Tuesday, October 21, 2014

You are My Sunshine

Today was Grandparents day at the boy's school,  I mean my entire family's school.  It has been nice that Don has always been a teacher wherever they have gone.  It is a package deal.  So my parents not only get to see four of their grandsons, but also their son-in-law who is much more of a son than an in-law.

While this was going on I sat at my computer, listening to my co-workers talk endlessly about Renee Zellweger's new face while the people I love most are enjoyed baked goods together.  I texted all of them, called them, because I wanted to know ever single detail of their day. What did they do? What did they show you? Did you like it? Was it fun?  My mom responded with a single word "Terrific!" To this day she is the only person I know who uses that word.

As I was mindlessly scrolling through Facebook and listening to my Paul Simon playlist on Spotify,  Mother and Child Reunion came on.  Like a lot of Paul Simon songs,  I honestly don't know what it is really about.  It is cryptic I'm sure. It is probably about pot or something.  But at that very moment it made me miss my boys.

Within moments I saw that someone had posted on the school's private Facebook page. It was a video of the pre-school aged kids singing You are My Sunshine to their Grandparents. My heart swelled so much it hurt and the pressure of the swelling pushed out any tear that was being held on reserve for a moment like this.  I watched it about 400 times.  I could see my little Oscar singing the words perfectly and looking around for my parents.   I watched my son with a fly on the wall view point.  And he looked… old.  His clothes are too small, and his face is beginning to look more like a boy and less like a toddler. He looked perfect. A little too perfect for being without me.

They have grown up with a mama who works. They have never known any different. But all the worrying I have done about how they are coping without me is displayed on my computer screen and the truth is, they are doing just fine.

This morning I failed as a mom.  It's okay. Every mom fails. It makes us better moms and I have learned to fail really well.  When Fin told me that he wished he was an only child and that his brother's were never born, I responded with "be careful what you wish for". I know it is bad because if anything ever did happen to them he would feel responsible. Like I said, FAIL. This is on the heels of me not realizing my son broke his arm until 2 days after it happened. That fact has been deposited in the guilt bank and will resurface the next time I feel horrible about myself.   I hurried them out the door, so I could get to my work. Work that I could get to 10 minutes late and nobody would notice.

I never really stopped to look at the boys.  Until now, through a computer screen.

A friend of mine is a new mother and just returned to work after having a baby. She mentioned how hard it was.  I don't think it ever gets better.  Here I am, 11 years after the first time I left my son to go back to work and it feels just the same.  Not every day is like this, but I think every so often a mom's heart strings are pulled back to their child. Sometimes the strings squeeze harder than other days and today just happens to be one of those days that it hurts.

I can't speak for mother's of grown kids, but I have a hunch that these strings are constant and indestructible.  At least from a mother's perspective.

So when I get home, I will have the Mother and Child reunion that Paul Simon was singing about. Even if it isn't about a mom missing her 4 year old while she works and he happily goes along without her.

"I can't for the life of me remember a sadder day, I know they say let it be, but it just don't work that way. And the course of a lifetime runs over and over again. But the Mother and child reunion is only a motion away" 

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