A Mother's Musings and Mumblings

It began with a three-hour car drive followed by a leisurely couple of hours hanging out in Washington National Airport listening to the news. Farrah was dead; Michael was working hard to catch up. Iran might as well not have existed.

A short flight north left us sitting at another airport for a bit while the crew waited for a plane to arrive. It would seem that the rate-limiting step in getting a flight off the ground is to have a aircraft. Not to worry, only 90 minutes late and we were en route to Amsterdam. The fellow in the seat ahead of me bore more than a faint resemblance to the southern end of a northbound horse but once I was asleep that didn’t seem to bother me much.

Neither did Iggy’s snoring. He wanted to sleep on the plane and so I’d given him a little pharmacological support. It worked. Well. So well, in fact, that he didn’t take me up on the offer to trade him seats half way through the flight. Both flights Iggy sat in the middle seat and both flights he had ~ahem~ large men in the aisle seat next to him. Not only is he a trooper, he’s a gentleman.

In Amsterdam I was stunned by the airport security. Seriously, I allowed an hour to get through security at National and we waltzed on through. I had similar expectations for Amsterdam – customs and immigration questions, having to look through the bag – and we walked on through. The things that could have been in my bag! But no one looked. The pity is the worst thing we were smuggling was a bag of peanut M&Ms. More on those later.

From the airport in Amsterdam to Leiden city center is 10 minutes by train. We stood, which was a good thing because despite sleeping on the plane I’m not sure I could have stayed awake. It was a pleasant enough trip ending at the city center. Iggy and I had no idea where our hotel was at so I set off in search of a taxi. Of course, I did this out of nature – strange city, don’t know where I’m at, have luggage, need to get somewhere AND learn a bit of the layout – OH! It must be time to find a cab! Iggy followed but didn’t realize what I was up to until I was talking to the driver already. Right about then I realized that we were tired, hungry, and most of all, cranky.

So what is the first thing that a Pagan Queen does when visiting Holland for the very first time? Anyone?

Yup. Eats M&Ms and takes a nap.

After all, we have two weeks and it’s important to pace yourself.

I never noticed how often I fiddle with my ring until it is no longer on my finger. This afternoon I went to the jeweler today and ended up leaving my ring there to have the prongs fixed because the main stone was starting to get a little loose. Now, I’m finding that my ring finger feels naked, my hands don’t look like my hands anymore. There’s something missing.

This ring has been on my finger since I was 16 years old. It was my great-grandmother’s diamond ring and was given to me by my maternal grandmother for my birthday that year. It’s taken vacations from my hand before, but always short ones and it has always been missed. It is somehow my tie to the history of me, my family, and some distant past. And without it I feel vaguely ungrounded.

Now anyone who knows me well at all knows that my family history reads a bit like a Psychiatry textbook. At least a Psychiatry textbook where Substance Abuse and Pedophiles get more air time than your everyday run-of-the-mill neurosis. Heck, at this point in my life, neurosis doesn’t even blip on my radar. With the possible exception of a particular Drama Princess. Then again, when I think about it I have to wonder if she doesn’t actually have a summer sand castle in the Cluster B sandbox. Or at least visits there often enough to have a bad case of fleas. I think I just hijacked my own blog post.

Digression aside, if that’s the kind of family and history I have then why would leaving it behind at the jewelry store be so disturbing to me? Besides, it’s a thing. A material artifact of my life. So not only am I strangely nostalgic for a dysfunctional past but I’m placing value on something that that can be measured and quantified.

This is the thought that has been nagging at me every time I go to straighten out the ring that isn’t there. Everything I’ve done, everything that has been done to me, is part of who I am today. As much as I would never wish any of these things on anyone, I can’t wish them away from myself. Each and every one of these events, each and every one of these people have carved some part of me and shaped me into who I am.

And I’ve said that before. But why should a ring hold such significance?

My great-grandmother had a diamond ring. She didn’t get it when she got married – she and my great-grandfather were young and poor and a diamond was a luxury. She had a plain gold wedding band with no stone in it. But she always wanted a diamond. It took decades for her to get it – if memory serves, my grandmother was married and had her diamond ring before her mother did. But great-grandma finally got what she wanted for all those long years. She got the symbol of love that she desired.

So when I wear that ring, I’m not holding on to the history of my family and their dysfunction. I’m holding onto decades of holding out for something better. I’m looking down at a symbol of love that one very strong woman knew that she deserved and waited the better part of a lifetime to have. That ring is my medal of honor for making it through the rough times and it is my promise of better things to come.

Thing 1 went to summer camp today. She’s there for two weeks. Two full weeks. There are not words for how excited she’s been about this – her chat status has been about waiting for camp since April. She couldn’t wait to get there, once there she couldn’t wait to get set up in her bunk and bound off to meet folks.

I did my best to fade quietly away. I didn’t cling…..much. And I only teared up twice. The first time was on the drive down there. I realized, in a mad panic, that she’d done nearly all her packing herself. What if she’d forgotten something? What if she didn’t have her name on everything? What if something got lost? What if…..

All I could do was to take a nice deep breath and tell her that I needed 3 minutes alone with her before I left the camp. She’s still young enough to be compliant, and agreed to let me have the time. But separating her from the herd was difficult – I had to follow her to the bathroom to have a private word with her.

I told her that this was hard on me because I was letting her go – packing without me, going off without me for two weeks, all on her own. I explained that while I was concerned about all the dozens of little things that could happen, the bottom line was that WF and I have raised her to be an independent problem solver. I told her that I was sure she’d forgotten something or would lose something, but that I was equally confident that she’d keep her head and find a solution. Looking into the blue-green eyes of my eldest child, I told her how proud I was of her and how confident I was that she’d be fine. And I confessed that those feelings didn’t mean that I’d miss her any less.

Then, on the heels of boosting the ego of my tween, I did something that is nearly unforgivable. I hugged her. In public. And held on a second or two longer than I needed to.

But she’s a problem solver. She’ll figure out how to do damage control on her reputation. And I’ll figure out how not to cry.

The results are in. CIN I – Mild Dysplasia – with clear margins. Save yourself the Google search. That means that the cells were pre-cancerous and that they got them all out.

YEAH!!

My eyes are so dry. Sure, the pollen count has been high and I could blame allergies if I’d like. But I have another explanation.

I’ve had my eyes pried open and looking up at all the balls I’m trying to keep in the air – terrified of blinking for fear of dropping something. Now, I’m pretty fair at multitasking if I do say so myself, but I’m feeling a bit stretched. Maybe I’m getting old and tired. But I have this feeling of dread that if one more person adds one more thing to the mix I’m going to lose my grip on everything. So I’m keeping my eyes glued on all the bits up in the air and trying to keep them all moving.

But just for a moment, just here and now, I’d like to play a little pretend game. Let’s pretend that I just walked away. *POOF* What’s the worst thing that would happen? A lot of folks would be pretty upset. A lot of things wouldn’t get done. But all the critical ones would get done eventually and people are upset now so that part is a wash.

So if that’s the case, then perhaps it’s time for me to start looking at exactly what is up in the air right now. Because from where I’m standing it is beginning to feel like some of these things could be dropped – by me – and left for someone else to pick up the pieces.

Maybe, just maybe, this is why both ACOA and CoDA have been mentioned to me in the last two weeks in different settings? A little subliminal advertising from the Goddess?

Page 2

Just in case you thought the fact had escaped my notice, what with all the balls in the air, I am aware of the fact that it has been three months since the last entry. It has also been pointed out to me that an update on the health issues mentioned last time might be in order. So, running through the body systems in question:

Boob: The surgeon wasn’t impressed by what he saw on the ultrasound and wanted to see me again in July for a repeat ultrasound. Basically, he thought it looked benign and that was good enough for me.

Butt: I slept through the garden hose and the biopsy was negative. We’ve modified my diet and that seems to have solved things. I’ve done the appropriate controls and added back in the removed items one at a time to confirm that, yes, my body does in fact HATE certain things that badly.

Girlie Bits: I know. Not part of the original post. The Pap came back abnormal. Colposcopy showed an area too large to take a little biopsy of so I went in for a LEEP last week. At this point I’m waiting impatiently for the pathology report. I was told 7-10 days and it has now been 10. OK, I counted calendar days, they may have meant something else. But I’M NOT PATIENT! I’ll post something when I have the results. My guess it will be after the point where I am allowed to lift 15# again (Thursday) but before I’m allowed to go swimming (a month). Argh.