A few weeks ago a friend of mine from high school posted a funny anecdote on Facebook (where else!). It reminded me of something my co-bloggettes would have written, so I asked said friend, Mrs. deVeeler, if she would be interested in writing a blurb for 18 Years to Life. She graciously agreed and sent me her wonderful back-story of finding love, becoming a mother and living life. I'm passing it on so I can share my dear friend with you. I'm also including the "slice of life" anecdote that reminded me that we're all Lifers. Introducing, Mrs. deVeeler:
|Photo Courtesy of Mrs deVeeler|
As a little girl I never fantasized about the big wedding dress or meeting the man of my dreams. However, one summer during my adolescent years, my psychic grandma took me to have my first reading. That night, I dreamed of my future husband. In my dream he was around 16. Tall, skin and bones, blond hair and vibrant stop-you-in-your-tracks blue eyes. He was bagging groceries. It wasn't an exciting dream and there was no interaction between us but the dream stayed with me none the less.
During my 3rd year of college I spotted him at a bar. He was leaning over a pool table, those baby blues shining off the 8 ball. We were introduced through mutual friends. I knew within weeks that this was something special. During one of our late night conversations we began comparing jobs we had in high school. He told me about his days as a grocery bagging boy and my dream, long hidden in my memory cabinet, came screaming back at me. And I knew, without a doubt, this was the guy I was supposed to be with.
Although I never fantasized about my wedding, I did fantasize about motherhood and became fascinated by the process of pregnancy and birth from a very young age. In high school I did my senior paper on a few local midwives and became convinced that a natural childbirth would be one I would attempt when my parenting time came. I was fortunate enough (and fearful enough of hospitals) to make my long standing dream of a drug free birth become a reality in 2007 with the birth of Reese. A few years later we had a home birth with our second child El.
My last four years have included much sleep deprivation, diapers & dishes (Oh my gosh, the dishes!). The time I spend in the kitchen preparing and/or cleaning up astounds me. I've had one night away from my kids. I've experienced a wide array of emotions and feelings. Unbelievable love and joy mixed with feelings of loneliness and loss of self. My desire to have something that is my own has begun to return to me. I'm in the early phase of starting my own, very small, private practice where I hope to support other couples, mothers and families in their journeys together.
* * * * *
So El has figured out temper tantrums. She is 2 so I suppose it's about time but oh. my. goodness.
Here's what my morning has consisted of. Picking up the playroom and scrubbing off Spongebob and princess stickers that one or both decided to put all over the furniture, walls, etc. I tried to enlist them to help but in Reese's words, 'this is hard." No sh*t, kid. Stop putting stickers on the freaking furniture.
Then I decide its crafts time. As i get out the crafts I decide the craft cabinet needs organizing and the junk drawer might as well get cleaned out too. All of this in the simple quest to find a dry erase marker that has apparently vanished into thin air. Cabinet organized, drawer organized. El is on her fourth temper tantrum in twenty minutes.
Reese is happily playing and running around the house when she says, "HEY MOM, why is the tile wet?"
WTH!!! I go look and yes, BOO, our 15 year old JRT has taken a pee on the tile. Ok. El, wait a minute. I’ll get you your stamps in a second. I have to clean up pee.
Clean and sanitize.
Get El her stamps.
Reese wants me to play Barbie.
I turn my head to my coffee that's been sitting under teh brewer that's been calling to me for twenty minutes and is now cold....then I hear the familiar noise.
Harf Harf Harf
Boo is throwing up on the carpet.
Put dog outside,
clean and sanitize.
I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry and the kids are fighting in the other room and my coffee is cold.
Gotta love it!
* * * * *
Would you like to share your Mom or Dad Story? We'd love to post it! Email us at firstname.lastname@example.org.