It has thrown me for a loop, then, that I seem to be experiencing some age-related
transitional problems. I refuse to call
it a mid-life crisis, because crisis sounds far too dramatic and negative, and
I don’t have the sudden urge to go out and buy a sports car. Going from a minivan to a bad ass black F150
was just me boasting that I no longer needed room for three car seats. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
While I won’t
be celebrating a milestone birthday, all three of my children did last
year. My oldest son turned twenty one, my
daughter was sweet sixteen and my baby turned ten years old. Part of me has been waiting for this moment
for a long time, the day when I would find that not only do all of my children
have some degree of independence from me, but I have some independence from
them as well. Heck I even went on a few dates with my
husband and came home late enough to make my oldest text us to see if we were
ok.
But for all
these years, my primary purpose and function was to take care of my
family. I kissed boo boos and wiped
runny noses. I made Play-Doh cookies and
Lego castles. I tossed footballs and
painted fingernails, made snowmen and helped with homework. I watched every Disney movie multiple times,
and still know most of the songs by heart. I made costumes, and carved the coolest
pumpkins. In all the time I was a stay at home mom, my main
focus was my kids. I didn’t go out, I didn’t make many friends, I didn’t worry
about what I looked like I tried to master the art of taking care of
three kids and a husband. My primary hobbies were reading, working on genealogy,
and keeping up with the news online
after everyone was in bed. I didn’t mind
that time at all, I loved it really. I
was shy and staying home appealed to that part of me.
Sometime in
the very recent past, the looks I get from my kids are less “Mum you are
awesome!” to “Mum you don’t have a clue!” And folks, that really cuts
deep. My kids are intelligent,
spectacular and sweet. They would never
hurt me on purpose. They are acting
completely in an age appropriate way. I know that most every mother goes through
this, and I know my mom went from my hero, to a lady who didn’t have a clue,
back to my hero. I know I am not alone. Why doesn’t that make it just a little
easier?? Why does my honey get to act
like a goof and yet he still can be the cool guy? Why does the song, “You’re gonna
miss this?” make me cry every time?
Now that my
kids don’t need that type of mom anymore, I am really starting to struggle. I
am so glad that I started working at the primary school, because it has allowed
me to retain the best parts of that time and of me. I get to care for hundreds of little ones. It helps me when my goofy side comes out and my own kids would give me a look like I’m a doofus, my
school kids will still look at me like I
am the BOMB.
The
unexpected and wonderful side effect of my job is being surrounded by so many
wonderful and supportive people, many of them going through their own series of
struggles with life and its never-ending series of changes. I am trying to
figure out how to appreciate that I am pretty OK outside of my role of “mum”. I am
confused by my feelings that vary from day to day, from feeling the beauty and
awesomeness that growing older allows me to be to, the terrified woman who
doesn’t have a clue as to what she is supposed to be, hopefully, for the next
forty four years of her life.
Like the
women before me, I’ll get through this, hopefully without leaving as many scars
as most life changes mark us with. And don’t
be surprised if I show up with a new tattoo or a crazy new hair-do. At least that’s a mark I have a choice in!
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