Daughters

I have two daughters.

One is literally on my lap right now, cuddling, purring, tail in front of my screen. I'm pretty damn talented that I can type like this.


So the other daughter is on a train back home to Indiana right now. She's a riot.

Today she went to Macy's for a MAC makeup consultation and she got all done up. She made an appointment for me tomorrow which I am sure I will not make.

After her appointment she was feeling all 'gussied' and she called me.

"Meet me at the Plymouth for a drink." So I did.

Sitting at the bar, we went through all the new makeups she bought and I tried on her new lip gloss. She said it smelled like cotton candy. I say it smelled like lip gloss. Whatever.

We had a very nice time and she met lots of new friends and she danced. I enjoyed watching her. I have no interest in all of that "extra-curricular" activity.

All in all it was good night. A fun night out with my Suzy girl.

YU&77777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777775.....that, my friends,was my OTHER daughter. Anxiously awaiting a night of cuddling with me.

Off I go with my furry, black friend.

Goodnight. Sweet dreams.

Mothers

I just got off the phone with my Mom. As I have said before, my mom is the best. She is my greatest fan and I feel no need for any more fans.

Tonight we just blabbed about a lot of random things. Blabbed for about an hour. Mom validated all my feelings and thoughts. Validation is a good thing. In between those things she reminded me how wonderful I am. I like being reminded that I am wonderful. Sometimes I am even convinced. At least I feel, for Mom's sake, I better be G-damned wonderful!

Mothers and daughters sometimes feel as if they have to "tread lightly" with one another. I am a mother, so I know this. During a few points in our conversation I felt as if Mom was "treading lightly". Example: "Have you called Scott (my brother) about...[pause]...I talked to your father today.

Mom was WANTING to ask me if I had called my brother regarding the brakes on my car that are on their very last leg BUT she stopped and moved on to something new. How do mothers know when a subject as insignificant as brakes are a "sensitive issue" with their children. I dunno. But my Mom knew. I hope that , as a mother, I know these insignificant, but significant, subjects when it comes to my children.

What I know is that even though I am 46 years old I still value my Mothers opinion. I know she will never steer me wrong direction. I believe that when my mom tells me I am right then I AM right. I know when my mom tells me I am wrong then I AM wrong.

Rewind. 40 years. I am six. Sitting on the front porch stoop, head tucked in, arms cradling my knees and studying my new, red ,KEDS gym-shoes with bright white laces. Mom comes out the door and the white, aluminum storm-door slams behind her. "Hey Teets-a-bell! You wanna go for a walk?" She reaches her hand out towards me and I take it.

We walk. My tiny hand tightly clenched in hers. I want to skip. We skip. She skips. I want to sing "Skip-to-my-Lou. We sing. She sang. We walk and talk and walk and talk. I feel so loved and important. There is nowhere else I want to be.

My hand is still clenched in hers. We still walk, we still talk, we still sing.

Our song is like no other. I love my mother.

Letting Go

It's hard to let go.

It's hard for me to let go.

It's hard when babies grow up.

It's hard when my babies grow up.

They let go.

I don't.

I won't. They are my heart-strings.

They make my heart sing....still.


My daughter, Susan Elizabeth, was born on a sweltering, August night in 1983. Two months early. Named after my mother and her great-grandmother.

I was young but not too young to realize, for the first time in my life, what true love really was.


Suzy's tiny body didn't match her spirit. Her spirit was and still is enormous. And the enormity of her spirit got her through some tough times in her life.

I have been, am still, and always will be there unconditionally, every step of the way, right by her side.

Her joys are my joys and her tears are my tears.

On a frigid November evening in 1984, I welcomed my son, Edward James. Named after his father.

Eddie was blessed, or blessed me, with a calm spirit.

Never demanding, always patient, this spirit still carries him through the roughest times in life.

I have been, am still, and always will be there unconditionally, every step of the way, right by his side.

His joys are my joys and his tears are my tears.

I miss my little babies. I miss rocking them at night and lulling them to sleep.

I miss kissing their soft cheeks and throwing them themed birthday parties.

I miss sewing them Halloween costumes.

I miss giving them baths and tucking them into sun-kissed, line-dried sheets.

I miss saying, "Good night, Sleep tight, Don't let the bed-bugs bite. God Bless you"

I miss tying untied shoes.

I miss going to football games and tennis tournaments.

I miss having a ton of obnoxious teenagers in my home.

My babies were my heart-strings. And now that they are all grown up and letting go I sometimes feel as if those heart-strings have been cut...and I want to tie them back together.

It's hard letting go.

But I know, for them, I have to.

Chicken Soup

Peeling carrots, chopping celery , onions, herbs and chicken a-boilin'. A pot of my chicken soup was in the making. Time spent in the kitchen with my youngest, Eddie (23), has become one of my favorite things.

It's hard to squeeze in time with your kids when they grow up. They're busy living their lives, hangin' with friends, searching for jobs, etc. I've discovered that there is an "in" for each one of my kids.

Food and cooking is my "in" when it comes to Eddie. When the phone rings and Eddie's number pops up I know that

1. He's wondering if I have made dinner and/or if I'd like to.
2. He'd like to know if his jeans that I've had for 6 months have a repaired zipper yet.

Usually its number 1. I think he's given up on number 2.

Eddie doesn't expect me to do the cooking but rather he likes cooking with me and that's a wonderful thing. I learn a lot about my son while in the kitchen. I've learned that he's a damn good cook. He's passionate, strong and wise. He's funny, sensitive and responsible. Oh the joy of cooking!

Leaning over a bowl of hot chicken soup we sit across from one another at the table. He's smiling, savoring each delicious slurp. I'm smiling, savoring each delicious moment.