March 24, 2010
Wednesday, 10:27 P.M.
Home
I spent the day feeling invisible. For eight hours I worked at my usual station; Nursing Admin Office, outside the offices of three associate directors of nursing. In the center of the arena I type, make appointments, create forms, set up interviews, devise schedules, field phone calls, print up and copy labs, distribute mail, verify invoices, requisition supplies, place orders, do inventories, deal with the Dept. of Health, maintain payroll information, monitor staffing hours, update procedure and policy manuals, etc., etc.
Not for a moment today, did I get a chance to stop and catch my breath. In six months at this position, I have taken a lunch break four times. Granted, that is my own fault, but the point of this story is that work hard, I work conscientiously, and I take pride in what I do. I also take pride in acknowledging the people around me, no matter how busy I may be, even if it's only a quick hello. And you know what? I am so tired tonight that this is going to end right here. Maybe I'll continue the story tomorrow or maybe it won't even matter that much by then.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Wedding Bell Blues
March 23, 2010
Tuesday, 5:32 P.M.
Home
I'm a bad mother. Nope, don't try to make me feel better. I am a bad mother. My baby got married on Sunday and after a perfect, beautiful, sweet wedding ceremony and a rollicking, fun, happy reception, I came home and cried. I am honestly happy for the kids and I wish them all the most wonderful things life has to offer them. That's what makes this reaction so hard to understand. It's purely selfish, very unmaternal. I became second place in another son's life on Sunday. I am no longer "the contact in case of emergency". I am relegated to hearing second hand any good news, bad news, and everything in between, and I will probably hear it from my son's wife rather than from him. That's if they ever even call me at all! Daughters are different. Any bonding that was broken in adolescence returns in marriage. They want to be around their moms, they want to share all that girly stuff. I am the first one to tell you I am not a girly girl. I was never a giggler, or wasted my time concerned about designer clothes, fingernails, or hairdos. I am a tomboy, enjoying a hike through the woods far more than a day at a spa. Shake shingling my house is a far better use of my time than sitting in a salon getting a mani/pedi. So God, in his infinite wisdom, knew what he was doing when he blessed me with my boys. At first, I thought that was pretty cool. I loved being the mom of sons. It seemed so much easier than putting up with all the little and big girl moods and expectations. Well, I still love being the mom of sons, but with that comes letting them go when they take themselves a bride. There is an old saying that goes something like this, "My son is my son till he takes him a wife, but my daughter is my daughter for the rest of her life." I miss my sons. I miss my importance in their lives. Selfish, right?
Tuesday, 5:32 P.M.
Home
I'm a bad mother. Nope, don't try to make me feel better. I am a bad mother. My baby got married on Sunday and after a perfect, beautiful, sweet wedding ceremony and a rollicking, fun, happy reception, I came home and cried. I am honestly happy for the kids and I wish them all the most wonderful things life has to offer them. That's what makes this reaction so hard to understand. It's purely selfish, very unmaternal. I became second place in another son's life on Sunday. I am no longer "the contact in case of emergency". I am relegated to hearing second hand any good news, bad news, and everything in between, and I will probably hear it from my son's wife rather than from him. That's if they ever even call me at all! Daughters are different. Any bonding that was broken in adolescence returns in marriage. They want to be around their moms, they want to share all that girly stuff. I am the first one to tell you I am not a girly girl. I was never a giggler, or wasted my time concerned about designer clothes, fingernails, or hairdos. I am a tomboy, enjoying a hike through the woods far more than a day at a spa. Shake shingling my house is a far better use of my time than sitting in a salon getting a mani/pedi. So God, in his infinite wisdom, knew what he was doing when he blessed me with my boys. At first, I thought that was pretty cool. I loved being the mom of sons. It seemed so much easier than putting up with all the little and big girl moods and expectations. Well, I still love being the mom of sons, but with that comes letting them go when they take themselves a bride. There is an old saying that goes something like this, "My son is my son till he takes him a wife, but my daughter is my daughter for the rest of her life." I miss my sons. I miss my importance in their lives. Selfish, right?
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Most Important
March 20, 2010
Saturday, 4:42 P.M.
Home
I sit here this afternoon on the beautiful first day of Spring, pleased that the sun is shining and the air is deliciously warm. I also sit here, alone, realizing that I am living the last day of my life as the most important person in the world to someone. My youngest son is getting married tomorrow and I am wise enough to know that I must step aside gracefully to allow his wife to step into that place that I have held so dear. I know how this routine goes; it has happened before with my older son. One day, you are special and loved beyond all things and the next, you have dropped to second, third, fourth, or even lower place. It is a painful experience and it makes me sad. I wish for my Tom the same that I wished for his older brother; that he find joy and love and peace with his new wife, my daughter-in-law. Len has. He and his wife and children are an amazing family living the American dream to its fullest. Sometimes they let me come in.
So tomorrow morning, I will wake up alone, get ready for the wedding alone, drive myself to Fox Hollow alone, walk through the doors alone, witness the beginning of my end alone and then come home to be alone. I feel older somehow than I did yesterday. Today, I am Tom's mom, tomorrow I will be Megan's mother-in-law. I am not the most important person in the world to anyone, anymore...that's lonely.
Saturday, 4:42 P.M.
Home
I sit here this afternoon on the beautiful first day of Spring, pleased that the sun is shining and the air is deliciously warm. I also sit here, alone, realizing that I am living the last day of my life as the most important person in the world to someone. My youngest son is getting married tomorrow and I am wise enough to know that I must step aside gracefully to allow his wife to step into that place that I have held so dear. I know how this routine goes; it has happened before with my older son. One day, you are special and loved beyond all things and the next, you have dropped to second, third, fourth, or even lower place. It is a painful experience and it makes me sad. I wish for my Tom the same that I wished for his older brother; that he find joy and love and peace with his new wife, my daughter-in-law. Len has. He and his wife and children are an amazing family living the American dream to its fullest. Sometimes they let me come in.
So tomorrow morning, I will wake up alone, get ready for the wedding alone, drive myself to Fox Hollow alone, walk through the doors alone, witness the beginning of my end alone and then come home to be alone. I feel older somehow than I did yesterday. Today, I am Tom's mom, tomorrow I will be Megan's mother-in-law. I am not the most important person in the world to anyone, anymore...that's lonely.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Part of an Essay
March 19, 2010
Friday, 9:35 P.M.
Home
I have been fortunate, in my adult life, to have lived in relatively safe, peaceful neighborhoods. Once a year, for thirty years, my husband and I would throw an open house 4th of July party. People we hadn’t seen all year long would know to show up at our house on that day; no invitations and it was always a wildly successful blowout. All day long and into the night, the fireworks were being lit and exploded. Bottle rockets whistled through the sky and decorative displays would light up the night. Not once in all those years did a neighbor call the police. They would come from their houses as the sky darkened carrying their folding chairs and they would park themselves along the street to admire the displays. It was the one time in the year when the neighbors in this area came together. They would o-o-o and a-a-ah and you would hear occasional applause. When the fireworks works were over, they would fold up their chairs and go home, with nary a word. They were always content in the knowledge that the next morning we would be outside, going up and down the street, cleaning any debris that may have found its way into their yards, leaving the street just as pristine as it had been on July 3rd. They would not step out to say good morning or comment on the day before. The street remained closed and empty. It was strange.
Friday, 9:35 P.M.
Home
I have been fortunate, in my adult life, to have lived in relatively safe, peaceful neighborhoods. Once a year, for thirty years, my husband and I would throw an open house 4th of July party. People we hadn’t seen all year long would know to show up at our house on that day; no invitations and it was always a wildly successful blowout. All day long and into the night, the fireworks were being lit and exploded. Bottle rockets whistled through the sky and decorative displays would light up the night. Not once in all those years did a neighbor call the police. They would come from their houses as the sky darkened carrying their folding chairs and they would park themselves along the street to admire the displays. It was the one time in the year when the neighbors in this area came together. They would o-o-o and a-a-ah and you would hear occasional applause. When the fireworks works were over, they would fold up their chairs and go home, with nary a word. They were always content in the knowledge that the next morning we would be outside, going up and down the street, cleaning any debris that may have found its way into their yards, leaving the street just as pristine as it had been on July 3rd. They would not step out to say good morning or comment on the day before. The street remained closed and empty. It was strange.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
It's Thursday?
March 18, 2010
Thursday, 8:57 P.M.
Home
Where did this week go? It just up and got away from me. My essay is due on Saturday and I haven't added one word to what I began in class last Saturday. This is not a good thing. Normally, by this time of the week, I have written, proof read, edited, rewritten, proof read again, edited, given a final read and printed the finished product. What's worse, is that I probably won't get to it this evening either. Maybe it's the subject matter that isn't moving me to my usual depths. I see neighbors, but I don't know any of them. A few nods here and there and even some smiles, a moment to pet a dog or say hello to the stroller ensconced baby, but not much else. I fear it will make for some pretty mundane reading.
Thursday, 8:57 P.M.
Home
Where did this week go? It just up and got away from me. My essay is due on Saturday and I haven't added one word to what I began in class last Saturday. This is not a good thing. Normally, by this time of the week, I have written, proof read, edited, rewritten, proof read again, edited, given a final read and printed the finished product. What's worse, is that I probably won't get to it this evening either. Maybe it's the subject matter that isn't moving me to my usual depths. I see neighbors, but I don't know any of them. A few nods here and there and even some smiles, a moment to pet a dog or say hello to the stroller ensconced baby, but not much else. I fear it will make for some pretty mundane reading.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Listening Ears
March 17, 2010
Wednesday, 7:43 P.M.
Home
Having a conversation with a coworker today, I considered, not for the first time, how very little people listen to one another when they speak. It seems as though when one person's mouth is moving, that is the cue to the listener to turn off their "listening ears" as Judge Judy would say. If you look very closely, you can almost see the little flicker in the eye that indicates electrical waves going crazy in the brain to come up with the worse or best story scenario. If the speaker is going on about a sore toe, then the listener must one up him with a twisted foot. If the speaker is referring to his new jet ski, the listener has a beautiful new sailboat. If the speaker is down in the dumps, the listener is suicidal. If the speaker has a happy marriage, the listener has the best guy in the world. What is it about human nature that we can't just listen and truly hear the person who is talking to us? Why is it so difficult to empathize or feel delight for the speaker? It seems to me people miss out on a lot of good feelings and happy thoughts by behaving this way. I can't count the number of times I have left a conversation feeling so much better than when it started, simply because I paid attention and gleaned that little spark of pleasure for having done so. Call me crazy, but I feel badly for someone who is hurting and I am pleased as punch for someone who is doing well and either way, I want them to know it. My bigger and better or sadder and more devastating can wait for another time...
Wednesday, 7:43 P.M.
Home
Having a conversation with a coworker today, I considered, not for the first time, how very little people listen to one another when they speak. It seems as though when one person's mouth is moving, that is the cue to the listener to turn off their "listening ears" as Judge Judy would say. If you look very closely, you can almost see the little flicker in the eye that indicates electrical waves going crazy in the brain to come up with the worse or best story scenario. If the speaker is going on about a sore toe, then the listener must one up him with a twisted foot. If the speaker is referring to his new jet ski, the listener has a beautiful new sailboat. If the speaker is down in the dumps, the listener is suicidal. If the speaker has a happy marriage, the listener has the best guy in the world. What is it about human nature that we can't just listen and truly hear the person who is talking to us? Why is it so difficult to empathize or feel delight for the speaker? It seems to me people miss out on a lot of good feelings and happy thoughts by behaving this way. I can't count the number of times I have left a conversation feeling so much better than when it started, simply because I paid attention and gleaned that little spark of pleasure for having done so. Call me crazy, but I feel badly for someone who is hurting and I am pleased as punch for someone who is doing well and either way, I want them to know it. My bigger and better or sadder and more devastating can wait for another time...
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Fraction of Time
March 16,2010
Tuesday, 8:29 P.M
Carol Ann's House
Yep, I'm at Carol Ann's place tonight. I am writing this between American Idol contestants. She and I had a nice light dinner, which she lost and are now enjoying the show and the memories that come with it. It's one of those back and forth evenings. She is sad, then she's OK, then she's sad, then she's positive, then she's sad and on and on it goes. Tomorrow is an important day in that she will go to the doctor and get answers to some very pertinent questions. We can then make plans from there.
In the meantime, we will have fun loving the singers or picking them apart and for just a fraction of time, we will forget...
Tuesday, 8:29 P.M
Carol Ann's House
Yep, I'm at Carol Ann's place tonight. I am writing this between American Idol contestants. She and I had a nice light dinner, which she lost and are now enjoying the show and the memories that come with it. It's one of those back and forth evenings. She is sad, then she's OK, then she's sad, then she's positive, then she's sad and on and on it goes. Tomorrow is an important day in that she will go to the doctor and get answers to some very pertinent questions. We can then make plans from there.
In the meantime, we will have fun loving the singers or picking them apart and for just a fraction of time, we will forget...
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