"Blue Eyes, Baby's Got Blue Eyes"

For those of you who are happily mothers, a good day to you. For those who are not, whether by choice or circumstance, do something fun that gets you away from the clamor.  There ARE other paths, and none of them are right or wrong, they just are. It must be dreadful to want to be a parent, to have that hope unfulfilled, and have to endure this day year after year - my heart goes out to you.

I don't exactly have the world's best track record with the holiday.  Mother's Day 1977 was the day before my father's lung cancer surgery, which did not go well. My guess is that my mom had a pretty rotten day, despite being surrounded by family and the world's cutest Grandchild #1, who kept dad in great spirits. It was Dad's last Mother's Day with Mom.

On my own first Mother's Day, after a challenging 10 months with our first son, I went into his room that morning to pick him up out of his crib, and he promptly threw up all over me.  And the day went downhill from there.  Mother's Day 1995 I received a phone call informing me that my mom, who had been struggling with the after-effects of a fall, was being put on comfort care, and if I wanted to say good-bye, I better get on a plane pronto. She died the following Thursday.  The Friday before Mother's Day 1998, we received another phone call (note to self: don't answer the phone at odd hours) telling us that my father-in-law had passed away that morning, peacefully, in his sleep, from complications of Alzheimer's. Thank God for small blessings.

So forgive me if I don't get all gushy-mushy about Mother's Day.  I approach the day with the sense that I might be better off pulling the covers over my head and holding my breath until it's Monday.  I hate crowded restaurants, I have my own philosophy of what constitutes a great Mom, and most of it does not jive with media messages.  But if I have learned anything over the last 35 years, it is that most moms, except the truly disturbed ones, do the very best they can with the resources at their disposal. Every generation has different circumstances, different challenges, different opportunities. NO ONE should ever judge the choices made by a mother, unless they directly endanger her child. Everyone makes choices based on what they believe will work for their situation.  I have seen Madison Avenue mothers turn out pathetic, narcissistic children/adults; I have witnessed struggling parents who decide they are better off apart whose children become the most enviably wonderful adults and parents on the planet.  Please, we have enough grief and angst in our lives - let's give each other some encouragement and support instead of looking for ways to criticize and tear each other apart.

There have been times in my life when I wanted to confront my mom for her perceived wrongs; why did you do this, why didn't you do that. How pointless. I no longer believe that Mom had any preconceived reasons for her behavior, she was just trying to raise 5 rather interesting progeny and maintain her sanity in a less than perfect marriage.  Yes, she was far too concerned with appearances and what other people thought.  And I absorbed a lot of that. Well, fine. Get over it, learn from it, and teach your own kids otherwise (still workin' on that one). Yes, she believed that if you tried hard enough, everything would have a storybook ending.  I REALLY sucked that one up! But I believe widowhood at 56 - the age I am about to be - pretty much killed that idea for her. As a result, I have tried to instill in our sons the knowledge that some things won't work out, but you still do your best, and let the chips fall where they may.

My mom, God rest her soul, also believed that divorce was the ultimate failure, and unwed pregnancy the ultimate shame.  Again, I was a very good obedient daughter who bought that one hook, line, and sinker. Except - my two brothers, whom I adore more than words can convey, both divorced and remarried, and I refuse to consider either of them to be failures. Not what I would have chosen for either of them, especially since I "lost" a treasured sister-in-law as a result. But the upside is that we now have that many more people to love, two additional grandchildren, and more realistic, accepting expectations of one another.

The one that really makes me laugh (forgive me, B) is that the family's first grandchild, who in my mother's eyes is Jesus Christ Incarnate, suddenly found himself, after many years of bachelorhood, about to be the father of an "Oops" baby - which luckily prodded him and his S.O. to get off the stick and be serious. The result is a wonderful marriage and another adorable baby to love, and so the circle goes. And, as if that weren't irony enough, another grandchild found herself, despite complete disbelief ("there's something wrong with these pregnancy tests - they keep saying positive") the impending mother of another "Oops" baby, whom we eagerly await meeting in October.  Should these kids be ashamed? Maybe in my mother's adolescence, but those days are gone.  Instead, we get to witness the cementing of more relationships, with more genuinely wanted babies.  How can that be a bad thing?  Perfect timing? Probably not....so what?  So while my mother may be spinning in her grave (get over it, Mom, they're terrific people!), I can also hear my father chortling with laughter.

Most of all, I have learned that it is a painful mistake to try to live vicariously through one's children. I learned that one from Mom, too. She saw it as taking pride in our accomplishments, and she did, but the flip side is that she felt like a failure if we fell short of expectations.  I never, EVER, want our sons to feel that they are loved less if they fail, that we see ourselves as lacking if they don't set the world on fire. They are loved for who and what they are, regardless of their station in life.  If they never moved another muscle or spoke another word, we would love them. My life is mine, mistakes and all.  The boys are part of my life, but not all of it. I would lay down on railroad tracks for them, but they don't have to earn that. My joy is to see them happy, confident, content, and self-sufficient (that last one is a biggie....). Their presence in my life is a gift for which I will always be grateful.

But at least they don't throw up on me anymore.....

Gee whiz...almost a whole month since my last posting....must have been that sinus surgery that got in the way....

Let's see, good news first? Or truth first?  Let's go with good news. For all intents and purposes, I believe the surgery was a success.  I would say I have 95% of my voice back.  The remaining 5% probably needs to be coaxed back, after being frightened into submission.  I'm still gun-shy about returning to any kind of official singing engagements, so I've confined my attempts to the car, the shower, and the daily walk.  To say that this is a huge relief doesn't come anywhere close to doing it justice. The terrifying fear that I might never sing normally again had me in its clutches, and I'm happy to say that it has now let go.

OK, now the truth.  Not that any of that was untrue, but there is more to it than that. God love Dr. Wonderful; he is a confident, able technician; witty, charming, and fascinating to talk to.  But the man has no concept of pain. Or, in fairness, he has a completely different definition of pain than I do.  Had I known what I was in for, I would never have agreed to the outpatient procedure as he envisioned it.  I mean, a colonoscopy is an outpatient procedure, and they tell you you're "awake", but I can tell you I am no more awake than I was during a very different, totally inpatient procedure. So when he said I'd be "awake", I'm thinking in terms of my definition (i.e., colonscopy) and he's thinking of HIS definition (Katie Couric giving a step-by-step narrative of the procedure). 

In retrospect, I should have called a halt at the first zip of the laser (which I did not realize included an electrical current).  Immediately, I asked him (because this was all done via nasal passages, not mouth) if that was perhaps the smell of burning flesh that I detected....his response was, "Oh, sorry, yeah, I"ll try to be better about vacuuming up the smoke".... Why in God's name was that not enough to send me screaming from the room?  Because I'm in many respects a weenie....can't stand to admit that I can't handle it, can't take it, need a break, or some help, or some more anesthesia.  Speaking of which, that "awake" thing?  What that means is, you only get topical anesthesia - in this case, lidocaine.  Hell's bells, I get more than that when I go to the damned dentist!

And the laser machine itself.....for those of you old enough to remember The Jetsons, this thing reminded me of the maid, without a head.  About that high, same shape....but this thing began to malfunction about two-thirds of the way through the procedure.  Despite my warning at the beginning that I did NOT want to hear him say anything close to "Oops" or "Uh-oh", he pitched a small hissy fit because the manufacturer had just replaced the whole damn motherboard last week.  Well, happy to hear that, but I don't care - as the guy on SNL used to say on the news, "JUST FIX IT!" 

I kept thinking, it's almost over, I can do this, we're almost done....which he kept saying to me....but the truth is that the whole thing took almost two hours. At which point, I got up, walked to the waiting room where Tim was sitting. His back was toward me, so when I tapped him on the shoulder, He just about hit the ceiling - "Whaaa - are you done? Are you OK? You're standing up - is everything all right?" And all I said was, "Take.....me.....home.....NOW!" 

None of this is dramatization, but really, it was OK. Not something I'm eager to repeat, by a longshot, but it solved my problem, I'm pretty sure. And if it didn't, and needs to be fine-tuned, you can be damned sure it will be under conscious sedation the next time. So, thanks Dr. J, you're a great guy, but if I ever run into you in a dark alley, you're toast.....