motherhoodismycardio

Months ago, Paige was peering over my shoulder as I mindlessly waded through the minefield that is Pinterest when she spied a beautifully curated photo montage of a rainbow-themed party.

And that was it.  She was convinced that a rainbow party was what she needed for her birthday.

*Sigh* You only turn 5 once, amiright?

So, I decorated with rainbows.  I made rainbow food.  We did rainbow crafts. It looked nothing like the Pinterest-perfect party Paige saw on my computer, but I think she had a big time.

Behold:

Yes.  I painted her nails with a cloud and a rainbow.  This is the sort of thing they do not warn you about when you deliver a brand new baby girl.  ”Must be able to paint meteorological scene on fingernails the size of a pea”.

Yes.  That’s a rainbow TIE DIE romper.  Of course it is.

And let’s just keep focusing on the party, and not the fact that MAH BAYBEE IS FIIIIIVE.

Ugh.  My heart.  It aches.

I decided I’d have the kids help me make a little list of things we’d like to do this summer.  I started by jotting down a few things I knew they’d love, mostly just to spark their creativity when they started adding their own items to the list.  Paige dutifully rattled off a few things she wanted to do (go to the library, pick flowers), and then it was William’s turn.

He, as usual, hadn’t really been listening when I’d rattled off a few examples of the summer list.  So when I asked him to tell me what he wanted to do this summer, her replied “I want you to sell your car and buy a Mustang GT”.

*Sigh*

We have managed to cross a few things off the list, but none of them involve purchasing a totally impractical sports car.  Much to William’s’ chagrin.

I was chitchatting with a stranger the other day in a long line at the grocery store.  She was a woman in (what I’m guessing to be) her mid 50′s.  In the course of our pleasantries she mentioned that she, like me, had a boy and a girl 4 years apart.  She said her babies were grown now.  And then her face got dark as she told me of her daughters addictions and bad decisions which have led to the worst kinds of circumstances.  I, of course, expressed my sympathy because I could tell she was heartsick about this daughter of hers.

And then she said something I’ll never forget.

She said she was angry at this daughter for not doing more with her life.  She was mad that she’d invested so much of her time and effort to mother this girl who has turned out so “bad”.  She said “my daughter owes me more than that”.

Whoa.  I was blown away.  Your daughter owes you more than that?

I realize that, as mothers, we begin sacrificing for our children even before they’re conceived – taking vitamins and in some cases, hormone addling fertility drugs.  And that’s, as we all know, just the beginning.  But I have trouble with the mental leap that says that “my sacrifices as your mother means that you owe me”.

I have always been close to my mother, and thus, have always wanted to live a life that pleases her.  I am grateful.  But does gratitude and respect equate to some sort of debt that I must pay back?

My dad and I ate lunch together every Wednesday for years and years.  And he always ALWAYS paid the bill.  There were occasions when I tried to pay (I was, after all, a married, childless, career woman – I could afford LUNCH for crying out loud!). And then one day he stopped me in my tracks by saying “Honey, by not letting me pay, you’re denying me a blessing”.  I never offered to pay again.  I didn’t want to deny him the blessing.

And it’s dad’s saying that rattled through my brain when this woman said her daughter owed her.  Because, wasn’t raising a daughter a blessing not matter the outcome?  One you would not want to be denied?  Isn’t that true of all self-sacrifice?  Whether it’s waking in the night and nursing a baby even though your nipples are chapped? Or whether it’s writing that donation check even though it means your budget will be tight this month? Isn’t it the hard that makes it good.  Not for the recipient, but for YOU?

I know my children are only 8 and 4 years old.  And maybe when they’re grown and making terrible decisions I’ll feel personally slighted.  But I hope I can remember that I would not have wanted to be denied the blessing.

This is the storm forming, as seen from the 32nd floor of Dave’s building in downtown OKC.

After I made it home yesterday with my children (which is a story for another day – one that involves me driving as far away from OKC as I could to avoid the storm), I turned on the television and got my first glimpse of the devastation.

As soon as I saw how bad it was, I corralled the children upstairs and turned on a movie.  They were thrilled about this rare treat.  I couldn’t bear for them to see or hear about what was happening.

I spent the remainder of the day calling and texting friends and family from the area.  You see, Moore is my childhood home.  The place where all of my young memories were made.  And many of my friends are still living there (I now live in far north Oklahoma City – about 20  miles away).

Thankfully, I do not personally know anyone who lost their life.  But I know dozens who lost everything BUT their life.  Everything.  My God, they lost everything.

Dave and I sat together last night holding hands and watching the coverage.  I cried and cried.  It was too much to bear, and yet I felt that by turning off the television and looking away that I was giving up on my people.  I was holding a one-woman vigil.

When I woke this morning I knew that it was a new day, and that fretting about the disaster wasn’t solving anything.  I still watched, but I also made plans on how I can help.   I also figured out a way to speak to my children about this (as they will surely hear about it tomorrow at school).  In other words, I carried on.

And I know we all will.  We’ll carry on.  That’s what Okies do, after all.

Edited to add:

You really must read this story.  It says it all.

Since we moved in eight years ago, we’ve had a wobbly, dilapidated fence separating us from neighbor Susan.  We steer clear of it, but it’s always worried us.  What if it falls?  At best, there would be rusty nails, at worst, there would be a wee child underneath.

So last night we were joking (as we often do) that we should just tear down the fence and live like we’re on some sort of polygamy compound.  Except my husband heard us and said he could have that fence down in about 3 minutes.  We all stared at each other for a moment, and then Susan’s husband yelled “Mr. Gorbachev! Tear down this wall!”

And so we did.

The kids are thrilled.

Sadly, Susan and I would make terrible, terrible polygamists.  We both really like our own personal husbands, and neither one of us can cook worth a damn.

We do, however, wear the same shoe size.  Hmmmm.  Perhaps we can work something out.

So if you’re just tuning in, I recently scraped together enough money to rewallpaper my kitchen, then I swindled my poor in-laws into hanging the wallpaper for me, and then I selected rugs, curtains and other fabric in a brilliant shade of hot pink which turned out to be horrible in so many ways.

After I recovered from The Great Pink Debacle, I decided to keep my old sisal rugs (which were a golden yellow color – a perfect match to my yellow-y granite countertop) and I selected fabric for the curtains in a shade of cream, gray, and sunshine yellow.  And I’ve accented the room in a sort of Tiffany turquoise.

None of this was my original plan, but I think it’s turned out to be a happy accident.

Ok, before we get to the photos of my newly redecorated kitchen, I just have to share with you that I went a COMPLETELY different way than I’d intended.  Completely.

I selected my wallpaper based on the fact that I wanted it to be understated and clean.  And?  I wanted it to match this amazing rug I’d purchased.  The rug in question was covered in dinner plate-sized hot pink polka dots.  And it was awesome.

Behold:

After I ordered my wallpaper, I began daydreaming about my new gray and hot pink kitchen.  It was going to be fabulous! Pink! In a kitchen!  So different and fun!  I selected fabric for curtains and more fabric for my bulletin boards.  It was all coming together!

So, my in-laws came and worked their buns off and after many messy hours, my kitchen was wallpapered.  I wasted no time cleaning up the mess and by nightfall I’d placed my new rugs on the floor and stood back to bask in the glory of my long-awaited fabulousness.

And?  It was awful.  Terrible.  Hideous.

Something was wrong!  On paper (and in my mind), it was fantastic!  Where did I go wrong?

It was the granite.  After taking down the old red  wallpaper, the granite and backsplash suddenly looked, well, orange.  And all that hot pink clashed magnificently with my countertops.

I’m not going to lie to you, Internet, I had a little cry.  Then I agonized for days about what I was going to do.  I lost SLEEP over wallpaper, you guys.  (First world problem, anyone?)

Tomorrow, I’ll show you what I came up with instead.

ps – I have a lovely pink polka dot rug I’m selling.  Never used! Well, except to dry my tears.