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Tall, professional, has own car, financially stable, good listener, good heart, has a job, business owner or retired, non smoking, NO pets, educated, caucasian German or other European man (6'2 and over), 42-53 years old.. Once upon a time, a long long (longlonglong LONG) time ago, I started a blog shortly after my firstborn turned six.Plus we watch a lot of Chopped and so I’m looking forward to opening a week’s haul and going GOOD LORD WHAT IS THAT HOW DO I COOK IT OR IS IT HERE TO EAT ME. But then he called me last week and toward the end of the call he said, “Well, that’s all. Also you do know you need to blog at least occasionally so I have something to read, right? Still without any earth-shattering news or happenings, but when has that ever stopped me? Both of them were only here for a few days, because apparently they have LIVES and OTHER THINGS TO DO and whatnot. But the point here is that I blinked and the semester is suddenly half over, and—come closer, I don’t want to say it too loudly—everyone seems okay. ” because Monkey—tiny in comparison to his sister, but a champion in-utero acrobat—was born with his umbilical cord wrapped twice around his neck.” He wasn’t much for guilt trips when I was growing up, but geez, he’s making up for lost time now. When we last left off talking about The Children (subtitle: But They’re Adults Now And That’s Pretty Weird), the spring semester was just beginning. The doctor worked the cord free, caught the rest of him, and HOWWWWW was that 18 years ago?He’s much larger and far too hairy.) Anyway, it was all a long time ago, is my point. ), THIS birthday he also got to register to vote, upgrade his driver’s license, finally use the online access to his bank account instead of asking me to check it (that’s a bank rule and it’s dumb, right? We’re saving the existential angst and crushing debt for his 21st, though.Now he’s 18, and in addition to the usual suspects (homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast! Chickadee has been home—intermittently, to be sure, as her college pals are mostly elsewhere, and as often as not, that means I’m kissing the back of her head as she leaves for a day or three to be with them—and that means certain things are assured: 1) Her “debris field” (as Otto likes to call it) is a constant reminder that my child may grow and mature but will always be comfortable and, to some extent, toddler-esque in her childhood home, and 2) The time will come when she is lounging on the couch, looks up from her phone, sighs with disappointment, fixes me with a baleful stare, and says, “WHYYYYY don’t you ever blog anymore???” whereas with my own kid I try to find an actual answer. I mean, there’s no one thing I can point to and say, “This is why.” It’s a lot of little things and a few hard-to-quantify things and life and time and dogs and doubt and fear and happiness and having just plain gotten out of the habit. But I did think a wrap-up of 2017 was in order, if only to appease my daughter. When Chickadee decided on Tinytown College (not its real name), we made several trips to campus before she began her time there. I was too busy gasping for air once I saw the price tag on the “TC MOM” shirt my child insisted I needed? When she left for college, my car did not yet proclaim OH HEY I RAISED A CHILD TO SEMI-FUNCTIONALITY AND COLLEGE ATTENDANCE IN ANOTHER TOWN yet, or, you know, via shorthand: Tinytown College.
I had gushed about how huge and beautiful his sister was, when she was born, but after an appropriate period of oohing and ahhing and getting him settled, I confided to his father that Baby Monkey was so tiny, I was afraid I might break him.Can I see some ID, please, and can you tell me when you last filed your own taxes?” I always found it hilarious when my father would say things about how he knows I’m an adult but he always thinks of me as a kid, but now I get it. Twenty is playing grownup and hoping no one notices.She has the shirts that we bought her and a shirt for every activity she’s in and a shirt she got at freshman orientation and a shirt for her dorm and a shirt for the Honors program and a shirt for having accumulated shirts and don’t forget the free shirts for things she doesn’t even belong to which are apparently rained down on campus at regular intervals. You don’t live in that apartment complex.” Her: “Well, yeah, but they were giving them out in the quad, soooo….”) Chickadee also owns a licensed lanyard, TC-mascot-themed earbuds, some sort of Terrible Towel-esque scrap of cloth (hilarious, as this school doesn’t have any Division 1 sports teams), and so on. (In case you’re wondering, I also received a licensed mug for taking her to their scholarship competition and a licensed logo imitation Tervis tumbler for taking her to orientation. (If pressed further—and/or if Otto is there—I will slot my wedding to him in a very close third place.) Bringing forth new life and the miracle of birth and oh hey ALSO having two human beings grow from screaming lumps into semi-functional adults is pretty nifty, not gonna lie. Otto and I spent most of the spring and part of the summer talking about, planning for, and perhaps-a-little-too-gleefully anticipating our empty nest. It’s been a long nineteen something years since I first surrendered myself to motherhood.That seems like a fair return on the tens of thousands of dollars we pay them, right? ) What I did not buy, initially, was a decal for my car. So let us assume that those are the “best” two days of my life, okay? I promise to try to make it worth your while.] We started with this: If you live anywhere in Georgia, chances are you know someone who has taken themselves down to Maranatha Baptist Church some weekend to attend the Sunday School taught by President Jimmy Carter. But then one day we were hanging out with friends and the topic came up and someone (probably Otto) said, “We should all go. It’s not that we don’t adore the children—of course we do! one, we’ve never been “just us” the way a traditional first-marriage couple gets to be, and two, have you met my children? Raising kids on a completely normal/expected trajectory is hard, I assume.