Am I Alone

It has been over a year (cough) or so since I posted. Scout, turns 7 years old tomorrow. Sawyer, turned 4 last week. My kids aren't little anymore... Scout completed the 1st Grade with a zeal that I never had as a student. She over-performs in everything she does academically.  She is whip smart and bold, brave too.  She is awe-inspiring and never stops talking.

She went into First Grade without hesitation and now, here we are, about to step in to Second grade. I am shaking my head. Like all parents, I am wondering, how this happened? Why so fast?  Yet, my conundrum is this (or at least one of them). I come home from work, and I don't like the hours between 5:30-8:00. The kids are tired, we are tried, we have to get stuff done, we are busy, there is always something to do, and we know, once we go to bed, it starts all over again.  I wake up in the morning, thinking about how lucky I am... and by the end of the day I am burnt.

Sawyer is attending a wonderful preschool that is just so perfect for him. It is small and so nurturing. He has been there for almost a year now and going to school is an exciting part of his day. He has turned out to be quite an athlete, having completed his first T-Ball Season, now on to biking and roller skating, swimming, tennis and gymnastics. The kid is good at everything he does. He is a sweet and funny, and he never stops moving, ever, except when he is asleep. 

Our kids are awesome... but here is the thing: And tell me if I am alone here.  They are driving me crazy. No really, really crazy. Scout is 7 going on 17. She is sassy, mouthy and often times, I am her target for all things nasty. The way she talks to me, is just horrible. She is sometimes mean. I am shocked by this, as I always thought it was going to be the teenage years that did me in. But I am thinking I am good and done in...  I am the harder parent. There is no doubt about it. I have no soft landing... bad cop here. But someone has to be. Bob is the mediator, which isn't a good place to be as a parent. We are trying to find our united front... he is more patient and I am very, very sensitive. He can let things roll off his back... I go to work crying.  Sawyer is tough in his own ways. He is 4 - and wants to digress. He is often lazy - he wants to be the baby.  Admittedly, I cater to him because he is the baby, but I try not too, and I catch myself.  I feel as though I am in a constant stream of 'trying harder'... or just 'doing it wrong.'  Failing. 

Regrettable, I haven't written for so long, I have no idea where to start - but this is the beginning of a catch up post. For me. For them. 

They are good kids. Being a parent is fucking hard. Harder than I ever, ever imagined. It is also bigger and faster and slower and more frustratingly beautiful than I can even understand? I feel alone... am I alone with these feelings? 

Scout is celebrating her birthday tomorrow, fairly quietly for the first time. Each year we have had a huge party - this year... a small celebration. Sawyer had his first independent birthday party... his friends from preschool came and they romped  around the yard, swam, ate cake, had the best time. Simple. 

Simple. 

Bob's Birthday 2013

Sawyer and Bob at T-Ball - Summer 2013

Scout at Grand Lake on the 4th of July

Grand Lake, July 4th 2013 

This is one of my faves of all time. Sawyer getting his haircut at an old school Barber on Tennyson St. 

UNPREPARED

"Mommy, why did Sophia's Dad die?"  Sophia is Scout's friend at preschool who lost her dad to suicide at the age of three. I could see and feel myself drop to my knees in my minds eye. The sensation that ran through me was foreign.  I hadn't planned on answering questions relating to death, not to a three year old. Not now.  I opened my mouth... and it all came pouring out. "Honey, Sophia's Dad was really sick. He died because he was really sick" I tried to explain.  "But why he died" Scout asked again. Bob chimed in; "honey, Sophia's Daddy was very, very sick. He died because he was so sick."  Scout still pondered.  Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled over.  "But why he died?" She was being persistent.

I let it go... fast and furious it poured out of my mouth. "Honey, we ALL die. It is just part of life. We ALL die." I could HEAR Bob's eyes burning through me.  And I kept going.  "Sophia's Daddy died... but you are so very lucky to have YOUR Daddy."

Scout was sucking her binky and her eyes so very tired.  It was edging upon 10:00 p.m. far past her bedtime.
"Why we ALL die?" She continued.  I backpedaled.   "It's okay honey, you are so lucky to have your Daddy! Sophia is sad, isn't she? She misses her Daddy, and we all just have to be thankful."

What  in the hell am I doing?  I am telling a 3 year old that WE ALL DIE!  I hate myself for this.  She doesn't need to know this yet.  My reasoning was this:  I want to be honest and upfront with her about life. I swore I would.  But not about this. Not now.

"But where did he go"  Scout asked.

Now how do I explain this?

"He went up to heaven honey, he is in the sky.  People go to heaven when they die."  I hate myself for saying this. I don't believe this nor does it have any meaning to a 3 year old.  "He floated up to the sky!" I said with reverence! The hole I was digging was just getting deeper.

And that was it.  Tears were streaming down my face.  "Why you crying Mommy" Scout asked concerned.  Why am I crying? I am kicking myself inside.  I'm losing control of this conversation and I know Bob is upset with me for blurting out "We ALL die."  I'm upset with me to.

"It's okay honey, I'm just sad for Sophia not having a Daddy.  But Sophia is so lucky to have you as a friend Scout! And you are so lucky to have a Mommy and Daddy and we both love you so much!"

And as fast and furious as the conversation started, it was over. I felt broken. How, on earth do we tell our babies about death and sickness, pain and suffering?  Or do we?  How much are we supposed to protect them from the difficult realities of life?  Part of my comittment to telling my children 'straight up' is that my parents were SO brilliant at keeping my brother and I "protected."  It was magical how they protected us. did a left us; and it left us unprepared for *real life.*  I don't resent it. I just imagined I would do it a bit different.

And now, I can't take it back.

We all DIE... this is true.  That reality alone makes me choke up.  And I am angry with myself that I couldn't be more clever and discerning with Scout. More prepared. More sensitive.

This conversation happened on my 36th birthday - right as I had been thinking about my own mortality and not being around for my children. The worst, very worst possible thought of missing them, growing and changing and navigating through this life.  

We have no guarantees... this I know. But I am hanging on as tight a I can, trying to soak up every minute, good, bad and indifferent. Because... this is ALL we get. This ONE life. Because we ALL DIE... and every minute counts.  And my children taught me this.