To Mattie

My dearest Mattie,

First and foremost, I love you. Not just like the regular “I love you” but the kind that you will only understand when you see the sight of your own child. It is the kind of love that melds into every fiber of your being, every nook and cranny of your heart, body and soul. It is indescribable, really. But I wanted to take the time to share a few of my thoughts with you as you enter the world of middle school and high school. It’s tough, kid. It always has been and always will be. Hopefully my words will help.

1. Always, always be kind to others. You don’t know when you will need their kindness in return.
2. It’s okay to wear your heart on your sleeve. Just remember to take your head with you.
3. Follow Your Bliss. Find the one thing you love and have passion for and then go and do that. With all of your heart.
4. If you are being bullied. Tell me. Tell someone. Don’t suffer in silence.
5. If you see someone being bullied. Do something. Tell someone. Otherwise you are no better than the bully.
6. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. Never. Ever.
7. Tomorrow will always come and usually with the light of day, you gain perspective on an otherwise hopeless situation.
8. Nothing and I mean NOTHING you could do would ever make me stop loving you.
9. Be kind to your elders. Listen to what they have to say. They know our history better than any book could provide you.
10. Hold close to the friends that ground you. One day you will understand how valuable they are.
11. Dismiss harsh comments said to you. More often than not, they have nothing to do with you and everything to do with the person saying them.
12. Confidently chase your dreams. Be aggressive. But don’t be greedy.
13. Stay a kid as long as you can. Being an adult will come soon enough and trust me, it’s not always what’s its cracked up to be.
14. Keep it simple.
15. Run and play as hard as you can now. One day when you are older you will understand how hard it is for me to always keep up with you.
16. Smile. Everyday.
17. Study Hard. Not just in school, but in life. Being book smart is valuable but so is having common sense and street smarts.
18. Hold on to your beliefs and values. It’s the one thing in this world no one can take away from you.
19. If a friend is trying to get you to do anything that you know is wrong, they are not your friend.
20. As far as girlfriends and sex go. Wait as long as possible. Once you venture down that path, you can never come back. Trust me on this one. It complicates everything.
21. Laugh. Everyday.
22. If you are sorry, say so.
23. If you love someone, tell them.
24. If you need to cry, cry. Showing emotion does not make you less of a man.
25. If you make a mistake, do your best to correct it.
26. If you hurt someone, take immediate steps to heal it.
27. Surround yourself with people that make you feel good about yourself. Dismiss those that don’t.
28. Remember that it is more honorable to fail than to cheat.
29. Be creative. In whatever way you can.
30. It is okay to take when you are in need, but always find a way to give back more than you take.
31. Be Happy. You only get one life. Make it worthwhile.

Well, my son, I know there are probably a million other things I could say; a million other tidbits of advice I could offer but I know that you will do your best to find your own way, to learn in your own time. Know that as you grow, and become the person you are meant to be, I will always be here for you. Always and forever. You are my guiding star and the truest love of my life. Be well, my son. Have a wonderful and safe journey. I love you.

Love Mom

Arithmomania

After yet another sleepless night, a certain question needs to be asked…are there any other slightly obsessive compulsive people out there whose very compulsion keeps them from sleep? I do not have OCD in the truest sense. I don’t wash my hands a thousand times a day. I don’t constantly check for locked doors or light switches. I am not a germaphobe. I do not obsessively clean my house although I am sure my husband would be greatly appreciative if I had such an affliction. Unfortunately, I have a kind of compulsion which really isn’t good for much of anything. I am a counter. Yes, that’s right, a counter. I count my steps from point A to point B wherever that may be. I count objects in my house if I feel there is a need. I count in my head, randomly. At times I have no idea what in fact, I am counting but nevertheless, I do. I will count to 1000 in my head and when I get to the point where I feel I have counted enough, I simply begin again. Maybe the next time I will count to 100, 10 times or count to 10, 100 times. I also know there are exactly 506 ceramic tiles in my bathroom. I know there are exactly 156 books placed not so neatly, on my bookshelves. I know there are exactly 93 steps between my two buildings at work. It is these random acts of counting that are simply part of my world, everyday.

I did not know until today, when I looked it up in Wikipedia, that my disorder actually bears an official name. Arithmomania. It sounds like a fancy term that would make me excel in the study of mathematics. However, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. It is this very act of counting that hinders my sleep. It is not the only culprit of my insomnia because as I have previously expressed, my brain just never shuts down. It is simply another puzzle piece to my sleep deprivation. Many people have nightly routines; practices that help calm them before they drift off into never Neverland. I share in some of these practices. I get in my pajamas, brush my teeth, get my stuffed monkey, fluff my favorite pillow and lie down. This is truly where my pleasant experience ends. When a “normal” and I use the term loosely, person cannot sleep, they clear their minds or go to their happy place and inevitably, sleep will come. Well, not for me. I have even resorted to counting sheep. One would think that my lunacy would actually benefit me in this instance. Wrong again. This is where my overactive, never shutting down, never shutting up brain comes in. I cannot not count the sheep because to me, that would be crazy. However my brain takes it one step further and wanders to other sheep associated thoughts. Such as….why does one even count sheep? It’s not the counting part that stumps me but the sheep part. I mean why not dogs, or cats or my favorite, the spider monkey. Really. What’s not to love about a spider monkey?  And then, for some unknown reason, I think of the nursery rhyme, Hey Diddle Diddle. The line “the cow jumped over the moon” hurdles to the forefront of my mind and I picture sheep jumping over the moon which is simply more ridiculous to me than cows jumping over it.  

I am unsure of when this compulsion began. I cannot recall it from my childhood so I am left to assume I developed it as an adult. It wasn’t as if I woke up one day and decided it was time to count everything around me. It’s just been there. It has never really bothered me before and I am not totally convinced that it bothers me now. However, the first time I mentioned this to my doctor, he sat back in his chair and simply said, “Interesting”. Then my brain went full throttle. Is that interesting, good or interesting, bad? Does it mean I have finally gone crazy? Does it mean I have been susceptible to crazy all along and it’s finally caught up with me? Do I just have an affinity for numbers? Will it stunt my personal growth? Will it hold me back in any way? I truly do not know. I suppose my real question of the day is this: am I doomed to live a life of seemingly random, useless counting practices or is there a cure for me? Maybe, as I say all the time: it is what it is. Maybe there is no rhyme or reason to it all. Maybe there doesn’t have to be. Maybe there is no harm in it at all. Or maybe, just maybe I am perfectly sane, simply counting my way through this insane world.

Reason Enough

It seems like just yesterday I was dropping Mattie off at my mother’s house in an infant carrier. I would lug him, along with a massive diaper bag, up the fifteen or so stairs that I had become all too familiar with. And as I travel those same stairs today, only to have Matt running on his own two feet, beating me to the top, I can’t help but wonder….where in the world did the time go? How did he grow up so fast and where was I when it happened?

He stands before me now, a handsome young man, only a few inches shorter than I. Our conversations no longer consist of crayons and matchbox cars but rather what college he dreams of attending, what he wants to do with his life and if I think he is smart enough or talented enough to get a scholarship. I search his eyes trying to find a glimmer of that little boy that I once knew. But at 12 years old, all his baby fat has turned to lean muscle….the toothless grin I once loved has been replaced with adult teeth that will soon need braces and his dream of marrying his mommy has been replaced with dreams of becoming a professional ball player. I’ve noticed that this progression of change in him have produced significant changes in me. The me that once longed for him to grow up has been replaced with wanting to turn back the hands of time. I long for the days when he would call me mommy, crawl up on my lap and snuggle with me. He would fall asleep in my arms and I would think to myself what did I ever do in my life to deserve this amazing child? I remember it all like it was yesterday and yet the view becomes blurred with each passing day. He grows a bit more and becomes less of an extension of me and more of an individual with his own mind and his own views of the world. And although part of me is saddened by these changes, I know it is just simply a part of life.

Part of me feels better because I have been there with my son at each and every milestone; every “first” of his. I was there for each first day of school. I was there for each and every birthday. I was there for his first haircut, his first tooth falling out, his first bad grade, his first scraped knee, and even his first broken heart. I have been careful to miss nothing and yet I feel as if I have missed so much. I guess part of my anxiety is that I don’t have another child trailing behind him. He is all I have and I suppose my fear is that in having only one child, did I somehow miss the boat on doing it different, doing it better?

Most people I know have been blessed with more than one child and with that I think a parent learns more, grows more and evolves in a way that single child parents may not. But mostly, I think these parents get a second chance to fix any mistakes they might have made along the way. I do not have this luxury. It isn’t that I didn’t want more children. It simply didn’t seem to be in the cards for me. So when I look at my son, I understand the miracle I was given but I also see the mistakes I have made. I can only pray that over time these in discretions will take care of themselves; that these scars, however small or insignificant, will fade from his consciousness. I, like every other parent want to get things right, the first time. But you simply never know when your first time may be your only time. I speak a lot about mistakes and “wish I could have/would have done it different” but don’t misunderstand. I am mostly proud of the job I have done despite my ever changing circumstances. My child is a lot like me…sensitive in nature, hopelessly optimistic about the world and yet weighted with a certain sadness that perhaps only he and I can understand. But it is a sadness marked with hope…the kind of hope that says no matter what happens in this life, we will be okay. It is a look between us, a gesture, and a silence that lets us know that we are part of the same mold, the same makeup; that we are on the same page. So as I watch him grow and the fear of losing him to an adult world that I don’t yet understand sets in, I am comforted by the belief that he will be just fine. He will face this life with the same strength and resilience that I have passed on to him and he will brave forth with my spirit, his impenetrable will and a faith in something that is larger than us both. With a quick smile from him as he runs pass me to the top of the stairs, I am reminded of why I was blessed with this one, beautiful, miraculous, perfect child. God simply knew we were meant for each other and that is reason enough for me.