I've been incredibly busy lately, so I must apologize for not posting sooner. In my other life I also run a retail store - as tourist season kicks in I've been BUSY!! Whew. No excuses intended, I've just been too busy to think. But I promised myself, even put it on my to do list for today to write a blog post. AND check it out, here I am. Go me! Checking stuff off my list. So I'll get on with it.
I've been learning about a couple things these last couple weeks.
My novel is at the editors, I'm still waiting. Trying to be patient and not OCD all over the place. I get how busy life can get (See first paragraph) so I am hardly one to speak but I hate waiting. I'm obsessive about not being tardy in my mundane life. I will arrive up to an hour early "just in case" for appointments, work, all that stuff. Because the thought that something could happen and I would end up arriving behind schedule sets my hair on fire and my mind in a complete panic. Mr. Gloria has been *cough* politely spoken too (okay who am I kidding I've completely lost it on him) for being late to pick me up when he said he would. I try to be understanding, I try to be empathetic. Try. That's the operative word. I'm not. I hate waiting.
So this week has been a real trial for me, waiting. Patiently. Understanding that when the manuscript arrives it does. Me freaking out over it, doesn't help in the least. It certainly doesn't help get it here any quicker. I've been working on other projects in a futile attempt to distract myself, but I keep getting distracted from my distraction with thoughts of the first novel. I also must admit I'd rather the editor took her time rather than rushed the job. So I wait. Biting my tongue, tapping my fingers on the desk, obsessively checking my email, but being as patient as I can.
The second lesson of the week is on letting go. Thing 2, my youngest, is 13 now. Which means "grade-eight-end-of-the-year-trip-of-epic-proportions-to-oh-my-god-Quebec!". (In case you couldn't hear my voice in your head just there - I was channeling my inner teenager and paraphrasing my daughter) She left yesterday morning, on a bus, whisked away. It's not like we haven't been apart before - I am not a clingy mother. She's gone to summer camps, friends places, weekends away and all sorts of events. But I dropped her off. I knew where she was. This is something else entirely. She's growing up, becoming the person she was meant to be. Which is all great and dandy, and I am so proud of her for being the individual she is, it's still scary as shit. What happened to my baby? The little girl whose hair I styled, who looked at me as though I was the best thing in the world. The little girl who danced and sang with me in the living room, who's hand I held when she went in for her heart surgery. The sweetheart who hugged me when my mom died, trying to comfort me. What happened to her?
She's thirteen, which means in September she goes to HIGH SCHOOL! She's thirteen, which according to everyone I talk to, means I have about six months until she turns into a raging ball of angry, hate filled, know it all teeny bopper. Then I will have to wait at least four years until the teen monster dies and she turns back into a human being.
This feels like the beginning of the end. The end of agreeing about music, television, books. If I say the lake is cold, she'll disagree, just to be difficult. The end of her thinking I hung the moon. The end of her being my little girl.
So, I've let her go. She needs the time to be the monster, to hang out with her friends, to crush on boys, to have her heart broken. She needs the time to learn to be the person she will become. I can only hope that I've taught her enough. That Mr. Gloria and I have taught her all that she needs to know, and that she knows we are here for her always. I will let her go, with pain inside me. Knowing any day could be the last before I lose my beautiful, happy go lucky child. And it might be years until I see her again.
But until the day she does disappear into the wild ways of high school, I will enjoy the moments we have.
I've forbidden myself from contacting her - knowing this trip is a right of passage that she deserves. It's definitely within the rules for me to respond to the texts she sends me, of which there have already been several, which makes me smile. The "Good morning mom, I miss you." text from this morning had me tearing up and I of course responded with a smile: until she turns into a monster, I'm a happy mom. She may grow up, but as all mothers say, she'll always be my baby.