Everyone knows my mother was my rock, my ride or die, and most importantly the woman that held the line, so I could work 12 to 18hr days. She helped me raise the Gremlin from the time he came into this world and was the first one to stand toe to toe with anyone that called me a bad mother because I was working damn near around the damn clock. She kept me grounded, sane, and most importantly seen. Hell, she was the inspiration behind my first published main character, Rose.
She was the only person, until recently, I fully trusted with Ares. It wasn’t because she was perfect, but because she saw him for the amazing child he is. She knew what he needed, when he needed it. Mom never made him feel like he was broken or made me feel like I had to explain the invisible load I was carrying. Hell, she was a momma of three plus the friend groups that all called her Momma Red.
But after her fall, not being inside these walls was an adjustment, I handled the best I could. Then, I completely lost her and became the solo captain of a ship I have never had to navigate by myself before. Sure, while momma was still alive, I’m the one that made all the decisions, did the shopping, handled the doctors' appointments, and cooked. But she was right there next to me or, in the last year of her life, a phone call away. She remembered the shit I would forget like toilet paper, dish tabs, or to pick up meds from CVS.
The point is, Momma was the other half of my brain that I thought would always be there. She held the choke chain, that kept me in line, when I would openly debate doing something stupid. And now, let's just say, even with someone else in the room, I’m steering the ship through a hurricane trying to stay the course. Doesn’t help I have a broken compass, can’t see the stars, and most of the crew want to stage a mutiny. But we are surviving with a few cuss words, chicken nuggets, and a heavy hand of sass, defiance, and caffeine.
Which leads me into the big milestones, my Gremlin, yesterday, went to his very first pool party and hung out with his best friends. And wait for it… without me. Someone he’s really close to at school picked him up and took him over there. Which allowed me a few hours to get his room cleaned, along with other housework that I normally couldn’t get done without someone else keeping him distracted.
Why is this such a big deal for both of us you might be asking yourself? See, I have very high anxiety about him being out of my sight for any length of time that isn’t school, and even then, if that bus is late in the afternoons, full blown panic attack. (Long story and maybe one day I will share the why, just know it’s a completely valid reason.) Which leads to my fear that no one else is watching him the way I do. No one has memorized the non-verbal cues, the sounds, the silences that mean something from a child that screeches. Let's face it, it’s not like I have some big backup system waiting in the wings if shit goes sideways for whatever reason.
So, with that being said, Lil man has never done sleep overs, play dates that weren’t at the park or our house, or anything a normal 9-year-old would have done at this point in his life. Because let's face it, I don’t trust a whole lot of people with my created chaos. Why because he is non-verbal and the world is a scary ass place for a normal child let alone one that can’t tell you something is wrong or happened. Safety is my number one priority when it comes to my child, and even when I know deep down, he is fine, that doesn’t stop me from watching him like a hawk.
And let's face facts here…. People I trusted to be in his life, that I leaned on after mom passed, did me dirty. This left me jaded to the point where I see danger, when it's really people offering me help. A net, if you will, when I’ve been playing on a tight rope balancing thousands of pounds of responsibilities over shark infested waters. Which has left me hyper-aware, hyper-tired, hyper-functional, and my personal favorite just plan flipping HYPER. People call it paranoia. I call it being a mom to a kid who doesn’t understand danger.
And here’s the kicker: when I do get a sliver of time to myself, when he’s safe and playing and I have even an hour to breathe. I feel guilty the whole damn time. Guilty for needing that minute. Guilty for wanting a break. Guilty that the only way I can get anything done (like cleaning a bathroom, folding the mountain of laundry, or even just sitting the hell down for five) is when someone else has eyes on him.
It’s not that I don’t love my child with every fiber of my being, but mommy needs a flipping break too. I need to recharge before I break, because I’m not the damn energizer bunny. Even if I have been described as a “one woman wrecking crew”, I can’t keep all the chainsaws in the air without help. So before the invisible weight starts to crack through, before the pieces I’m juggling come down in a bloody mess (I can’t recover from), and before I become the hollowed out husk just going through the day to day motions like a damn zombie, I need to take a good hard look at how I’m going to keep myself on this side of the dirt.
I will always feel like someone, somewhere, is watching and judging me for what they won't take the time to understand. I have to be okay with that. I have to be okay with never matching up to those Pinterest-perfect, smiling, got-it-all-together mothers. Because I’ll I can be is me. Unfiltered, Tattooed, Anxiety driven, and highly caffeinated.
I miss having a net. I miss having someone who didn’t need the whole backstory to get it. I miss the person that would let me rant for 20 to 30 minutes straight and then ask me if I felt better. And now when My little Gremlin has hit a milestone we never thought would happen, I miss having someone to tell. Don’t get me wrong my crew, including his godparents, were over the moon at this development. It just hit me differently when I couldn’t hear her say how proud she was of her little bug.
It’s also the last week before school starts.
Reset week. That magical time where everything’s supposed to fall into place, routines reestablished, backpacks restocked, meal plans organized, clothes rotated out, and the house… Well, it’s supposed to look like a home again instead of a crime scene full of summer clutter, half-finished projects, and the event bin I still have yet to unpack since Green Bay.
But here’s what no one tells you: Reset week isn’t a reset. It’s a full system reboot, and half the time, it crashes mid-update. Which also makes you reminds of how alone in this broken-down system you really are.
I'm trying. God knows I’m trying to get ahead and a handle on the madness. I’ve cleaned his room, his bathroom, and the hallway. I’ve washed, folded, wiped, and sorted. I’ve made lists, checked supplies, wrestled with emotions I didn’t ask to feel. But every time I cross something off, three more things get added, and I’m straight up ready to throw hands over someone not hanging up their wet towels. (Not the Gremlin)
And then there's the guilt again. Guilt that I’m rushing through the end of summer instead of soaking it up. Guilt that I’m yelling over laundry piles instead of reading books or making popsicles. Guilt that I’m treating time with my kid like a time slot on the to-do list because if I don’t stay on schedule, everything unravels worse than it already has.
You’d think, after doing this enough times, I’d have it down. Every year feels like starting from scratch with different tools and fewer hands. Reset week isn’t calm. It’s just the storm you choose to meet head-on. Because let's face it… we don’t have a choice.
So, if you’ve made it this far into the post, thank you, and I’m sorry for it being so very long. Sometimes I feel like this is more word vomit, but I do walk away feeling better. I hope you walk away feeling seen, heard, or knowing someone else gets it. This shit is hard. Parenting at any stage is hard. Accepting help is the hardest of all. We both will have to learn how to do that one.
As we gear up for another school year, do understand, I’m right here in the trenches with you. This juggling act gets easier, and hopefully the guilt of enjoying a clean house for at least 7-8 hours a day will pass, when the bus shows back up to drop them off. For now,
though, enjoy the last few days if you can. Hug them close, because they won't be little or within eye shot forever.
Be Brave, Be Bold, But Always Stay Humble.
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