GREY MATTER LIFE

It’s been a long break from writing. When my own mother wants to know why I haven’t written, you know it’s been a long time.

Frankly, I haven’t quite known where to start and how to begin. Life has been chaotic, tumultuous and riddled with ups and downs since my last post in January. Yet, that’s not what has kept me quiet.

To be honest, I’ve selfishly relished my personal sequester in privacy and anonymity in real life. Sequestered, pretending I’m leading a normal life not connected to the chronicle of our lives and my emotional roller coaster with my brain tumor.

Sometimes, it takes time to find the words to sum up how you are living experiences in your life. I guess it came down to about 30 seconds on a crowded suburban playground, a crap ass day and a mommy time out to finally find my voice at 11 pm on April 1.

So, thank you psycho helicopter mom on the playground this afternoon with your gaggle of eager followers for inspiring my return to writing. Thank you. Really, it was epic.

It was finally a gorgeous day in Atlanta and I took the kiddos to the park. It happened to be spring break so that was an added bonus!

As the boys played in the big kids play scape, I stood watching Harper toddle around the little kids playground with mulch and rocks in her grips as she maneuvered over stairs, in and out of little wooden buildings and down slides.

I stood alone behind a gaggle of moms hovering over their broods in a competitive conversation that made my head hurt.

I stood relaxed.

I stood confident of what I knew she could conquer and what she couldn’t. I stood experienced after three children with the knowledge that her instinct for caution would kick in before I had to worry.

I know her. She is mine. Enough said.

So, as she toddled about with mulch in one hand and a rock in another, I was taken by surprise when Miss Helicopter loudly announced… “That poor child is eating a rock. Looks like supervision isn’t her mom’s thing.” All while her gaggle of followers chimed in and agreed and the supreme helicopter’s feathers fluffed from her self-appointed perch.

Well, Harper wasn’t eating a rock.

The most she did was hold it to her face. I know this because I could see it from the distance I was watching.

Miss Helicopter must have sensed the hair on my back rise and the scent of a mothers wrath, since she looked at me and had an awkward expression.

I returned her awkward glance with a death glare of epic proportions. My own mother would be proud.

I resisted the temptation to call her out on her insane and inappropriate comment. I resisted the need to simply just tell her to shut the fuck up and tell her all the ways from the sun and back that she was bat shit crazy… but it didn’t. I live in what can be characterized as a large, small town.

I resisted the temptation to call to Harper by name. Resisted calling her to come to me, remove the items from her hand and follow the helicopters standards of parenting. I resisted the temptation to go to her and claim her as mine. I resisted. Not because I was wrong, embarrassed or shamed.I just resisted and simply watched her toddle with joy.

I assessed and I processed.

I talked myself off that cliff of irrationality.

I gritted my teeth and I cursed that bitch in my head through my sunglasses.

However, I grinned as I watched Harper toddle with mulch in one hand and a rock in another as she climbed the little stairs to the little slide and with confidence, embark upon the joy that is a ride down a slide and a high-five from mom at the bottom.

I grinned with joy as Miss Helicopter and her gaggle watched on in silence.

It has been months since I wrote and so much had happened, yet it took this to get me to write and to reconnect with my voice.

So, it comes down to this. One day my children will read this and they will remember these moments that I chronicle and they will laugh, they will cry and they will have questions.

I will not be around forever, nobody is. However I happen to have a little fire growing under my ass and a brain tumor in my head. I am inspired by these moments in life and they keep me writing.

I am inspired by this. Inspired because it highlights the lessons Paul and I are teaching the kiddos. The life skills and coping mechanisms we’re attempting to instill daily in each of our children and the strong independent individuals we hope they become.

Guess what my beautiful children? You will fall down. That is a fact. Your father and I will not always be there to pick you up and often we will choose not to. You will get hurt and you will bleed. You will get up and you will make another attempt and it may be a repetitive process. You will get dirty and yes, you may eat dirt too. We hope eventually you will be successful but life comes with no guarantees. In the process you will learn and you will grow. You will be a stronger individual for trying and more importantly, stronger for not giving up.

So, it’s ok that my children toddle supervised from a reasonable distance on the playground and it’s ok that they take risks and learn how to climb, how to get up after those falls and of course it’s ok that they toddle with mulch, little rocks and a smile on their faces.

My voice in their ears will not always be there so it’s my job now, today, to teach them how to believe in themselves, find their independence, grab those high fives at the end of that slide of life and develop their own voice.

We play old school.