The Richest (Wo)man in Town

I’ve always known that I have incredible friends. Sweet, hilarious and kind friends. But since my family and I have started our year-long spending moratorium, I never knew how generous they were. Today is the end of week 3 of this little “adventure” (sounds better than suck fest, right?). In these three weeks, I have received offers of clothing hand-me-downs for my son (which I accepted), a future gift of clothing for my son (which I also accepted), and an offer of $200 from a dear friend to help us through the winter (which I turned down but forever grateful for the offer). Then today, I received cash in the mail from a colleague-turned-good-friend. She knows how much I enjoy sending Christmas cards and she wanted to bring me joy this holiday. She said it was her favorite Christmas gift she gave this year.

I am stunned by the generosity of my friends. I shouldn’t be, since I’ve had the great opportunity to meet and fall in love with people all over this country.  It doesn’t seem to matter what color, religion, sexual orientation, gender or socioeconomic background—my friends are beautiful and kind and sweet.  And I feel unbelievably lucky to be loved by so many good, good people.

But…please know that I’m not writing about our spending moratorium to ask for money or assistance or pity. I write about it because it makes me feel better. It makes me feel like my friends are listening and they’re letting me vent…which is exactly what you’re doing. Y’all listen and sometimes offer advice and I love you for it. It’s my version of therapy. FREE therapy.

As I write this post, “It’s a Wonderful Life” is playing on the television. This is one of my favorite movies of all time. Although I love George Bailey and all the good he did for Bedford Falls, look at the people he surrounded himself with–the family he was born into, his wife Mary, his children, his clarence_fg20afriends like Bert and Ernie–all good, good people. When life gets tough, it’s hard to stay positive. But when you surround yourself with kind, generous, good people, then it makes everything a bit easier. It can make life wonderful!

So the question remains. Will I use my friend’s money to buy and send Christmas cards? I did talk to her and talked to my husband, too. I let the money sit on the kitchen counter and re-read the wonderful note my friend sent in my first Christmas card I’ve received this season. And finally….

Yes.

Yes, I will use my lovely gift to send and write Christmas cards and letters to some of my favorite people in the world. Does it feel a little weird and maybe selfish? It does. But my friend has asked me to try not to feel odd about it and I’m going to do just that.

So if you’re one of those folks that typically receive a card from me? Be sure to check out my friend’s blog. You’ll find it listed on the sponsorship blurb in the lower right corner of the card.😀

Maybe=Hope

This is the end of week 1 of Our Spending Prohibition or Moratorium or Embargo or Ban or Suspension.

Wow. Seriously, none of these sound good, do they?

My family and I are having a bit of difficulty in accepting the limits we’ve chosen. It’s not easy and sometimes it’s hard to stay positive.

And this is only the first week….of a year-long spending moratorium. Only 51 weeks to go!

We have $1 left in our grocery budget until Friday. But we have food and we won’t starve. We may run out of milk, fresh fruit and eggs before then, but it’s certainly not the end of the world. The cats may run out of food before then, too, but I’ve already set aside money for that. And I feel like Wonder Woman for doing it.

Isn’t that ridiculous? But I can’t help it. What makes me feel good about what we’re doing is not the fact that we won’t have any money by Thursday night, but the fact that we’re not borrowing against next Friday’s paycheck today. Because that’s what we’ve been doing for years. YEARS. And so do many other people. And it sucks.

What lots of folks don’t understand is that we’ve never had any money to begin with nor are there many places to cut our budget. We don’t have cable. We have an 11-year-old car with over 227,000 miles on it. We don’t pay for high end cell phone service (I have a Tracfone and my husband has a phone through work). There’s never been an inheritance, a sale of a house, lottery winnings. Nothing. There’s just been lots and lots of borrowing. I’m a huge fan of borrowing books from the library, but borrowing money is a different ball game. And it’s one I don’t want to play anymore. My husband and I certainly made mistakes over the years and spending money we really didn’t have, but I’m not sorry about most of it. When you’re constantly scraping up enough money to just pay bills, sometimes you say, “Fuck it. I want to live!” And you do. You have fun. You spread your wings.noregrets  And often it takes money to do that. I don’t regret the few vacations we’ve had or the time I’ve been able to spend with my friends and family in California, Florida and New York. It was worth every penny and more.

But now it’s time to buckle down and try to claw our way out of this hole. It’s going to be difficult and emotional. In my case, it will also be served with a side of guilt.

This weekend, my boy and I were fortunate enough to spend some much needed time with two of our favorite people. We went to the Maine Discovery Museum (after borrowing the free pass from my fantastic library) then headed over to McDonald’s for a quick lunch. I had already planned on this and took out $5 from our grocery budget. I bought my kid a Happy Meal and didn’t get anything for myself. I wasn’t starving and even if I was, I certainly wasn’t going to fade away. Now, if you’ve met my 9-year-old, you’d know that a Happy Meal probably won’t satisfy him, especially after a morning of hard play with a 3-year-old. I actually prepped him before we went, letting him know that most likely that was all we could afford but he could definitely eat something when we got home. He was totally cool with it. But he couldn’t stop himself from eyeing his cousin’s chicken nuggets. He went so far as hinting that if his cousin wasn’t going to eat them, he’d be happy to help him out.  His cousin is a sweetie, and chose the largest of the nuggets to give to my boy. I melted a little at this awesome display of giving, but I also felt super freaking guilty. I’m letting a 3-year-old feed my kid when I could just dip into my gas money and buy my son some nuggets?

Yup. That’s exactly what I did. But neither of them seemed too scarred from it, so I need to stop beating myself up over it. Let it go, Holly, let it go. (If you feel the need to sing here, go ahead. I won’t judge you.)

I think the next two months will be *very* difficult and honestly, when I start thinking about it, I do get mini panic attacks. Can’t breathe well, pain in my chest….ok maybe slightly larger than mini panic attacks. I realized on the second day of our spending moratorium that my kid didn’t have a winter coat. Well, it’s Maine in November which means it will snow any day and it’s damn cold already. Fortunately he has winter boots….but I know they won’t last the winter. In fact, I’ve been putting off having him try them on because I’m afraid they won’t fit. And basketball season starts right after Thanksgiving, which means basketball shoes. Or at least something better than what he has now. And we have a dentist appointment in two weeks. And two of our cats need their shots after Thanksgiving. And there’s too many damn “and’s”!!

So how do we do this without borrowing from next week’s paycheck or from charging anything on a credit card? I’m really not sure yet. I’ll start scouring Goodwill and Craig’s List for my boy’s shoes and coat. I may skip my dental appointment and just take my son. I may only take one cat to the vet. Who knows? Maybe I can squeeze out enough from our grocery budget in the next two weeks to make some of these things happen. Maybe my husband will be able to work a few extra hours to pay the vet bill. Or maybe he won’t. That’s a lot of maybe’s. But right now that’s all we have.

And it’s better than nothing.

 

 

 

 

Our Spending Moratorium

Tomorrow, my family and I begin a one year spending moratorium. Originally I was calling it a “spending holiday” as in, taking a holiday from spending, but that phrase sounded fun and as my husband pointed out, this will not be fun. At all. Yet it’s absolutely necessary.

Like many American families, we have way too much debt. Besides a mortgage we have a smidge of credit card debt, a loan to pay off even older debt, and a home equity loan we used to purchase and install heat pumps. Ok, let’s be honest here. That last loan is really a second mortgage. I just hate calling it that because it makes me want to throw up. Plus there’s the usual monthly bills and essentials like gas and food.  Meanwhile our car is hanging on by a thread, and I mean that literally. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to put any more money into it for the next year, but the way it’s sounding and shaking, I’m thinking it needs to go back to the garage and hope they can fix it.

Not only do we need to pay for all I mentioned, but we’re trying desperately to go on a 9-day vacation next autumn, including a short Disney cruise and 5 days at Disney World. 2017 is a big year for us. The boy turns 10 in the spring, my husband and I will celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary in the summer and my husband will turn 50 in the fall. Those are some big-ass milestones and we want to celebrate appropriately!

So what does a spending moratorium mean exactly? Well, no more spending frivolously. I can’t say that I am particularly frivolous with money. I do try to be conscious of what I spend. (My husband, on the other hand, is not quite as conscious. Yet just talking about this moratorium has made him much more so.) I buy a coffee maybe once a week, otberwise I always make it at home or work. I don’t buy books or movies or music. I do buy clothes occasionally, but since my weight has pretty much stabilized, I don’t really *need* to buy anything.  BUT, I do like to buy the occasional gift for family and friends, even when I really can’t afford to. I also go over budget on our grocery bill every single week. I justify the over spending by saying, “Hey. I don’t travel, I don’t go out, so I’m going to buy whatever I want for food to have in the house.” But now that has to stop.

I want to feel like we’re not drowning. I want to feel like we’re in control of our lives even a little tiny bit. And I want to go on that damn vacation. I want to escape this life for just a little bit and try to enjoy ourselves, but I want to do that without this heavy burden to carry. A burden I realize we created but one we are ready and willing to cast off. No matter how painful. And I *know* this will be painful.

dollars_beltins

Does this mean we’ll stop living for the next year? No. I will still buy running shoes every six months so my feet don’t fall off. I’ll still buy my husband another pair of work pants since I mistakenly bleached his other ones. We’ll still give our son his allowance each week as long as he does his chores. And we will all still go see the movie, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story in December because it would be insane not to. (It’s the one movie we’ll see in the theater this year.) But it does mean that if we run out of coffee on Wednesday, I won’t pick it up until Friday.  (Let’s all hope this doesn’t happen because it will be disastrous for everyone.)  If all of my underwear or socks have holes in them, I will keep wearing them until they disintegrate. As my kid grows out of clothes, we will not go to department stores but to Goodwill and thrift stores to find something he can wear.  The moratorium means we’ll all need to plan better, live with what we have or find very inexpensive alternatives for what we need. Which is what we should be doing anyway, right?

This also means no more gift giving or a drastically reduced version of it. Each child we typically buy gifts for will each get $5 and possibly a book for both Christmas and their birthdays. (Our own kid will be an exception, but he is aware that he will need to save for most of what he wants.) All of the adults in our families will get a pat on the back, a heartfelt note of how awesome they are and possibly a homemade goodie. And Christmas cards? Well, this one is really difficult for me. I *love* sending and receiving Christmas cards. I will still send some, but only to those not online. That’s literally only a handful of folks. I may post my holiday letter on Facebook so the usual suspects can still read it, but they just won’t get it in the mail this year.  This bit of the moratorium is what really hurts me. I know it sounds silly and very corny, but it brings me great joy to send those cards and letters out. I don’t think it’s the fact that I’m telling everyone about what we’ve been up to, although that’s nice, too, but I love hearing about everyone else’s lives and what *they’ve* been up to.  I get all cozy on my couch with a cup of tea or coffee and I read those letters and cards and notes and think about those friends and family that I don’t get to see face-to-face anymore.  I block out a little time to spend with them. It’s like a little gift to myself.

Over the next year, if you ask me to join you for lunch or an outing of some sort, please forgive me if I say “no.” It’s not that I don’t want to, but I just can’t. Most of my friends are totally cool with me just saying that I can’t afford it right now because we’ve all been there or are currently there. I don’t expect people to buy my way into places, either. If there’s something I want to do that I’m willing to sell something or give up food for, then I’ll do it. This is not a cry for donations or assistance. This is just me setting the ground rules for how my family and I need to live for the next year.

This will not be easy. It will not be fun, although it may be more fun for me than for others. I love paying my bills and knowing they’re paid for and we owe nothing else that week. The hard part is realizing there isn’t enough money left for all the groceries you intended to buy….or the wine you really, really need….ok, really, really want.  (cue Spice Girls music)

If you have any tips for me on how to save money or make a little extra cash, I’m all ears.  Admittedly, I won’t do things like get an extra job or do something that will take even more time away from my child. I’m not quite that desperate yet. But suggestions like buying no-brand food items, ripping dryer sheets in half, or baking my own bread (all of which I do) are all helpful. If there’s something you do that has helped you save money, please let me know. I want my head *above* water for a change.

drowning

 

The Right Stuff

Taking Mom to her neurology appointments are emotionally exhausting affairs. They make me feel very uncomfortable. It is obvious that in this particular office, I am my mother’s parent. I am asked questions about her health, her memory and the level of her confusion.  Don’t get me wrong, this is done in a very respectful way. The doctor asks my mother if it’s ok to ask me questions, and so far, my mother has always replied very happily, “Absolutely!” I think she likes that I’m in the hot seat before she is.

Then the doctor turns to my mother and asks her a few general questions about her health or her habits before getting into more serious memory testing. Meanwhile, I sit diagonal from my mom and stare at the floor. I look up occasionally to see the reactions of both the doctor and my mother, but mostly I just try to shrink into myself and disappear. This seems like such a private encounter to have to witness. It feels like I’m watching my mother be interrogated and she appears very vulnerable during these interviews. Sometimes tears run down her face while she answers the questions. I desperately want to leave the room while this is going on, but I have to stay. I give the doctor clues when Mom’s answers are not true or just a bit off. Like today. The doctor asked Mom if she ever goes to the library to get reading material. She book-mobilereplied that she didn’t, but the bookmobile comes around once a month.

Ummm…..what the? We haven’t had bookmobiles in this area for about 40 years. No joke. It was such a random thing to say. I was surprised she didn’t mention the library where I work. But something about that bookmobile memory was just floating around in her brain and it popped out. So bizarre.

Yet most of Mom’s other answers to the variety of questions? FANTASTIC!  At the end of the doctor’s interview, she told my mother how impressed she was with how she did. At this point in the year, Mom should have been on this Alzheimer’s medication for 6 months. But due to the snafu we had this summer, she’s only been on it for a month. The doctor knew about this and yet Mom’s memory and level of confusion had improved tremendously since January when she initially saw the doctor. Let me say that I love this neurologist. She’s always brutally honest, there’s no sugar coating for this lady, and yet she conveys empathy and compassion.  She told us that she realized that last January’s appointment could have been a particularly bad day for Mom and today could have been a particularly good day. But even with that, Mom was more than keeping her own. She was actually improving. The Aricept that Mom is taking typically just maintains people’s memory loss, or delays the advancement of the loss, but in 10% of the patients who take it the medication improves the patients’ cognition. The doctor said that Mom may actually be one of those 10%.  YES!!

*big smiles and clapping hands*

I know that everything can change very quickly. I know that most likely, there will be a day that my mother will not know who I am. But that day isn’t here. Not yet. And it might be just a little further off than it was before. And that, my friends, is reason to celebrate.

Three cheers for a good day!

 

Looking for Contentment

I am a tall woman who lives a small life. I live in a very small town with less than 3,000 people. I work in a small, rural library in a town of only 4,000 people. I rarely travel, except to and from work and to soccer practices and games and to my mom’s house and to most of my mom’s appointments. I run and I read and if I want to have a drink, typically I’ll have it at home where it is considerably less expensive.

Most of the time, I think this is ok.

It’s not the exact life I thought I’d have, but it’s not horrible. It can be hard some days and weeks, but it’s not bad. It can be horribly hectic, particularly weekday mornings (probably like yours, too!)–trying to squeeze in a run or a walk before or in between getting the kid ready and making dinner for that evening and doing laundry or dishes and fitting in a shower in there somewhere. And if I’m volunteering at the school library that morning? Forget it. I don’t even try to exercise on those days unless I’ve been up since 4:30 due to the cats hitting my face with their paws….claws out.

Again, not horrible. A little bloodshed, perhaps, but could be worse. And yet, I strive to find contentment. Do you?

I often wonder if social media is what has done this to me. I see my friends taking their children to far off places or flying to another state to run and drink (and vomit?) but having an adventure of some sort anyway.  Typically I’m very happy for my friends and family and the journeys they are fortunate enough to take, but this week it really got to me. I was thinking about all of those lovely images as I entered the local pharmacy where I needed to pick up extra vitamins for my mother because she couldn’t remember to get them. As I kneeled on the floor trying to determine which calcium was the right one for her and which one wouldn’t bankrupt me, I felt my shoulders slump and had to blink back tears. This? This is what my life is? Sitting on Rite Aid’s floor trying to find the cheapest yet most effective vitamin for my poor mother whose entire life seems to center around her cat? How has this happened?

Once I got back to my car, I had to take some deep breaths and try to snap out of this funk. Feeling sorry for myself or for Mom isn’t going to get either of us anywhere, yet sometimes wallowing in self-pity in private doesn’t really hurt, does it? If it does hurt, then I’m a damn mess.

I didn’t shake the blues until two days later. I barked at everyone at home and at work, until my boss and I had this great conversation about “kitchen envy” and trying to put things in perspective. She loves to cook but has a small apartment with a small kitchen. Yet some of her friends will post photos on Facebook of their gorgeous homes and kitchens and my boss will drool a bit over them. But she reminds herself that she has a small place with that horrible orange countertop so she can have decent vacations and save for a good retirement on the small salary that she makes.

Perspective. Again. I keep having to remind myself that it’s about perspective.

I do live a small life in a small town in a small state. But I also live in a lovely town in a gorgeoudscn3538s state. My family and I took a walk in the Bangor City Forest this weekend, to attempt to “leave town” but also in payment for a promise that we’d do something together OUTSIDE. It was one of the best days I’ve had in weeks. I watched my kid kick butt on the soccer field, I got to walk in the crisp air with the trees falling from the trees with my family around me, then I stuffed myself with sushi and rice noodles and tea. It was a good day. A BIG day in my little life.

Does this mean I don’t want to travel with my family (or without them) or fly off and run a race in another state? No, of course not. I yearn to take my child to San Francisco, a place I’ve always loved, or to go to Seattle, a place I’ve never been but desperately want to go to. I’m not into racing much these days, but I’d love to do the Brain Freezer 5K again, for sure! (No alcohol, but ice cream and possible vomiting.) But for this day, for right now, I didn’t need to buy an expensive gadget or travel to another state to have a great day. I just needed to look around and realize and appreciate the wonderments I had right in front of me.

 

 

 

So Many Words

They say actions speak louder than words. I suppose that’s true in most situations, but what if words are all you have? What if what you say and how you say it is the only action you can take?

We’ve had lots of discussions in our household lately about words and phrases you’re allowed to use at home but not at school or at work or even around friends. My son got in trouble at school for using words like “freakin'” and “bullcrap” because they were too much like actual swear words. We had a chat about it and I reassured him that he was not in trouble at home but would need to use other words at school. The very next day he used “freakin'” again and although he apologized and is trying to change, he was sent to the principal’s office and I got a phone call.

You may be thinking, “Well, of course he got in trouble. Kids should not be using those types of words!” And you’re right, sort of. I don’t think kids should use those words in school, just like I can’t swear at work (except in the back room where my boss lets me spout off at whatever is ailing me). There is an appropriate time for certain types of language. I try not to use the phrase, “Oh my god!” around some of my friends. I think it offends them and I have no desire to do that. I feel like being sensitive to what others may feel when you use particular words is a part of growing and evolving. I’m still trying to teach my 9-year-old some of that sensitivity but I think he’ll  learn it. It can take time and many mistakes, but it’s doable.

At home, though, I think you should say what you feel. When I get angry or frustrated, I will use words that can make your ears burst into flames. Sometimes I’m muttering and other times I’m yelling. But as a person who ate all of her anger since the age of 7, I like to get all of my anger out before it becomes rage and consumes me. I can run out my frustration at times, but words are typically what purges my body of all the anger or hatred I may have. (And after being bulimic for a time, let me tell you that this type of purging is much more satisfying and so, so much better for me!)

After receiving the second phone call about my boy’s language and feeling scolded for allowing him to use certain words at home, I thought it was time to use my own words to express how I felt. I couldn’t do it over the phone because I knew I’d get upset and say things I shouldn’t. So I sent an email to both the teacher and principal, thanking them for alerting me of my son’s use of language. But I also explained that he is allowed to use those words at home because I don’t want him to eat his anger or punch the wall in frustration or hit someone because they ticked him off. I don’t want him to say nothing and push his feelings deep down until a little nuisance becomes fury. Using words is what we’re taught to do, right? In school, we’re taught to express how we feel by what we say, *not* what we do. And that’s exactly what he’s doing. He knows he shouldn’t use those words at school and he’s trying not to, but it will take time. (I suggested to my son that he use the word “fishcakes” like my 85-year-old colleague from the Blue Hill Library used to use. She used “fuck” when no one else was around. My boy has decided to try the word “flipping” instead, because a girl in his class uses it and she doesn’t get in trouble. I think this might end up being an experiment in gender studies.)

In my email, I also explained that in our home, we really do love words. We compliment each other if we use a good word or phrase. For instance, instead of saying, “That’s not what I was talking about,” my boy says, “No, Mom, that’s not what I was referring to.” AWESOME! Or we talk about words that we enjoy saying because of how it feels in our mouths, like “Mozambique” or “planetarium” or “hullabaloo.” Maybe instead of using boring words like “freakin'”, I can teach my boy to use Shakespearean phrases like, “Thou art like a toad!” or maybe “Your brain is as dry as the remainder biscuit after voyage!” Well, he might not be able to remember that one.  We’ve been trying out other words like “wretched” or “crikey” or “dang nab it.” Something funny or clever that won’t get him into trouble.

shakespearecat

As we continue to discuss the power of words, do you ever find yourself having difficulty in saying certain words that should be simple to say like “I’m sorry” or “I love you” or even just “No”?  I know I do. Currently I have a tough time saying “My mother has Alzheimer’s Disease.”  I can say she has dementia just fine, but something about the word “Alzheimer’s” makes me stutter. The word gets caught in my throat. I think it brings so many depressing images to mind that it’s hard to spit it out. Or it feels like admitting defeat.

However, saying “I love you” to those that I do love or “Thank you” to those that have helped me or been a good friend to me, brings me joy and makes me feel all warm and squishy inside….

…as does saying “fluffernutter.” Seriously. It’s a great word, isn’t it? It uses your tongue and teeth and lips and it’s delicious! Oh and “delicious!” I love that word, too.

What about you? What words bring you joy or make your blood boil?

Let’s have an orgy of words!

 

 

 

Duped

What do you do when you feel betrayed by someone you love? Do you get angry and lash out at that person? Do you stop talking to them? Or do you try and discuss the situation and attempt to forgive?

How about if that person has dementia? Then how would you react?

Today I took my mom to an appointment with her doctor. This was no big deal, just a quick check up to see how everything is going. The doc decided to check Mom’s blood sugar since it had been a while, as well as her A1c number. (If you’re not diabetic or don’t know one, the A1c number is basically a test to show how your blood sugar levels have been for the past few months. The test should be done every 6 months, but possibly every 3 if things are not great.) First the nurse did a quick test of Mom’s blood sugar–it was over 300.  For an average person, 100 or below is good. Then she tested Mom’s A1c. A 6 or 7 is good, and Mom’s was above 13.  In other words, it’s a shit storm.

After a little investigating and questioning both Mom and myself, the doctor discovered that Mom’s meds should have needed a refill at least 8 months ago. EIGHT MONTHS. The doctor turned from her nurse to look at both Mom and me. She tilted her head and had this smug yet pitying look on her face. I wanted to smack that look right off her face. Was I defensive? You bet I was. I fucked up, but I wasn’t going down alone. “So…how often are you supposed to check Mom’s A1c?” It had been nearly a year since they checked it, so we all fucked up.

Now the question was, why was her blood sugar so bad? Was she eating well? Probably not, but that’s a given. Was she taking her medication? Mom certainly thought she was, as did I. That’s the one thing Mom had always been so good about was taking her meds. Or was she? Did I just believe her because she’s my mom and she’s so damn convincing? Or because I didn’t want to take on any more responsibility?

JACKPOT! Finger on the nose!  You got it, Holly!

I wasn’t ready.

So. After this visit, I took Mom home and we went through her medications. She actually did have some of her diabetic medication left from over a year ago, which means she only took it sporadically. But her other meds? Oh my god, her other meds. Like the pills she takes for dementia?

Not one pill had been taken. Not one. In 5 months. Not one.

I am an idiot. I am not a good caregiver. It’s obvious to me now, in fact, that I suck at it.

wrong

I’ve wanted my mom back for so long and kept hoping things would just stay at this even keel for years and I could keep pretending that things were good and I was just her daughter and not her housekeeper or nurse or parent.

I have to stop thinking that way now. It’s all a bunch of damned excuses!! I have to suck it up and help her.

I don’t blame my mother for this. Not at all. For just a moment I felt duped. Like she had stopped taking her medications on purpose. But that feeling only lasted a moment. I knew it wasn’t true. I knew the true deceiver in this situation was me. I felt a betrayal, but it was on my mother’s behalf. I didn’t keep her safe like I was supposed to.

You know, I realize how selfish I’ve been and still am. Even today after all this. I know I need to go over to Mom’s place once a week and make sure her meds are all set and ready to go for the week. It’s not a huge deal. It means either I need to take my son over on the weekend after his soccer game or skip a morning exercise routine during the week. When I say it out loud, it’s so little I’m giving up to help her…but why does it feel so big?

I feel like I’ve taken one more step closer to….I’m not sure to what or to where. Maybe just feeling like I’m more of a parent now? Like before I was parenting a teenager and now we’ve gone backwards and it’s closer to parenting a Kindergartner?  Or maybe it’s because it is another step.

It’s one more step towards the day my mother won’t know who I am.