In April, during spring break I had the rare opportunity to be almost-childless for a week. My four sons were sent off to California, to be with their father. My two stepdaughters were sent off to St. George, to be with their mother. That left seven full days with only my three-year-old to manage. Let’s see… what could I do with a free week?
I wouldn’t have to be my son Garrett’s blood sugar sheriff. I wouldn’t have to worry about ADHD medications for my stepdaughters, or keeping them on track with their homework. I wouldn’t have to do Sunni’s hair, or battle Cassidy’s temper tantrums. I wouldn’t have to help Kyle with his collared shirts or make sure his school uniform was washed. I wouldn’t have to go through the house, being the human alarm clock, (“This is your last call, get up NOW!”), the fashion consultant, (“I’m sorry, but orange and purple do not match, and you wore those pants yesterday,”), the chef (“It’s shepherd’s pie again, like it or lump it,”) and the referee (“Give him back his super-metroid-dragon, or else.”)
FREEDOM!
And so, what did I choose to do with my free time? Did I schedule a trip to Hawaii? Did I go on a fabulous shopping spree? Did I buy a novel and sit on a lawn chair, sipping diet soda? Did I eat chocolate truffles and watch LOST reruns? No.
I decided to keep myself busy by painting a few of my kids’ bedrooms. I purposely chose to engage myself in hard, almost frantic work, trying to get the right colors, taping off door frames, retexturing, and preparing the walls.
As I rolled on the first stripes of my son’s carefully-chosen rust color, I played his music. I turned on the stuff he usually plays with the door closed when he’s home. I played it while I painted, and thought of him. I thought about all my children and how there is nothing more fulfilling in my life than being their mother. All those tasks that seem so tedious…did I actually miss doing them? I realized that, here I was with nearly all my children gone, and I was still looking for ways to be involved with them.
After several days of knocking myself out, I admired my work and hung Garrett’s guitars in his newly-painted room. I saw a few stray test strips on his dresser, and recalled the pain I felt at his diagnosis with juvenile diabetes eight years earlier. I remembered my anger at the world, at God, at anyone who would dare bring adversity into my child’s life. Yet now Garrett is a 4.0 student, who just made his high school performance choir. A handsome kid.
That made me reflect on Kyle, and my drive home after his diagnosis with autism, eleven years prior. How I cried with fear and heartbreak. Yet now Kyle is a strapping teenager, with a bright engaging smile. He’s full of tenderness.
I thought about the mother I was then…the fearful, unprepared mother whose dreams of a perfect life were shattered. I’m a whole lot braver now. Imperfections are acceptable. And nothing surprises me.
Pink. Pink for Cassidy’s room. Oh how quiet the house is when she isn’t here. But I find I do miss her breathy laugh, the stomping on the stairs, her lively musical voice. I never imagined how difficult step-mothering would be. What a thankless, THANKLESS job. And ultimately, how rewarding.
I love my children so much. Riley and his sensitive soul. Liam and his rugged boyhood. Sunni and her quiet nature. Kathryn and her honest belief that she is the princess of the house. I am so thankful for each and every one of them, those with special needs, and those without. Each one is a cherished gift in my life. Each has taught me so many things. How I wish the mother I am today could speak to the mother I once was. I wish I could speak to that scared, angry, overwhelmed young girl and tell her, “Hang in there, honey. It’ll be alright.”
And it’s a whole lot better than alright. It’s been downright amazing.
I would like to dedicate this blog to my mother, Kathryn Gale Riley, who died of breast cancer on February 15, 1994. Mom, I miss you. Aren’t the kids growing up? The lilacs beside my house are blooming. Kris