Today is the day.
She is sixteen years old. She is taller than I am. She is beautiful, inside and out. And as I sit here and write about her, and think about how wonderful she is, I reflect on that day sixteen years ago when she came into the world and my heart breaks, knowing that she will never be my baby again.
Happy birthday to my oldest bundle of joy 🙂
This week, I shall be undertaking several projects here at home. Some are small, piddly little things that have gotten under my skin, like finally hanging up several pictures which have been in the closet for the last five years. Others require the willing co-operation of the children. In particular, Eldest will be moving her piles of “stuff” back into her room by TOMORROW.
She reads this, which is why I wrote that in big letters.
Her room has a certain Zen look to it, when uncluttered. Hopefully, she will get rid of half of the clutter that takes away from it, and make the room into a haven for her. If she’s lucky, she will have a nice reading chair in there for her use, along with new lighting if I can manage it.
Say it with me: OHM!!!
Hopefully I will be able to post a pic of the finished room tomorrow. Because her father reads this, too 😉
UPDATE:
I had forgotten about an appointment I have this morning, so pics of her finished room will have to wait until tomorrow. Thank goodness!!
Yes, I am in a state of panic. Eldest’s Sweet Sixteen birthday is coming up, and she wants a party, but her lazy gene decided to act up, and we haven’t done any planning!! Ok, that’s not entirely true. I have made plans, but she has neither approved or disapproved of them. She sort of likes the cake design….. she sort of likes the menu…. she sort of likes everything.
She just can’t decide on the incidentals.
She did decide on a theme, though. We are going to have a Paint Party! I will have a canvas tarp set up outside on the fence, and her friends will be able to paint or write anything they like (as long as it passes muster with me).
Like this, only legible.
Of course, that means no dressing up, which every parent considers a total win. It also means they will leave through the side gate, and not through the house. One thing I am not sure about is whether or not to have party favors. It’s a tradition in Puerto Rico to do so at every type of party. I even gave favors at my wedding. But kids might consider that uncool, or something. If anyone has suggestions, let me know 😉
So, this weekend will be spent planning and screaming, and hopefully it will get done!!
This is the final letter to the month-long Letter Challenge. I was supposed to have this done on Saturday, but I seldom post on the weekends, and then Monday was Independence Day, so naturally this got bumped to Tuesday.
This is not an easy letter to write. I am….not fond of looking too closely at my visage. Things tend to glare back at you harshly. But I’ll try.
To my reflection,
I used to see my father there all the time. As I grew older, and became a mom, I started seeing more of my mother. That dreaded “eleven” showed up between my brows, and I remember crying, thinking how angry it made me look. I paid attention to the mirror less and less, hoping that the person in it would no longer change. But that was futile, because you were there every time I walked past. But I started to see things differently.
I see the grey hair, and I think of the times my children drove me insane with worry.
I see the wrinkles, and think of the laughter they inspired.
I see the bags under my eyes, and remember staying up late with them, watching movies, rubbing tummy aches away, or searching for snakes.
I see chipped nails, and think of them asking for help with projects.
I see stretch marks, and think of the joy in earning them.
And now, every time I look in the mirror, I don’t see age. I see happiness.
At least until a fight breaks out, and the “eleven” comes back.
Sincerely,
The Me in this Universe
Last night was a typical Friday night at Casa de Aggie. One kid had a friend over, one kid was having a chatfest on FaceBook, and the last kid was enjoying the fact that she had complete and total control of the remote. That really isn’t a big deal, since she always does. But all in all, we had a nice quiet evening.
Until Hell came to Snaketown.
This is Aro.
My Eldest’s pet snake.
She is usually found in her natural habitat of glass tank with lid.
Her turn-ons are small rodents, warm rocks, and small dark places.
Turn-offs include taking baths in cold water, glass candle holders around bathtubs, and dogs.
Mostly dogs.
Especially dogs.
As I explained, last night was a rather quiet evening. Until about 2 AM, when Eldest banged on my bedroom door and said, loudly and urgently, “MOM!! I NEED YOU!!”
Instinctively, I grabbed my gun and was about to jump out of bed, when she went on with, “I need your help! Aro is gone!!”
(Insert groggy groan here, followed by silent curses)
I told her to start looking and that I would be right out. Placing the gun away, I went out, and we began a rather fruitless search for a snake who had a six hour lead on us. The good news: neither dog had bloody fangs. The bad news: there are too many places in which a small snake can hide. So, for now, I will be cleaning up and examining corners, looking for bone pellets or shed skin.
So, who wants to come for a visit??
UPDATE!!
I took John’s advice and began to think like a snake. I found her five minutes after that, in the hallway closet, under two backpacks, one overnight bag, two scarves, a pair of snowboots (yeah, still have them from Germany), and a cloak. I also found a brand new Risk board game that the kids are playing upstairs. Son had said he had “looked” in the closet last night, so I asked him what he had seen on the floor.
Son: A pair of boots….
Me: And?
Son: I think my old backpack….
Me: And???
Son: and…..maybe something else?
Me: Suuuuuuure you looked…
Sheesh!
To my Little One:
I don’t want you to grow. Every night that you kiss me before bed, I lament the fact that you are almost as tall as I am. I want to be able to pick up up like I used to do and tuck you in bed. Sometimes you yell at me for grabbing you as you walk past and sitting you on my lap, but that’s my way of holding on to my past, when you needed me. And now that you are growing up, my heart aches.
So, don’t be mad at me when I hug you too tight, or when I kiss you over and over again. That’s just my fear manifesting into a suffocating blanket of love. And that blanket will cover you for as long as I am on this earth, and beyond.
Love,
Your momma
This letter is very hard for me to write. There was a time when I wanted to be an astronaut, and fly up into the heavens and go where no man had gone before. Then came the time I wanted to be a geologist, and part of that dream is still with me. After college, I really wanted to work in a museum, not as a curator, but behind the scenes, getting things ready for exhibits, cleaning finds in a lab, etc. I left my ambition with the astronaut dream, apparently 😉
But if I had to pick someone whom I wish I could be, I would have to pick my mother. She put her life on hold to follow my dad, and to raise us, and she is the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Being an Army wife, I feel as if I am following her footsteps somewhat. She is sometimes too vinegary, and I am sometimes too weak, but I hope to find the happy medium one day.
Maybe by the time the last kidlet leaves for college 😉
To all the dads, may you enjoy a lazy day and be catered to like the kings you are!!
And try not to think about that cartoon too much 😉
Enjoy your day!!!
Oh, for goodness’ sake…
Dear Hubby,
I miss you so, more each day. I wish you were here to take care of the lawn and the bikes and your car. I wish you were here playing Call of Duty Doing Modern Warfare During World at War with Black Ops while Reaching Halos. I wish you were here to play with the dogs. I wish you were here to drive the kids crazy. I wish you were here so I could bring you tea in bed.
Is it selfish of me to want Egypt to back out of the treaty and for Israel to bomb them back to the Stone Age so you can come home early from your deployment??
Love,
Me
 | B.C. on On Why I Paint |
| B.C. on On Why I Paint |
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| Comrade Mope on On Why I Paint |
