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Feb 12

Some days are harder than others

Don’t get me wrong, I know how much worse it can be. I know, even not taking all of the pandemic stress and fear and illness into account, how much harder it can be when a child is seriously in trouble, sick, hurt, injured, etc.

This isn’t that. Whatever is going on – it’s not a traumatic brain injury that’s going to lead to permanent disability. It’s not a mental health crisis that threatens to spiral out of control unless we somehow manage to do exactly the right thing – and nobody can tell us what that right thing is.

This is just general hardness.

Jessie is struggling with second semester of senior year, senioritis and an overwhelming amount of stress bubbling up from knowing that she still doesn’t know where she’s going to college and how she’s going to pay for it. Every day is ridiculous – the classes are either mind-numblingly stupid or so hard she can’t figure it out. And there’s no middle ground – she’s either twiddling her thumbs or banging her head against the wall.

Sam is still sick. Still throwing up, still has a sore throat, and still feels awful. He’s on the third week of antibiotics, and was up again all last night. I’m half out of my mind worrying about him, and half reminding myself that we’ve been here before and it’s always fine. We’ve got another appt with another specialist next Friday – and I’m hoping for better information on what we’re dealing with. Is it just the allergies? Could that be the root of all of his problems? God, I hope so – because maybe that way, we could figure out a way to fix it.

Julie – my poor Julie. She hates this. Hates remote school. I think TECCA is better for her than homeschooling and I think homeschooling was better for her than remote schooling – but regardless of how much better it is – it still sucks for her. This is just awful for her. Not all the time, and we’ll survive it – but I think both of us are really looking forward to getting her back into regular brick and mortar school.

Feb 06

Eighteen

I have no words.

Actually, I do. But I’m struggling. This feels like such a milestone birthday, even if it’s just a milestone for me. Jessie has told me repeatedly that I’m making it a much bigger deal than it needs to be – she’s much more focused on college, scholarships, graduation. Turning from seventeen to eighteen seems… inconsequential. To her.

For me – it feels life changing.

When you have a baby, you know you’ve got 18 years. 18 Christmases, 18 summers, 18 First Day of Schools. You’ve got 18 years that your child belongs to you. After that, it’s not that they’re gone. They’re just not yours anymore. Not entirely. They belong to themselves.

I’m ready for Jessie to take this next step. I’m wistful and emotional, but so ready for her to venture out into the world on her own. I’m just going to miss her so much.

Jan 30

47

When I look back, I don’t think my forties will be one of my favorite decades. I mean, on a spectrum, and with the caveat that I love my life, I’d have to rank my 40s as not the best. Not second best either. Maybe third. Overall.

I didn’t enjoy my first decade, at all. Not really. I didn’t like being little, there was a lot of drama, parental divorce, and I didn’t start really reading for pleasure until fourth grade, which is way closer to the end of the decade than the first. My teens were better than the first, probably tied with my forties. There were struggles, I didn’t love the social situation in school, but I had a few friends, I had a part time job I loved, I did a lot of babysitting. There were perks, but it wasn’t my favorite.

My twenties were great. I mean, they weren’t perfect, but I was overall pretty happy, felt like I was in control, things were going well. I had an apartment, a little dog, a job I loved, friends and family I loved. And then I met Marc and had Jessie. All good.

My thirties were straight up fantastic. I mean, we had no money, and I was trying to figure out the whole stepfamily dynamic. Marc worked a million hours, we were struggling a lot of the time. But I had my babies in my thirties, I think parenting was SO much easier when they’re little. We had five or six or eight kids around all the time, and I loved it.

My forties have been rough. Obviously, Sam’s accident is such a huge part of why this decade has been such a struggle. And the kids all got older, and more complicated, with problems that I can’t fix by just picking them up for a snuggle. We seem to be victims of circumstance a lot more this decade, qualifying for a mortgage twice and then having it ripped out at the last minute through no fault of our own (Marc got laid off suddenly with no warning, and then we got a global pandemic going on…). Jessie’s going to move out this decade, and I’m already dreading that.

Maybe if I reframe this. If I go for ten year increments, starting at the age of 7, I could start all over again this year. It would even work, logically. Birth to seven is really small childhood, and then 10-17, 18-27, 28-37, 38-47. I can do that. Although then I’d have to pretend that I’m 48 this year… I’m okay with that. The only one who remembers how old I am is Julie (because she’s wicked good with numbers).

That’s it, it’s official – I’ll start over this year.

Jan 22

Changes

Julie starts school next week. TECCA, so it’s online school, but she’ll be officially enrolled in public school as of 1/27. Homeschooling did not work well for Jules. She learned a lot, but it was definitely a lot harder than I think either of us anticipated it would be. For one thing – she really, really likes to work independently. She also really struggled with the lack of direction and structure. As a parent, I wanted so badly to help her, but it seemed like the more I tried, the worse it got.

Plus, the reality is that I have to sit right next to Sam (or across the room from Sam) but I have to be actively engaged in teaching him. I’m realizing more and more that I’m essentially homeschooling him, with a curriculum and support from teachers. But I have to preview all the lessons for accessibility issues and then read it all to him, all of the math problems need to be rewritten on a white board and it was so much harder than I thought it would be to balance out two kids both needing my time and attention. Julie constantly felt like I was ignoring her needs, Sam felt guilty and then anxious because I was focusing on him, and I just felt like crap all the time.

I’m anticipating a ROUGH few weeks while we adjust to her attending TECCA. It’s not the first time, as a parent, when I’ve wanted to clone myself, but it’s never fun to have more than one kid wanting you. And knowing that you’re screwing up by neglecting the one kid by paying attention to the other. Even alternating kids, so then you’re just screwing up both of them by not fully meeting anyone’s needs.

Upside (because I’m all about a positive spin) is that Jessica Mary is going to be 18 in less than 18 days. And she hasn’t let me help her with school in years. Except for last night, when I explained what “thy” means in Olde English. There’s not a hell of a lot that I like about my oldest child reaching adulthood and moving ever closer to moving away from me, but knowing that she doesn’t need or want my help is reassuring when I’m looking at two kids who are both going to need a lot of one on one over the next few months.

Jan 15

Tofu

So this is where we are. I press tofu now. For fun.

It’s legit fun, I genuinely enjoy slicing tofu for some reason.

Julie is a vegetarian. She’ll still eat fish, for the next little while, so she’s technically a pescatarian, but plans on phasing that out by her birthday. She very quietly just made this huge lifestyle change, and I’m so proud of her.

Jan 13

January Updates

All is well. Really. We’re all still healthy – which is the main thing. But there are, as always, minor irritations and challenges that pop up. The biggest issue for me, right now, is Sam’s allergies. He’s been throwing up a lot lately, with an irritated sore throat and bloody noses. I’m 99% the problem is the allergies, but getting resolution is harder than one might imagine. My pediatrician very suddenly left, and while I’ve registered him with a new one, there isn’t anyone to call and get advice from presently. I have a consult with an allergist at Children’s Hospital, but the earliest appt I could get was 2/19.

In other news – Jessie has her first acceptance, from UMass Lowell, and an interview with Yale this week. She reminds me frequently that interviews mean nothing, really, just that her application isn’t dismissed out of hand. But college is becoming an ever present thing here – and the reality that she’ll be moving out of my house in eight months is still not something I’m ready or willing to face.

Julie is starting at TECCA in a few weeks, and I think we’re all looking forward to a little more consistency. She’s also vegetarian, since November. I’m really impressed with her, she decided to stop eating meat. And then did so. She’s switched to whole wheat bread and is willing to try new things and explore new flavors and textures. Her hair is also blue. Which is… okay. Blue is lovely. And while I miss her long brown hair, the short blue hair is adorable.

Dec 26

Christmas 2020

It was a covid Christmas. So, right off the bat, it was going to be a little weird. But it turned out to be one of the nicer holidays. Very peaceful and quiet, but still lovely.

Jessie has covid toes, which her doctor has diagnosed based on symptoms and a picture. She thinks she probably had covid-19 several weeks ago, and was mostly asymptomatic, but now this is the lingering aftereffects. Her toes are swollen and tender, but other than that, she’s fine.

We cancelled the Christmas Eve get together at my mother’s house this year, with Becky, Aimee, Abby and everyone else. I did start to go down there with Marc, Sam and the girls, but Sam got so super sick, we turned around to go home. I dropped off Marc and Sam, and the girls and I went down there. We exchanged gifts, visited for a very short amount of time, and then took a slow drive back home. Picked up take out, and then put everyone to bed. Marc and I wrapped the presents and set everything out, went to bed, and got up an hour later with a poor so sick Samilicious boy. He was throwing up, and shaking and dizzy. I was really worried about him, because he just seemed SO sick, but eventually he dropped off to sleep, and woke up the next morning better. Not all the way, but not actively vomiting.

He’s been sick all weekend, not a ton, not throwing up, but not healthy either.

Christmas day was lovely, though, except for the sick Sammy portion of the day. We got him a Playstation 4, and got Julie a new phone. We got Jessie books, many, many books. Jessie cooked dinner – with some help from Marc. Turns out, Jessie’s pretty horrified by raw chicken. But she made a cheese board, and spiced nuts, and we had chocolates and read and relaxed and had an easy, no-stress sort of day. The girls and I broke down the tree, and for the first time ever, Jessie and Julie packed the boxes while I dismantled all the lights and ornaments.

There are perks to growing children, and having a kid make dinner, and actually be a serious help in terms of breaking down the decorations is HUGE.

Tomorrow, we’re waking up at 3:30 to go watch the sunrise over the ocean.

Dec 21

I cried again tonight

It hits me at different times, and for random reasons. Tonight it was her walking into the bedroom while I was putting Julianna to bed. Her hair was pulled back with a headband, and she was carrying her toothpaste and toothbrush (she keeps them in her bedroom because Sam’s blind and was prone to grabbing whatever toothbrush he could find – a problem I’ve since fixed by switching him to charcoal toothbrushes, which also helps because it’s got enough contrast for him to easily see the toothpaste). But she walked in, carrying her toothbrush with her hair pulled back, getting ready for bed, and it hit me all of a sudden that this time next year, she’d still be doing this – and other people would be there to see her. She’d be chit chatting with other people, and I’m going to miss her so much.

I’m trying to convince myself that this is normal. This sobbing randomly, at odd times and with no warning. That’s it’s even healthy. Because I’m dealing with it now – so I’ll be all prepared for her to move out of my house.

One can only hope.

Dec 16

Senior Year

I have a closet in my dining room. It’s supposed to be a china closet, but as I have no china, and three kids, I use it mostly as a quick spot to shove stuff that I don’t want to lose but don’t have time to put somewhere else. My oldest decided to clean it out last week. We found her hanging locker shelf that she had used since starting sixth grade. The one that was in every locker she had, up until March 13 of this year, when she cleaned out her locker to go home for what we naively thought would be a few weeks until we got the virus under control.

It’s not under control, and three months into her senior year, we’re pretty sure she’s not going to go back into the building for in person school. Ever again.

There was something about that blue hanging locker shelf. It suddenly seemed so real to me – that time in her life was over. She’s (please God) going to get into a great college and moving on to new challenges and opportunities. She’ll be moving out of my house, and into adulthood. I started to get tears in my eyes, and then I started crying harder, and suddenly I was sobbing all over her shoulder, crying too hard to tell her that I wasn’t ready for it to end.

She laughed, and I laughed, and I pulled it together. Until she pulled out a framed letter she had written me when she was four, and I was in tears again. Then the baby pictures came out, and I gave up any semblance of control. Ever since then, I’ve found myself on the edge of tears more often than not. Everything seems to be a milestone, everything seems significant and I can’t seem to catch up with where we are.

I google “parent sobbing senior year” and try to remember if any of my friends went through this. I hear a song on the radio that reminds me of her babyhood, her toddlerhood, even the early Taylor Swift songs she loved when she was a tween, and I’m crying again.

I want her to go to college. I’m thrilled with how hard she’s worked, so proud of the young woman in front of me. I want her to move on to the next step. But there’s a part of me that already misses having her beside me.

I find myself wishing for a Jewish life cycle event. It feels like her bat mitzvah in some ways. She’s worked so hard on college applications and supplemental essays and AP exams, it’s reminiscent of the months studying her Torah portion and writing her d’var. We recognize and commemorate a child’s birth with a baby naming, her entry into Jewish adulthood, but there’s nothing to mark this stage.

Having a high school senior in the 2020/2021 school year means you may not get any milestone events. No National Honor Society assembly, no scholarship dinner, and probably no graduation event. In many ways, she already feels done with high school, her classes are done at her desk in her bedroom, and her focus is on scholarship applications and filling out the Common App.

Parenting doesn’t end when your child turns 18 or graduates from college. I know that. But it changes. And while it’s been changing for years, and I like to think that I’ve prepared her for the future and she’s more than ready for it, I know that it still feels like it’s too soon. I wasn’t ready for her birth, honestly. I was used to being pregnant. I loved her infancy, her babyhood, the toddler stage, the preschooler, and all the way right up until now. I wasn’t ready for any stage to end. I know it’s harder with her, because I haven’t done it before. I might be relaxed and carefree when my younger kids reach this point. But right now, I just want to press pause for a bit. To sit with this stage, to recognize what’s changing and what’s coming up next. I want to honor the sacredness of what’s happening, as this daughter of mine reaches the end of her childhood.

Parenting doesn’t end at 18 and the end of senior year. But this year is going to signify the completion of something. And while I’m not sure what it is, exactly, because at seventeen, my daughter is independent and brave and making her own choices about just about everything, I do know that I can’t stop crying. Not out of sadness, but more out of a recognition. I’ve loved having her grow up beside me. So I’m resigning myself to a year of tears and extra hugs and heightened emotions. Because being her mom is one of the best and brightest parts of my life, and I’m not ready for this stage to end.

Dec 08

Tuesday

We’re settling into a routine, if you will. I mean, one of the hardest things about this covid isolation is that we constantly feel like everything is tentative and might end any day now. There’s no way to count on anything – will the numbers get better or worse? Will you get sick or someone you love? Nobody knows anything. Ever. And it’s all fragile and scary and tentative.

My mother tested positive two and a half weeks ago. I hadn’t seen her for at least a week before she tested positive, but I saw my sister the day before. And my sister lives across the street. Mandi tested negative twice, so I didn’t have to test or quarantine, and I never had any symptoms. My brother and niece both tested positive, but were asymptomatic.

I think she’s getting better. She seems better. The idea of her not getting better is such an incredible anathema to me that she must be getting better.

But she is. She sounds more energetic, she sends me oxygen levels and talked on the phone with me today for 20 minutes. All of which is a good sign.

But we’re in a routine here. Jessie is at school – she threatens to drop out every few days. I’m relatively sure she’s kidding. We’re in this limbo area, where the college apps are mostly in and we wait.

Sam is thriving. There are issues – because he’s not using any of the accessibility features independently, but he’s kicking ass academically. I figure I’ve got the rest of high school for him to learn how to do this on his own – and this year, I’m just trying to keep my head above water. It’s easier for me, right now, for him, for me to just assist. So I sit beside him, and click “next page” and read the questions to him and transcribe the answers. He’s doing the work, but not the accessibility stuff. Given that his IEP isn’t really even in place yet – we don’t have the assessments or the equipment, I figure it’s okay.

My Julie – this has not been fun for her. But she’s starting at TECCA in January, and for right now, we’re focusing on an eclectic, sort of unschool-y sort of homeschool, relying heavily on reading, typing, math facts and ELA workbooks. She’s also learning Hebrew. We’ll get through it. She’ll get through it. I’m so proud of her, she’s figuring out ways to make this whole time better for her. Establishing routines and plans, because they make her feel more centered and in control.

Marc is back to work, and seems to be doing well. He works so very hard, but his company loves him, and that level of appreciation helps on every level. Not just financially, but also emotionally.

As for me, I crochet. Badly, but I make blankets. Without cessation, I just sit and crochet. And read. And wait for a vaccine.

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