slips into my room in the middle of the night. Or in the very early morning. Either way you look at it, I'm still in a deep sleep.

I know he is there even though he doesn't make a sound other than his breathing. He stands at the side of my bed and waits for me to lean over the edge, scoop him up under his arms, and lift him into bed with me.

Most nights, he slips into the crook of my arms and falls right back to sleep. A few nights ago, he quietly asked, "Nurse nurse?"

He is almost three. During the day, he couldn't be bothered with nursing. There are bad guys to fight, dogs to chase, costumes to wear, cars to race. He doesn't have time for the "nuh-nuh's." When I put him down for a nap, he usually likes to nurse to sleep. I let him, and then I slip out of his bed and back downstairs to get some work done.

Only, lately, he has been too busy to nap. No nap, no nurse nurse.

So a few nights ago, he asked, I obliged, and we rolled over onto our sides and scooted into position for a little side lying nursing. I barely even woke up. I don't know how long he tried. All I know is that the next thing I hear Colin saying is,

"Mama? I really want for the milk to come out."

Then my heart broke just a little bit.

My last baby. My last nursling. And the end just snuck up on us.

It's alright. I knew it wasn't going to last forever. I've sold the cloth diapers. The crib and the toddler bed are long gone. Cups don't automatically have lids snapped on them before being given over to the small people. Booster seats have replaced convertible car seats.

It's been a long time coming. He's almost three. I love who he has become in his three years. He is smart and funny and I wouldn't trade him in for a newborn for anything.

But, just, ooooph. It's just a little bit hard to be letting him go. My baby.

Thank goodness November is over.

I would blog, but there's a snoring dog on my lap.

There is one thing I can say though, I've been wearing teal mascara this week. Considering I've been wearing teal mascara because I couldn't read the tiny print on the bottle and didn't KNOW it was teal - I'm thinking I might just be too old to be wearing teal mascara.

Just a thought.

Listen to Your Mother: Raleigh-Durham is live!

Can I just say that the Listen to Your Mother: Raleigh-Durham show is going to be fantastic? We just finished a webinar (a word I did not make up) with the fabulous ladies of the national Listen to Your Mother group, and I am all tingly-ified (a word I did make up).

Our local site is live. It's naked, but it's live. You are going to want to bookmark it NOW so you are the first to know about the date, location, and time of the 2013 show. And you KNOW you want to be the first to know about AUDITIONS. 

In the meantime, head on over to the Listen to Your Mother show website and check out the bios of all the incredible women spearheading the shows in 24 cities next year.

KeAnne and I are working hard to secure a venue and get a date lined up for this. We want it to be a huge success, and given the talent here in the Triangle, I know it will be. 

Please stay in touch with us about the show. This is all about our community coming together to give a voice to motherhood. 

It's going to be AMAZING.

That last glass

I'm petering out on the whole posting everyday in November. It's just not in me anymore. There is plenty I have spinning around in my head, but not really much I want to put here.

Mainly, I keep thinking about anniversaries. December marks a lot of anniversaries, most of which I'm not terribly excited about.

My last hug from Susan.

My first miscarriage.

The death of my grandmother.

Then there's Christmas. YAY! Happy times. Happy times.

I don't know. It's not as bad as I make it sound here. We have three trees up (so far), my mantle is done, my grandparent's Nativity is out for the first time in years. I'm getting it on with the holiday decor - which didn't happen last year.

I was a little distracted.

Maybe I'll always be a little distracted at Christmas time and just learn how to focus in spite of it.

There are stories that I want to write - moments that I want to put down on paper - of that last weekend I was able to spend with Susan. It's just not for the blog.

When I do that though - have things that consume my thoughts - it's hard to write anything else.

There is one other December anniversary that I don't talk about much. It is an anniversary that I wouldn't have made without Susan. One that I'm surprised I'm still celebrating now that she's gone.

My last drink.

It was a glass of prosecco, in case you are wondering. At Gravy on Wilmington Street. Don't remember what I ate or what I wore, but I remember that glass of beautiful bubbly.

Cheers, y'all. The holidays are coming. Whether you damn well like it or not.

A gift guide for the husbands and partners of blogging women

So. Your wife is a blogger and you find yourself having no earthly idea what to get her for Christmas or Hanukkah this year? I am here to make you look FABULOUS.

Sure, you could just go to her Pinterest page (Yes, she has one. Yes, I'm quite sure.) and shop straight from it. Or, I'm pretty positive that you could also go to her Etsy favorites page, although that would require a little bit of hacking on your part (and if you do that, don't order from her account, or she will know what you got her).

What you need is a fail proof list with links that will set you up right now. I have that list for you.

First of all, you need to get her a subscription to Stealing Time. For reals. It's a new magazine with actual WRITING in it. She doesn't need more magazines that tell her how to orgasm 28 times a night, wear fake eyelashes during the day, or let her know that Lindsey Lohen has gone off the deep end. She needs this magazine. Stealing Time. Go. Order it now so the Genesis copy can be under the tree and she has something to unwrap announcing her subscription.

Alright. This one might require a bit of hacking on your part too, but it would totally be worth it. You need your wife's Instagram account username and password. After that bit of espionage, head on over to Canvas Pop and start creating canvas prints of her Instagram photos. If you really want to score big, don't include any of yourself. Just use the artsy fartsy ones or the great photos of your kids. The 12x12 ones are a great size.

You can never go wrong with books written by bloggers. We like to be all community minded like that. There are books that she would love to have like Let's Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson (which I've read in one sitting) or Confessions of a Scary Mommy by Jill Smokler (which I haven't read, but come on, it's another blogger book - I wouldn't steer you wrong). Then there are books that she doesn't know she wants, but are awesome, like Behind the Woodpile by Emily Rosenbaum. It's an e-book only, but that's alright, your blogger wife can totally handle that.

Spinning off of books written by bloggers is stuff made by bloggers. You don't get much more awesome than stuff made by Robin Plemmons.

While you are on Etsy, go ahead and search "blog design." You will find tons of ideas there. Maybe your wife would like some new buttons for her posts? Pretty buttons to link to all of her other landing spots on the web? Or maybe a gift certificate for a blog redesign?

Last, but not least, in fact - it's actually the most expensive - buy your blogging wife a ticket to BlogHer. It's in Chicago in 2013. Go ahead and get her the full pass, book her a room, and plan on keeping the kids that weekend. Imagine her finding THAT in her stocking.

Now go. Get thoughtful things for your wife. Tell her they were ALL YOUR IDEA. Don't mention me at all.

You're welcome.

Oh, and nothing here is an affiliate link. I make no money off this, and I didn't get anything free for writing it. In fact, just writing this part makes me feel like I feel every time they ask me at Target, "Would you like to save 5% today and everyday and apply for the Target Red Card?" and I say, "NO. I HATE SAVING MONEY." 

Sunday bullets

It's time for Sunday bullets! Yay! Easy blogging!

• Thanksgiving was awesome. It makes me feel so wonderful to have friends who will spend the holiday with us. 
• We are back up to two live trees this year. This makes me ridiculously happy. I would much rather have two smaller trees than one larger, more perfect tree. Of course there are also the smaller artificial trees to put up, but we are getting there.
• I managed to get the winter dishes out in time to have our Thanksgiving leftovers on them. This hasn't happened in a couple of years. 
• Not having plans to go to see Susan in December sucks. Hugely.
• Having our house finished finally is making decorating for Christmas so much more fun. Here's my mantle full of Santas: 

• Our big lab mix, Gibson, has developed a cough and was coughing up blood last night. We don't know how old he is, but we think he's around 10. He has lived with us for five years. Add in his really bad hips, and Gibby earned himself a place in Kevin's lap on the new couch this afternoon. If you pray for pups, add him to your list, please.
• I had my first Etsy sale! Granted, it was a friend of mine, but YAY! I'm excited. 
• Leftovers are gone, minus what is in the freezer. I'm slightly relieved not to be eating dressing again tomorrow. And slightly disappointed.

Kids' table

Oh, hi. I totally forgot about the blog. What with the sick kids, the Thanksgiving dinner, and the sick mama today. Throw in several Christmas trees, my first Etsy sale (yay!), and a mantle full of Santas, and I was just too busy to even think about blogging.

I haven't said much about what I'm thankful for this much, but I have a lot for which I'm thankful. Starting right here at the kids' table. We had a kids' table at Thanksgiving. With the four most awesome kids I know.

A few of my favorite smells

My house smells like nutmeg and pumpkin and stock and warm baking bread. I think I like smelling my house the days leading up to Thanksgiving more than I actually like eating on Thanksgiving day. It smells like everything I love in the world.

I've made the pies - pumpkin, pecan, and black bottom banana cream pie. I've made the sweet potato casserole, the shoepeg corn casserole, my friend Carey's marinated asparagus (that's new to the table this year), and the turkey is brining in the garage. I've already run out of stock once tonight, but a new batch is done and in the fridge to put the dressing together in the morning. Dressing, biscuits, and the Autumn chopped salad will all get put together tomorrow.

Oh, and there's this beautiful looking pumpkin bread in the oven for breakfast.

I think we'll eat well tomorrow.

It won't be a big crowd, but some of my favorite people will be here. Papa is coming. He already brought by a beautiful centerpiece that won't actually fit on the table, but will look lovely somewhere. And my friend from down the street is coming with her two children. I love them. They are just awesome people.

I did, however, forget to warn her that I cook for Thanksgiving, but I don't necessarily clean. It's a very relaxed day at my house. We don't dress up, we don't follow a rigid schedule, and there's probably going to be some clutter out and about.

I guess I'm thankful for comfort, time, and life. It's how we roll here on Thanksgiving.

Into the ether

Some days I feel like a nonperson. Like I just take up space in the universe, but no one really pays attention to me. Which is ironic, because I am the single person capable of doing anything for the boys. I mean, if I'm gone, and the boys are home with Kevin, the moment I walk in, it's, "Mama! Can I have a glass of water? Please? I'm thirsty. Will you get me something to drink?"

It's like Kevin has starved them, denied them hydration, refused them bathroom privileges, and never ever changed a diaper. All of which is ridiculous, of course.

Other than my superpowers to "get people stuff," I seem to be pretty useless. I say, "Please clean your crayons off the table, it's time to eat," and the sound vibrations disappear into the ether. I say, "Please stop dancing and twirling in the aisles; you are going to run into someone," and the words are mysteriously transformed into magical dance music that makes four year olds unable to control their feet.

I say, "Don't forget to take Mallory her flowers," and my voice is so heavy, it weighs the bouquet down to the counter, and makes it impossible to pick up and carry to the concert.

Logically, I know it's perception. And if I had an appointment with my therapist tomorrow, we would talk through this, I would cry, and we would get back to the fact that my cheerleader, the one person who constantly told me the good about myself, is gone.

So yeah. Maybe I'm supposed to be moving on. Maybe I'm not supposed to still be writing about grief. Maybe I'm annoying and whiny. So be it. 

The truth is, it's been insanely difficult to write everyday this month without writing about grief. And I can't avoid it today. Today is one of those days we would have talked through all of these things and the things in her day, and the words really would have disappeared into the ether. They would have lifted from us and floated away together, leaving us to comfort each other, fortify each other, and laugh with each other.

Surely not everyone has that person in their life. What I want to know is this: how do they manage without it?

Running the board

Tonight I ran the board.

Not for anything hugely complicated, but I sat in the big chair, turned the knobs, adjusted the pre-amps and hit record. I loaded our project into Cubase, changed some tracks from stereo to mono, panned the drums and bass, and then I recorded Kevin's vocals over it.

If you record, you will know this is practically nothing. If you don't, I might sound like a damn genius. Or not. Whatever.

The point is, that I finally had the energy, the will, and the patience to let Kevin start teaching me how to run the controls. I'm finally getting started on not just sitting behind the piano or in front of a microphone. It's going to be his turn too.

It felt great. We felt like a team.

Not too long ago, I told my therapist that I had no idea what I wanted to do next. We decided that wasn't entirely true. I want to make things. Write. Compose. Record. Sew. Bake. Craft.

If I can make things with Kevin, even better. Maybe we will have at least started that album I've been planning by the time I'm 40.

Cuddles

I blame Macy Moo. She was so snugly. I just couldn't concentrate well enough to really blog. I had to cuddle. Really. Could you resist her?

Reverend Momma

Today is my momma's birthday. She's 72. This isn't just another, "Yay! It's my moms birthday!" message though. See, every birthday my mom has is a miracle. She has been fighting off cancer since I was 7 years old. To this day, she takes a daily chemo pill for metastatic ovarian cancer that gave her most people would have taken as a death sentence.

Some days, I'm not sure I believe in miracles anymore. Some days, I'm still pretty damn pissed that Susan didn't get a miracle, and if she didn't get one then they must not exist.

Then there is this day. Momma's birthday. And I'm reminded that there is still grace in this world, and that I'm a lucky girl to still have the best momma ever here on this earth with me.

Happy birthday, Reverend Momma. I love you.

25 things I do NOT miss from childhood

Remembering 25 things I don't miss about childhood was harder. I don't tend to remember a lot of the negative, so this took more time and more searching. Luckily, or unluckily, I've been in bed almost all day with some evil stomach flu thing, so I had some time to contemplate.

This is the second half of the prompt Issa and I lifted from Schmutzie. You can read Issa's post here, and Schmutzie's post here. Here are mine:

1. That time spent in the doctor's office waiting for a shot.
2. The answer, "We'll see."
3. Falling.
4. Spankings.
5. Being made to eat all of my dinner.
6. School.
7. Not being able to find anyone to play with.
8. Waiting for my mom to get home from work.
9. The movie that aired about nuclear war and how we would all be X-rayed to death. At least, that's how I remember it. I was scared of every airplane that flew over for the longest time.
10. The real feeling that I might actually die from embarrassment.
11. My inability to emotionally communicate.
12. Big, thick glasses.
13. Telephones with cords.
15. Getting yelled at.
16. Being scared of the monster that was going to come up and grab me when the flushing toilet made its last gurgle. Which is what my brother convinced me of when I was six.
17. Being sick on my birthday. It happened a lot.
18. Waking up in the middle of the night, thirsty and lonely.
19. Boring cereal.
20. Powdered milk.
21. Mean girls and boys that teased. I didn't know how to handle either.
22. Having to practice Bach when I didn't understand how.
23. Worrying my period would start.
24. My horrible haircuts.
25. Being put in the middle.

25 things I miss about childhood

Issa and I are cheerleading each other through the month of November. Today and tomorrow we are spinning off of Elan's prompt of 25 Things I Miss About Childhood and 25 Things I Don't. Only, we are doing them in two days instead of just one. Because we could use the extra post, quite frankly.

So today, we bring you the 25 things we do miss about childhood. Here are Issa's 25 Things (which I haven't read yet because I didn't want to be all, "Oh! Me too!"). Here are mine:

1. Places to hide. There was an empty lot next door to us when we moved into our new house in 1979. It was overgrown in the back half, and although now, I realize it was just weeds and bushes, back then, it felt like I was getting lost in a forest. A builder left some bricks behind, and I built myself a fort. Read: small brick wall. It was my favorite place to read. I would also climb up onto the shelf in my closet above the rack for my clothes. I could sit up there and hide from my brother, or I could pretend it was my very own clubhouse. I always loved a fort.

2. Birthday parties. I miss other people's birthday parties. Mainly the cake. Rather, the anticipation of whether or not I would get an icing rose.

3. Getting a treat at the Tote-Sum. There was a convinence store on the way home from our school that wasn't a gas station - it was just a convinence store. It was called the Tote-Sum, and everyday, we would try and convince whatever mom was driving carpool that day to stop and buy us all a treat. Presumptious, right? But some days, they would do it. And we would pile into the Tote-Sum, pick out a piece of candy, and then pile back into the car. Sans seatbelts, of course.

4. Saturday morning cartoons. Bugs Bunny. The Smurfs.

5. Packing for a car trip. Deciding what would go in that bag was almost better than the adventure itself. Having to entertain myself confined to my half of the backseat was akin to number 1 on my list. It was like having my own little fort back there, and time to read as many books for as long as I wanted to read them.

6. Picking out an animal to hide in my daddy's bag when he had to travel. Daddy had to have some company. I used to sneak into his room while his suitcase was still open and stash one of my furry friends in it so that he wouldn't be lonely in his hotel rooms.

7. Spending the night with my grandmother. Even when she tried to curl my hair, I still loved being with her. She taught me how to make scrambled eggs, bake a cake, and never minded that my favorite thing to do was plunder through her belongings. I loved seeing what she had saved and collected over the years. Speaking of collecting, I miss

8. Watching her sew. I never thought I would miss that, but I do. She collected piles upon piles of fabric that she bought when it was on sale or just because it was beautiful. One time, she showed me how to thread the sewing machine, even though she was mostly blind at the time, and asked me to get the thread through the eye of the needle for her. I miss helping her, knowing now that she was really teaching me all the time.

9. Spaghettios and what I called Raviolios. So basically, pasta from a can. Yeah. Gross.

10. Riding my bike. All afternoon. All alone. All through the neighborhood. Without a helmet.

11. Pretend play. I miss getting lost in a story of good and evil. I miss pretending I'm a Smurf with my friend Amy. I miss the simple improvisation of childhood. My boys play this way together already, and I can't seem to slip back into it again. I was a perfectly useless Princess Lea in the backyard this past weekend.

12. Hunting Eater Eggs with my granddaddy. Every year. Into my 20's.

13. Sitting at the top of the stairs on Christmas morning with my brother. Every year. Even the first year he was married. My new sister-in-law joined us on the landing. We had coffee and groaned a lot, but I'm glad we had that one last time.

14. Sleeping on his floor the night before. My grandparents would spend the night at our house, even though they only lived about a mile away. It was just easier for everyone to come down in their pajamas at the crack of dawn. So I made a pallet and a fort with pillows and burrowed myself down into it to sleep at the foot of my brother's bed. Then I would sleep there for as many more nights as I could get away with past that too.

15. Going to the library and getting a huge stack of books that I actually had time to read. I have always gotten lost in books. Still do. That's why I rarely read anymore. My children have to eat.

16. Playing the piano and getting new music. I loved being able to just sit and play. I could play the same piece over and over and over again, just soaking in the colors and the harmonies that I loved about it - or I could sit with a new book and read straight through it, sight reading my way to a musical high.

17. Talking to my stuffed animals. They each had their own voice. Their own name. Their own story. Elaborate stories that I developed with my friend, Jill, who had moved away to Texas when we were five. We were pen pals, but our animals were pen pals too. Come to think of it, I guess Jill was my first writing group.

18. Peeling the skin off the top of the pudding. You know, pudding that your mom actually cooked on the stove top.

19. Getting my standardized test results back. I loved nothing more than staring at those results. I didn't know how I always did well, but I did. I didn't care that it actually had nothing to do with everyday life. 99th percentile? I'll take it. I would love to be in the 99th percentile for something today.

20. Asking if someone could come over and play. Playdates weren't in existence. Friends were found on a spontaneous basis. If they were home and someone could get them to your house, then you played.

21. A big bowl of peanut butter with chocolate chips stirred into it. Eaten with a spoon.

22. A plate of melted cheddar cheese. Product of the new microwave in our house. Eaten with a fork.

23. Singing John Denver in the backseat of our car. Singing it out of key when my brother bugged me to stop singing at all (yes, the beginning of the "let's sing wrong" game that I continue today). Making up my own harmony when my family would tolerate it.

24. Pretending my bed or the living room couch was a boat. Apparently, I enjoyed being trapped as a child. Perhaps I should bring this up in therapy.

25. My daddy.

Mother Daughter

I am not her mother.

She is my sons' sister. She is my husband's daughter. I cannot claim her.

I am not her mother.

She is her own person. She is smart. She is talented. She is kind. I passed no genes to her.

I am not her mother, but she is my daughter.

A child of my heart. I love her with the love I have for her brothers. When she leaves, I feel part of our family slipping away, leaving a huge hole where she belongs. When she is here, I curse her teachers for giving her so much homework that she can't spend time with me in the evenings, and I simultaneously burst with pride that she is so conscious of her work on her own.

So I take her M'n'M's to munch on while she studies. I make her a sandwich to take for lunch. I try to remember to get her brothers' things out of her bathroom and make sure they stay out of her room.

It's not much. I'm sure she doesn't know how much I love her. I'm positive she doesn't know how much I'm going to miss her when she goes to college in a little over a year.

I've kept my distance. It is so important that she have a good relationship with her mother. A child needs that. I want her to always have that.

But can it be time for her to know that we are also parent and child? Stepmama and stepdaughter. Family. Friends.

Before she is gone, I want her to know that she can always come back. We will always be here for her, waiting for hugs, playdoh, coloring, TV marathons, family movie nights, and brownie baking.

I want her to know that I love her, and that even though I am not her mother, she is my daughter. My only, quite perfect, daughter.