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Tuesday, August 28, 2012

The Drop Off


You know that the time for your children to leave home will come quickly, although you don't fully realize the speed at which it will come until that day comes.  I know that I spent the four years my son was in high school trying to prepare myself for that day.  In fact, I was probably on mom-overload during his senior year.  I chaperoned every band trip, went to every school event, went to parent-teacher night (probably the ONLY senior mom there). It was almost like he was in Kindergarten again, except without the crayon pictures for me to hang on the refrigerator.

When the day finally came to move him to college, I think we were all just going through the motions, not talking very much, and keeping our feelings in check.  Well, not our daughter, Emma. Emma wears her emotions on her sleeve for all of the world to see.  If there is too much going on in her head or in her current environment, she ends up having a “melt-down”.  Although it had probably been over two years since we had seen Emma have a full-on melt-down (thank you Strattera), she made sure that Derek had a farewell melt-down that morning, just for old time's sake. 

What provoked this melt-down seemed simple at the time.  Emma has a pair of very short shorts (read: too short, hoochie momma short, what-kind-of-mother-are-you-to-let-your-daughter-wear-shorts-that-short short).  Yes, it was my fault she even owned them.  She caught me at the end of a shopping trip; “Please mom??  So-and-so has this pair? I’ll only wear them to swim practice, I promise”.  I hate shopping and, because I just wanted to get out of the store, I said yes to that horrible $12.00 pair of shorty-shorts. Needless to say, Emma had decided to put those shorts on for the trip out to WVU.  I’m sure in her mind they were the perfect attire for going to a college where she might see some really cute college guys; however, I did not feel the same way.  I simply asked Emma to change her shorts and, after a heated exchange of “Why not?”, “Because they are inappropriate”, “But they’re comfortable”, “I’m not arguing, change your shorts”, she slipped into an uncontrollable, full-on, screaming, crying melt-down.  

I hate to admit this, I really do, but I was dealing with my own emotions.  I tried to talk to her for a few minutes, but to no avail.  The crying continued, so I did what was right for that moment and walked away, leaving her to her room.  Fortunately, Frank went up and calmly talked to her for a few minutes.  I was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps when she was finally able to collect herself together.  She flew down the stairs and into my open arms.  I held her as tightly as I could and asked her if she knew why she was doing this.  She took a deep breath, and while sobbing heavily managed to cry out “I DON’T WANT DEREK TO GOOOOOO”.  Well that was enough to push me over the edge.  All I could do was to hold her even tighter and stroke her hair.  I knew that my voice would betray me if I tried to say anything to her at that moment.  The heaving sobs gave way to deep breaths and she was finally able to go back upstairs and change into something more appropriate for the trip.

The drive out to WVU was uneventful.  We arrived at the Creative Arts Center (CAC) early, so we went out for lunch.  I dropped Frank and Emma off at Panera to pick up lunch for the three of us and I drove Derek over to Wendy’s.  The drive-through line was long, so Derek and I went inside.  While standing there, two young men ahead of us kept looking at Derek.  One of them finally turned to Derek and asked “Hey man, are you with The Pride?”  Derek stood just a little taller when he calmly answered “Yeah”.
 
That was a pivotal moment for me.  My son, my child, my little bear, was officially a member of The Pride of West Virginia Mountaineer Marching Band.  This is where he belongs. This is going to be his home for the next four years.  This is where my “little man” is going to grow into an amazing “man”, a real grown-up if you will.  He will always be my child, but he will never be my little man again.  It was a very bittersweet yet poignant realization for me.

I’ll skip the details of the registration back at the CAC however I will say that at the end of the marching band meeting everyone stood up and sang the WVU alma matter.  No, I am not a WVU alumni however hearing the song and seeing all of the band members, standing arm-in-arm and singing together made me catch my breath and brought a lump to my throat.  (I was thinking: Stand-down tears, I’ll have no part of you yet).  This was something I missed out on in my life, something my children will not miss out on in theirs.  

When the marching band orientation meeting was finally over, we only had 2 hours to move Derek into his room.  Egads, TWO HOURS?!?!?!?  It only took a few trips of Derek, Frank, Emma, and me taking boxes from the van to his room.  Emma was being very helpful, setting up his new fan, getting his new printer out of the box.  I was putting all of the little things away, Frank was hanging items up in Derek’s closet, and Derek was placing his clothes into his dresser.  As we were putting his lamp together, we quickly realized that his light bulbs had been left behind.  No problem!  Emma and I set out to Kroger’s to get light bulbs and cash for dinner. This was actually a good thing because I found that Kroger’s is less than a five minute walk from Derek’s dorm.  

The unpacking was more difficult than I had imagined and I am so thankful that his roommate was not moving in for another week.  This may sound silly to some of you, but as a mother I wanted to make sure that his new living space was completely ready and unpacked so that when he got home from band camp that night he wouldn’t have to worry about anything except crawling into bed.  We left with his room not quite completely unpacked, but it was sufficient enough.  We left his dorm and headed over to band camp, which is held next to the Coliseum.  

This was the hard part.  This is when I cried.  In fact, I’m tearing up again just thinking about it.  We all gave him a big hug good-bye.  My hug included a few tears which solicited a “You’re crying already??” from Derek.  I held his face in my hands, looking at him, studying the details, eking out “I love you so much and I am so proud of you”.  We watched as he walked over to the practice field to find the tuba section, which will be his new family.  We stayed for a while, watching the band get into position.  Frank was not pushing us to leave, which is when I realized that he had his game face on.  He was not ready to leave Derek at college.  I had to be the one to push us to leave.   

The three of us stopped and ate in Morgantown before heading home.  I felt my throat getting full and my eyes getting teary a couple of times during dinner, but I didn’t actually cry.  I had fully expected that I would cry the entire trip home but I did not.  In fact, I drove us home.  It was quiet for the most part.  Random little memories of Derek growing up kept surfacing; almost like I was playing a movie of his life in my mind.  

We finally made it home around 11:00 that night, so I sent Emma up to bed but I needed to unwind from the drive (and have a drink) before I could fall asleep.  When I went upstairs for the night, I walked into to Emma's room to give her a quick kiss before heading to my room - but she wasn't there.  Usually, if she is not in her bed, chances are I can find her in my bed.  Not this time, and she wasn't in the bathroom either.  I opened Derek's bedroom door and there she was, fast asleep in her big brother's bed.  Frank and I left her there for the night. 

I know Derek is a good person.  I know Derek is a strong person.  I know Derek is an intelligent person.  Although I wish I could be there to watch over him, I know he will be successful in his journey.   

Here are your wings, son.  I know they will carry you far in life.  Please make sure, though, that they always remember to bring you back home to me once in a while.




Monday, May 14, 2012

My Snowy Drive Home

Another old post from Facebook that I don't want to lose so I'm adding it here.  This post is from February, 2010.

So this afternoon I was driving home from work, be-bopping to whatever was on the radio when I noticed a pick-up stopped on the side of the road and the driver talking on his cell phone. A couple hundred yards later I saw a beautiful black dog, laying atop a snow bank. Stopping my van, I rolled down the passenger side window and whistled to her. She lifted her head and looked at me with her gorgeous light brown eyes. There were dark pink stains in the white snow leading to where she had finally laid down. She was shivering and bloody, but at least she was alive. I drove down the road a short bit to a farm where I could turn around (most of the roads I drive are one lane country roads). I drive past her and pull into a driveway. Looking over to where the dog is I know that the snow banks are pretty high and it would be difficult for me to get her by myself. I call home and have my son get the number to a local rescue center. While I am on the phone with Derek, the man who was in the pick-up walks across the street to my van. As he approaches me I can see that he is still on his cell phone so I roll down my window.

He turns to me and asks “Do you know where I am?”

Hmm. I think to myself that maybe I should lock the doors and roll my window back up, but I’m a sucker for lost souls so I answer. “Van Clevesville Road”.

He smiles and says “No, I mean do you know what county we are in?” It dawns on me that we are right on the border line of two counties. He proceeds to tell me that he is on the phone with the police dispatcher and they need to know what county we are in so they can send Animal Control to get the dog. I point out exactly where the county line is (sometimes it pays to know otherwise useless information) and tell him which county the dog is in. He told me that someone hit the dog and just kept driving.

We must have looked like we were involved in an accident because a Sheriff’s Deputy on his way home stops in the road and turns his lights on. “Is everything alright?” he asks. The other guy (whom I will refer to as Bob for the sake of not saying “the other guy” anymore) and I start babbling to this poor deputy at the same time about this poor dog being a victim of a hit-and-run and that she was still alive. Bob tells Deputy Doright that he has already called police dispatch and they are sending someone out. Deputy Doright says something like “Well, they’ll probably just shoot it. I could do that right now, but if they’ve already dispatched someone I won’t.” He said something else, which I cannot remember because at that point I started to panic.

Shoot her? Really? Why would they do such a thing? I called a local no-kill animal rescue and blurted out the situation to the poor receptionist on the other end of the phone. She proceeded to tell me that Animal Control will pick up the animal and take it to the vet, after which they will try to find the owner. I guess that answer appeased me enough that Bob and I both thought that it would be alright for me to continue home. As I started to drive I stopped by the beautiful black dog again and called to her. I was desperately hoping she would get up and come over to my van, but she couldn’t.

I drove a couple hundred yards to my original turning point and realized that I just couldn’t do it. It was getting dark. What if Animal Control never showed up? She would freeze to death just laying there in the snow, waiting for someone to come and rescue her. I turned back into the farm where I had originally turned around. I called another rescue group but their answering machine picked up. Friday night, no-one is going to be there. I decided that I had to go back and start knocking on the doors of the houses lining the road. While walking down the first driveway that I pull into I look over to see how the dog is doing. That’s when I noticed that there was a woman, a dog, and a man running down the road toward the wounded dog. Returning to the van, I drive back over to where the dog is. It’s Bob and a woman. Bob tells me that it’s her dog. I put my hazard lights on and jumped out of the van. We all crawl over the snow bank toward her dog. My first step brings me knee deep in snow. I briefly thought about how wonderfully cold the snow felt as it made its way into my sneaker. Then I watched as this woman threw her long, wool coat onto the snow and coaxed her dog onto it. All three of us picked her up and carefully made our way through the snow back to the road. I put the dog and her mommy in the van and drove them to her house. As soon as I opened their door she jumped out with the dog in her arms and started running to her car, throwing a thank-you over her shoulder.

My van was next to Bob’s truck. I told him that I needed to shake his hand, and as I did, I told him what a wonderful “good Samaritan” I thought he was. He had to continue waiting for Animal Control even though the dog was gone. Fortunately they were pulling up as I was pulling away. Finally on my way home, I began to think about all of the cars that continued to drive past us, past the dog, never stopping or asking if we needed help. I realize that everyone has a different story; some were probably running late to pick up their kids from the baby sitter, others may have been on their way to work and just couldn’t risk being late by stopping. I understand that. I also thought about the absolutely unconditional love that the human mommy showed for her dog. Her wool coat is probably ruined, and I know that she was cold without it, but none of that mattered to her as she carried her dog away. My last thoughts have been about Bob. He said he just couldn't stand the thought of poor animals being left on the side of the road like that. I'll probably never see Bob again, but I know I'll never forget Bob.

Dinner with Emma

Looking through my notes on Facebook, I found a few stories I wanted to add to my blog.  This one is from December of 2008.

We try to eat together as a family as often as we can and I look forward to the conversation. I am sure that many of you can imagine how sitting down for any extended period with a child who is ADHD can often be quite frustrating, but when taken with the right attitude it is usually humorous and fun. Emma has a tendency to talk nonstop and I have to remind her to take a bite of food every now and then. Lately she has been spending tons of time down at our neighbor's house and dinner has been quiet without her.

We did manage to eat together the other night and our conversation somehow came around to whether or not people could lick their own elbows. Yes, you read correctly, I said lick their own elbows. I was very steadfast in my response to Emma that it is impossible for people to lick their own elbow. This, of course, was the only prompt needed for everyone to put down their forks and try to lick their elbows. Much to Emma’s dismay she quickly realized that it was indeed an impossible feat. She did, however, continue to insist that someone could lick their own elbow and I continued to gently assure her that noone could lick their elbow.

For a moment Emma seemed defeated, when suddenly she looked over to me with her mischievous green eyes sparkling and declared “Uh huh Momma, there is somebody who can lick their own elbow.” I could not wait to hear this answer. Would it be Sponge Bob Squarepants? Perhaps the Avatar could do it? No, it was not a cartoon at all. Full of pride Emma sat up straight in her chair and declared ever so seriously “Gene Simmons can lick his own elbow”.

Ah yes, her mind is amazing. She is outrageously talkative, creative, and energetic and all mine – until the meltdowns in public convince me that I must have brought someone else’s child home from the hospital nine years ago.