Goodbye, Oreo Cookie

When M was 9, she started asking for hamster.  She told us how she would care for the hamster and how much she would love him.  For her 10th birthday, we gave her a hamster.  Well, not really, but we gave her the cage, bedding, food, a ball, and a gift card for her to use at Pet Smart to buy her hamster.  I took her there a few days later and she looked around for a little bit and then pointed to a black and white gerbil and said, "I want him."

"He's not a hamster," I pointed out to her.

"I know, but he's adorable and I think he's mine," she replied.

The employee took him out of the tank and held him out for M to see.  As M was stroking his back she said, "His name is Oreo."

Over the years, M took great care of Oreo. She loved putting him in his ball and he loved running around the house as much as she loved watching him.  He would perch on her shoulder and nibble her shirts and she "trained" him to come up to the top level of his cage when she called his name and held out a treat.

I loved Oreo too.  Every night when I tucked M into bed, I'd go to Oreo's cage and hold out a treat.  Watching him eat it was one of my favorite things to do.

On average, gerbils live to be 3-5 years old.  Oreo would have been 4 in April, so he was a pretty old man.

On Saturday night, I was in M's room, waiting for her.  She came in and said, "Did you give Oreo his nightly treat?"

"I tried," I said. "But he didn't come up."

"Oh. . ." said M.

She went to the cage, held out a treat and called, "Oreo!  Oreo!  Come on, little buddy!"

She looked at me and then back at the cage.  She took off the topper and put her hand into the bedding.

"I'm scared to go down too far, Mommy.  What if I touch his body and he's dead?"

"Do you want to wait for the morning to check?" I asked her.

"Yes," she said mournfully.

The Doctor was out of town and as M was putting the topper back on the cage, I texted him.

"I think Oreo is dead. I was hoping M wouldn't discover it until tomorrow when you're home, but I think she has. I'll call you after I tuck her in."

I tucked in M and she said to me tearfully, "What if he is dead?"

"Then we'll deal with it," I told her calmly. "He's an old gerbil."

I called The Doctor as soon as I got downstairs and we talked about how he most likely is dead.

"Let me talk to M," he said.

I told him she was already in bed.

"I'll call her.  I'll call you right back," he said, hanging up.

(Side Note: We let the girls sleep with their phones in their rooms because they each listen to classical music at night and the phones double as iPods.  They are locked down from any other kind of media. I probably shouldn't need to explain that, but you know. . .)

After about 5 minutes, M came into my room, in tears.

"I really need a hug," she cried.

"Do you want to sleep with me tonight?" I asked, while hugging her.

"Yes, please," she said in a small voice. "If he is dead, can we bury him in the backyard?"

My phone rang and I answered it, seeing it was The Doctor.

"I spoke to M," he said.

"I know," I replied. "She's here now.  I told her she could sleep with me tonight."

"I figured.  I told her to go down and ask if she could."

"If Oreo is dead, M wants to bury him in the backyard."

"She told me that too," The Doctor replied. "I was looking stuff up and really, the most respectful way is to bring the body to the vet and have them dispose of it. But, we can get her a garden stone for her to decorate and put his name on and she can put it in the yard as a memorial to him."

"That is a brilliant idea," I said.

We said our goodnights and M and I got into my bed.

"Did Daddy say we can bury him in the backyard?" she asked.

I told her what he said and she nodded.

"That sounds like a good idea. I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight," she said, sniffling.

"Just do your best," I told her.

In the morning, I got up just before 7 (On a Sunday.  Yuck! But such is life.) to exercise and M got up too.

"OK.  I'm going to get a garbage bag and am going to clean out Oreo's cage.  I really hope I find out he's OK."

"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked.

"No," she said, shaking her head.  "I can do this."

"Ok.  Bring up 2 baggies too, just in case," I told her.

I went and put on my Country Heat DVD (this is another blog post all on it's own) and started.  About 5 minutes in, I hear M shriek, "No!!!  He's dead!  He's really dead!!"

I paused the DVD, went to her room and found her sobbing in front of his cage.

"I can't believe it," she sobbed.  "I mean, I knew he might be but I was so hoping he wouldn't be!"

I gave her a huge hug and when she let go, I asked her if she wanted help cleaning out his cage. To my great relief, she said no.  She picked up his body and cradled it in her hands.  At this point B and L came into the room to see what was going on.

"Oh, Oreo, my baby boy," she cried.

I held opened the baggie and she started to put him in. I kind of shrieked and B took the baggie from me.

"Let me do this," she said.

I left the room and B and L stayed to help M.

About an hour later, M came into my room, crying.

"I'm a terrible pet owner," she said.

"What on earth are you talking about?" I asked her, shocked.

"I should have known he was going to die.  I should have been there for him," she said, crying.

I explained to her how animals hide the fact they're sick and often curl up to die, then I asked her if she wanted to go out to breakfast.

On our way to breakfast, she said to me. "I never told anyone, but Oreo had a middle name."

"He did?" I asked, with a sad smile.

"Yes," she answered, very seriously.  "Cookie.  His name was Oreo Cookie."

"That is a very nice name and I think that will look very nice on a garden stone," I told her.

Pretty much all day yesterday we talked about the grief process, and how the stages are fluid.

At one point, she had laughed about something and then said, "Wait.  I shouldn't feel happy.  Oreo died."

"It's OK to continue to feel other things," I pointed out. "It's OK to feel sad about Oreo and still laugh at a tv show."

"I don't think I want another pet again," she said. "This is just too hard."

"Oh, but M," I said to her. "Think about how much joy Oreo brought you. Yes, saying goodbye is the hardest part of owning a pet, but the joy the pet brings is so much greater than the sadness of saying goodbye. You feel so sad because you loved him so much. Don't let the sadness dissuade you from loving another pet."

Later, I told her we needed to clean out his cage with water and bleach.

"Do you want to help, or will it be too hard for you?" I asked.

"I want to help," she said.

We went outside and she helped until she thought a bug was by her ear.

"It's a wasp!" she gasped, putting down the paper towels and walking away. "Sorry, I'm out of here. I don't do wasps, or spiders, or bugs, or the outdoors, really."

As I was just about finished, my watch buzzed with a text message from M.

"The 'bug' I felt on my ear was actually hair. Sorry for leaving you with the wasp."

It was a much needed laugh after such a sad morning.

Last night, though, as I was tucking her into bed, the tears came again.

"This is the first night in almost 4 years I'm sleeping in a room without another life in it," she cried.

"I know," I said, hugging her.

"It's amazing how empty the room feels now," she said.

"I know," I said again, hugging her.

I looked over to where Oreo's cage used to be and felt tears come to my eyes.  When M first said she wanted a rodent my skin crawled at the idea of it, but truthfully, I loved that little gerbil just as much as M did and I will miss him every time I go into her room.

Goodbye, Sweet Oreo.  Thank you for giving M so much love and for being the best rodent we ever had.

What Happened?

When B was little she wasn't your typical toddler.  She very rarely had tantrums and she was such a pleaser.  She would do whatever I asked with very little complaint.  I mean, don't get me wrong, she had her share of tantrums, but they were very rare (or maybe I just blocked out all of them) but ultimately, she was a very easy kid.

I never bragged about it, but The Doctor and I were very pleased with our parenting skills.

"Parenting has nothing to do with it," my Mom told me one day.  "You are just lucky because you have an easy child. She has such a mild personality and is a pleaser.  Not every kid is like that."

"Yeah, ok," I scoffed to myself.

M came along and she was very easy too.  She went through the Terrible Threes and the Ferocious Fours, but after that, it was easy sailing.  L came along and once again, we breezed through.

For years, I felt like I was an awesome Mom.  Sure, I had my faults, but I worked on them.  I hated yelling, so I stopped.  For 15 months I stopped yelling.  It was wonderful!  I felt so proud of myself.  You can see my progress at the earlier blog entries, because that was the sole reason why I started this blog.  I figured I needed to keep track of what caused me to yell and I wanted to keep a record of days that I didn't yell.

I loved being a Mom who was effective without yelling.  It made me feel on top of the world and I discovered finding the fun in everything was a lot more, well, fun.  It lasted until one fateful day in March when I decided I would teach the girls how to ride their bikes.  Not only did I fail miserably, but I yelled in a way that I thought I wouldn't ever do again.  It was just so frustrating that they weren't even trying.  All 3 of them were so scared of falling that they barely even tried and I was so angry that they were letting their fears get in the way of trying. You know, this is the first time that I used the word "angry" when I tell this story.  Usually I use the word "frustrated" or "annoyed" but truthfully, the correct word is angry.  I was angry that they were as old as they were and they still couldn't ride bikes.  I felt like I failed them because other kids their ages could ride and had been riding for years and isn't it a childhood pastime to learn how to ride a bike?  Was I a failure of a Mom for not teaching them?  I certainly felt like it at the time and then I yelled and all of my hard work fell apart.

"Mommy!" gasped M. "You yelled!!"

"Yes, and I'm sorry," I said.  "It's OK.  I can start over."

It has been almost 4 years and I still haven't had more than 2 weeks of not yelling.

(For the record, they still can't ride bikes. They can do lots of other things, though, so we'll just focus on that.)

Still, despite the yelling, I felt pretty good about my parenting skills.  Even when B entered the dreaded teenager years and I started receiving eye rolls, heavy sighs, and stomp offs.

Then, last year, we started our move and The Doctor started work in our new hometown, almost 300 miles away.  The girls and I moved in with my parents and we went from seeing The Doctor every day to twice a month.  We talked on the phone and texted daily, but not seeing him everyday was hard.  Being uprooted was hard. I found myself giving in to the girls more often and being a lot more lenient with them.  I felt bad that the majority of their things were in storage and that rules changed because living in my parents' house meant we followed their rules.

A few months in to living with my parents, I saw a change in the girls. I know it was because I had changed and I was not happy with it.  I always thought if I was put into the role of a single Mom I'd have the strength to continue parenting the way I had, and I felt weak because that wasn't the case.

Everyone noticed.  My Mom pointed out to me that L was arguing about everything.  The Doctor's Dad pointed out that L cried every time I tried to discipline her and B had a bad attitude.

"It's OK," I said calmly. "It'll all change once we move into our own house and we get settled."

We moved in to our new house last August.  We have been settled for 6 months and yet I still feel like my footing isn't any better.

L argues about everything.  The girl is 9, but I think she is trying to emulate B. If I tell her something, I immediately get backlash and an argument. I pointed this out to her a few days ago, and she even argued about that!

"Do you realize everything I say to you is met with an argument?" I asked her.

"No it's not," she retorted.

"Yes,  it is!" I exclaimed.  "You're even arguing about arguing!"

The other day, on our way to the bus stop, we were talking about a retreat she is going on this weekend and I was reading her the packing list.

". . . sports equipment for free time. Well, you don't have sports equipment, but you can bring a card game."

"I have sports equipment," she said. "I can bring my soccer ball.  I need to practice my skills, anyway,"

"I don't want you to bring your soccer ball," I explained. "It's too big to fit in your bag."

"Well, then, you can buy me some tennis balls," she argued.

"I'm not buying you tennis balls," I sighed.

"Well then everyone is going to think you are CHEAPSKATE!" she shouted. "They will all have sports equipment and I'll ask to share and they'll say, 'L why didn't you bring your own?' and I will say, 'Because my Mom wouldn't buy me tennis balls' and they will say, 'Well, she's a cheapskate'!"

"I don't really care what people think of me," I said, calmly. "You don''t have to bring sports equipment, but you can bring the game UNO.  That's a very nice game to play during quiet time."

"I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO PLAY UNO!!!" she roared.

She yelled this so loudly, the girl across the street walking to the bus stop too stopped and looked at her.  As we crossed the street, A said, "L, you don't know how to play UNO? I know how to play.  It's a really fun game."

"Huh, look at that," I said to L as we walked to the corner. "A knows how to play UNO but I wonder how she knew you don't know how to play."

"Because I shouted it, OK?" whined L.

Then, I noticed that she had her lunchbox with her.  Side Story: One of the rules in our house is the girls have to clean out their lunchboxes when they get home from school, otherwise they end up having to buy lunch the next day.  L hadn't cleaned out her lunchbox the night before and as we were leaving for the bus stop I told her she was going to have to buy lunch.

"L, why do you have your lunchbox?" I asked her.

"Oh!" she laughed. "It's a habit to take it.  Can you bring it home?"

"Of course," I answered.

"But wait, can I just take these?" she asked, grabbing her 3 Beanie Boo Dog keychains she has attached to the lunchbox.

"No, you may not," I told her, because the last time she took one off on the bus she lost it.  She ended up getting it back from a friend who took it for her, but for 2 days she thought it was gone and she was devastated.

"But MOMMY!" she stormed. "I don't have anything to do on the bus because I didn't bring a book! Please!!!"

I told her several times that I had already given her my answer and she should have thought about not having anything to do on the bus when she took her book out of her backpack.

"It's not my fault," she said tearfully.

"Really?" I asked. "I think you need a lesson in what personal responsibility is."

"I know what personal responsibility is," she whined. "It's taking responsibility for your actions but this isn't MY FAULT!"

I told her if she really wanted the Beanie Boos she would have to take the entire lunchbox with her.

"What?? Why would I do that?!?" she exclaimed.  "It's a dirty lunchbox!  I might forget and take it to lunch and then I'll have nothing to eat!!!"

"Well, if it's that important to you to take the Beanie Boos, that's the only way you can do it," I said, calmly.  At this point, we had quite the audience, with other kids and parents looking.

L was full out crying and I was feeling a little bad.  I mean, was it really a big deal if she took the Beanie Boos off the lunchbox?  But, I had already said no and if I changed my mind it would just perpetuate the arguing I get from her, so I was going to stand firm with my answer.

"FINE!" she sobbed and she took the lunchbox from me.  I gave her a hug, told her I loved her, and to be spectacular and she went to join the kids in the line to get on to the bus.  All of a sudden, I heard her say, "Here" and she handed me her lunchbox as she skulked off, crying.

I hated sending her to school in tears, but at the same time, I think it was important that I stuck to my guns.

She was perfectly fine after school, like nothing happened that morning at all and I didn't bring it up.

As we were getting ready to leave the house for the bus stop yesterday morning, she turned to me and said, "I'm really sorry for how I behaved yesterday morning."

"Thank you," I replied giving her a hug. "I really appreciate that."

So, I handled that entire event without yelling because we had an audience.  And then last night, I felt my face get angry after I had tucked her in to bed because as I walked past her desk I saw she left all the scraps from what she had been cutting sitting on the floor.  I walked back to her room, pushed opened her door, and yelled at her about the scraps.

"Do you think someone is just going to come up behind you picking up things you leave on the floor?!?"

"No," she whimpered.  Sitting up in bed, hugging a stuffed animal, and looking scared.

Then, for good measure, I yelled at M because her room and bathroom were a complete mess and I had told her she needed to get it cleaned up by tomorrow morning.  She looked like she was going to cry. (B wasn't left out, I had already yelled at her for watching TV instead of doing her chores.  You know, just in case you thought I played favorites and chose her for the night.)

The Doctor is out of town and he happened to be on the phone to hear me yell at both girls.

"Ugh!" I said to him as I was going downstairs. "I'm so tired of this. I just can't anymore."

"You're burnt out," he said. "I get it."

"I'm not burnt out," I said. "But I feel like I lost the Mom I used to be and I don't know how to get back to her."

Y'all, I don't want to be this Mom.  I'm so sick and tired of yelling, of seeing the looks of sadness and fright when I yell.

My Dad is a yeller, both of my parents are actually, but what I remember is when my Dad yelled, his face would get red and scrunched up and he would look really angry and scary.  That's how my face was last night.

I'm tired of feeling inferior.  I miss the Mom I used to be.  I know I can get back to being fun and joyful. I just have to figure out how.

Who Am I?

L's school had a Color Run yesterday.  For a few weeks prior the students collected pledges and yesterday was the big run.  I've seen this at other schools before, but they were always put on by an organization; this one was put on through the PTA.  L was super excited because at her old school only 5th grade got to run through the color but here all the grades did.  I saw what time L's grade was going and thought maybe I'd go to watch. I realized I have pictures of M from her Color Run (in fifth grade at our old school.  I don't have any of B because they didn't do the Color Run back then) and I knew I'd be upset if I didn't get any of L.

I walked into the office to check in as a visitor and then I walked to the field where it was taking place.  As I was walking to the Visitor's Area I glanced out at the field and saw all the PTA Moms covered in color and talking with each other.

"Oh," I thought. "I know how they feel."  I knew they were exhausted, sweaty, and happy.  I know that while they had been there all day, they also absolutely loved seeing every child have a great time.  I knew that while they were happy, they were also looking forward to the last 2 grades so they could collect their children, go home, shower, and collapse.  I know they probably told their husbands that morning that tonight would be an order in night, or a fend for yourself night because they were going to be too tired to do anything else.  I know because I used to be that Mom.

I felt a pang of guilt as I found a place for myself in the Visitors Area.  I couldn't help but feel that I should have been out on that field.  I should have been dirty and sweaty too.  When we first discovered we would be moving, I told everyone I was going to jump in and volunteer at every event because it's a great way to make friends.

In the past, when people would ask what I did I'd reply, "I'm a professional volunteer."  It certainly felt that way with the amount of time I spent volunteering in my daughters' elementary school.  I loved it.  I loved being with the kids, with the teachers, with the office staff, and with my friends. I was exhausted, but I was also exhilarated and I thought I would do it forever.  That all changed last year.

I took on a much bigger role in the PTO and I was super excited to do so.  After a month, I started thinking maybe it was a mistake because I was seeing things I didn't want to see but I was convinced to stay on.  After 3 months, I knew I needed to get out, but I couldn't and by the end of the year, not only was I burnt out, but I was broken.  People I thought were my friends turned out not to be and friendships I thought I had built turned out to be fake. I was so thankful I was moving because I didn't know how I'd step foot in that school again.  It was bad.  Really bad.

In addition to that, I lost myself last year.  I stopped running, I stopped cleaning, I stopped reading, I stopped trying not to yell. I was so busy with other people, I forgot to take care of myself.  I realized afterwards that I wasn't happy at all.  Looking back at the school year, I realized I wasn't happy for the majority of it.

I knew I needed a break and I figured a new school was the perfect place to get that break.  For the first time in years, I wasn't Room Mom. I didn't even apply to be, which surprised quite a few people. "I'm in a new school," I explained. "I can't come in when I don't know how they run things."  I put down that I would help at class parties, but so far there haven't been any.

I said I would volunteer during L's time at the Fall Book Fair and the old me came out.  I went every day and loved every minute.  I was asked to run the Book Fair for next year and I told them I'd consider it, but I'm still not sure.

I signed up to volunteer in the Media Center once a week, but I quickly backed out of that. After the first 2 times I realized that while I was in the Media Center for the 2 hours, I was thinking about everything that I needed (or wanted) to be doing.  I figured if I wanted to be happy, I needed to put me first and that meant not committing to volunteering even 2 hours a week.

I have felt pretty good all year.  I love having time during the day to do what I want (even though it's mostly spent cleaning and doing laundry).  I love not being stressed every morning that I have to rush to the elementary school or that I have to oversee an event and yet I still feel guilty.

As I was watching the PTA Moms yesterday I realized I'm no longer a Professional Volunteer and I felt a pang of sadness.  I'm a very all or none person.  I always have been and that's always been my biggest problem.  If I can't do it all, I do nothing.  I know there has to be a happy medium.

L was so sad at the beginning of the year when she realized I wasn't going to be in school this year like I was last year, but she got over it pretty quickly.  I'm still trying to find my place.  It's still weird for me to be at a school event as a parent and not as a volunteer but while I feel guilty in that moment, I don't feel an urge to sign up when the Sign Up Genius links are sent to me.

Maybe I need to learn to that it's OK if only volunteer a little bit or maybe I need to learn it's OK if I don't volunteer at all.  I'm happier this year than I've been in years past and that's probably the most important thing.  So, I'm not a professional volunteer anymore but I am a happy Mom.  That seems like a pretty good role to me!

2019: The Year of I'll Try

2018 started with a rocky start.  The Doctor was laid off towards the end of 2017 and we weren't sure what 2018 had in store for us.  He interviewed for a job several hundred miles away and I'll never forget how I was out to lunch with one of my soul sisters in the very beginning of January when I got the phone call from The Doctor that he was on his way home with a contract in hand.

"You aren't really going to move to O, are you?" S asked with tears in her eyes.

"I don't know," I replied.  "I mean they loved him, but he has a few more interviews for jobs down here."

We all know how that turned out and while the big move was the scariest thing we did in 2018, it was also probably the best thing we did.  It threw all of my plans into a spin, though.  I didn't really get to do the organizational challenge I wanted to do.  My No Yelling challenge went out the window and my running and better eating became virtually nonexistent.  For about 5 months everything was up in the air and we were displaced.  The one thing I was able to do was try to be a more joyful and happy person, so it wasn't all a loss, but for a few months it felt like that was a lost cause too.

A few weeks ago we were out to dinner with the entire family and M and L were bickering.  I raised my voice and brother-in-law turned to me and said, "Time to reset your counter, CGM.  That's ok, the end of the year is coming and you'll be writing about how this is the year you are going to stop yelling for good."  I laughed and replied, "You know me so well!"

Since that night I've been doing a lot of thinking and I've figured out why every year starts off the same for me.  I look at the new year as a fresh start.  I can do whatever I want to try to become a better person.  I think I'm a pretty great wife, Mom, and person, but I also think there is always room for improvement.  Instead of making resolutions, I'm going to set goals and hopefully this will be the year they stick.

I looked back on my late 2017 blog posts and vaguely remember writing them.  At the time, moving wasn't a certainty and I was focused on being happier.  Over all, I'd say I am happier now than I was then, so that's a win.  However, yelling less, running more, and eating healthier didn't happen.

Sometimes I wish I could be the type of person who looks at me right now and says, "This is me.  I'm good with how I am right now."  That's not me, though.  Is it because I'm a perfectionist and I feel that there is a more perfect version of myself to be had?  I hope not because if that's the case, I'm always going to feel like I've come up short and that certainly isn't a key to being happy.

I think my goals need to be that I at least try.  Like I always tell the girls when it comes to their schoolwork, "I'll always be proud of you if you at least try, even if it doesn't always work out."

My "I'll Try" list for 2019:

I will try to not yell as much
I will try to make my life more organized
I will try to fit in more exercise and more water
I will try to be happy with the person I see looking back at me when I look in the mirror
I will try to write more often

Come to think of it, I've also been known to quote Yoda to the girls when I feel like the words "I'll try" are an excuse ("I'll try to remember to clean my room/do my chores/listen to you") but thankfully I'm not a Jedi so in my case, it's "Do or Do Not, as long as you try".

Change Isn't So Scary After All

I am happy to announce that we are on the other side of our big move!  When I last left you M and I were getting ready to start our move, while B and L were still down south with my parents.  I was scared- we were all scared, except The Doctor who had already been through the move. I wanted the Curly Girly Trio to write notes to their future selves to open next July, but I was so scared this would be an awful experience and it would backfire.

M and I talked about a lot of things on our drive up but we tried not to talk about how sad and scared we were.  We had a grand time in Chicago, but every day M would say to me, "I'm a little scared about our move." We would talk about how sad we were to be leaving our friends and family, but we also talked about how things would work out. 

"Imagine if this is the best experience we've ever had," I told her one day. "We are going to be saying how happy we are we made this move." We got home from Chicago and my parents drove up with B and L.  The very next day, B started Marching Band Camp.  That was when I knew this move was the right thing.

I knew nothing about Marching Band Camp, but I was in a Facebook Group for the band and posted a litany of questions.  One Mom responded with "Call me and I'll fill you in" and provided her cell phone number.  Normally, I'd shy away from calling a perfect stranger, but I knew this was for the benefit of B, so I took a deep breath, made the call and had a great conversation.

We ran around getting everything B needed and I took her to the high school.  I walked her in and my heart warmed to see her welcomed by so many kids.  I knew she was going to love it.

Later that week, I was at the high school dropping off dinner for B and one of the Band Moms came over to me and said, "Look, B made a friend!" I looked over and saw B sitting next to another girl.  They were eating and in deep conversation.  My heart melted as I saw all of B's (and my) worst fears vanish.

During the next week, I met the Mom of B's friend and was excited to see if a friendship would blossom (it has!).  Every road I drove on, everyone I met, it just felt right.

We closed on our beautiful house; this house that feels like it was hand picked for us.  I knew it was the right house because it made me smile the minute I stepped foot in it.  The movers came with our things and immediately this house felt like home, even amidst all of the boxes, and boy were there a lot of boxes.

We met a few neighbors and we went back to school shopping.  Everyone we met, from the neighbors, to the Target employees and even the people who work at drive through restaurants were nice.  We kept commenting on how this area isn't just nice because of the scenery, but because of the people.

We toured the girls' schools and met their teachers and we loved it all.  After meeting M's teachers, she said to me, "I think you should have had us write those letters.  Based on everything so far, I think this move was the perfect thing for us." I have to agree.

We have now been here for close to a month and I'm happy to report we are all happy!  B loves high school (I still can't believe I have a high schooler and I fully admit I cried watching her get on the bus on the first day of school).  She loves her classes, her teachers, Marching Band and the fact that she is able to eat lunch with her friend every day.  She has made a friend in the neighborhood, who is in one of her classes and rides the bus with her.

M mostly likes middle school.  Out of the 3, she has had a rough time adjusting to a new school schedule.  Her schedule changed 3 times in as many days and she had a tough time making friends, but she's slowly getting there.  She came home a few days ago and told us she has a friend on the bus and she's becoming friendlier with some of her classmates.  I told her friendships usually don't pop up over night, they take time to bloom.

L loves her school and her teachers.  She has 2, one for Science and Math and one for Language Arts and Social Studies, and then, of course, her Specials teachers.  She made a friend on the first day of school and has since made a few more.  All of her fears of not having any friends and not fitting in were for naught. 

I am becoming friendly with the neighborhood Moms and I am so excited that B's friend's Mom and I have already been to the movies together, shopped at Target together and have gone out to lunch.  She and I have a lot in common and it's so nice having someone to meet up with.

I am absolutely in love with our new city.  I love everything about it and I find myself smiling as I drive down streets that became familiar in just mere days.  I love our community and the people in it and I absolutely love our home.

I still miss things about where we came from.  I miss our friends, my parents, and the wonderful bagel shop, but honestly, that's about it.  This new town has welcomed us with open arms and we truly feel as though this is where we belong.

I have since decided change isn't the scary part.  Change is actually quite exciting.  The scary part is the not knowing how all the change will work out in the end.  

Goodbye Isn't Forever

I've been toying with this blog entry for a few days now and as I was getting ready to type it out I noticed my previous post negates this one, but in this case goodbye isn't forever, so the title stands.

As previously blogged, The Doctor moved to our new location 4 months ago.  The Curly Girly Trio and I have been living with my parents, seeing The Doctor, on average, every other week.  It hasn't been easy, but we knew the end was in sight.

The end for M and me is tomorrow!  We are driving up with a carload of stuff (it's amazing how much we accumulated in 4 months, though I think it's just we didn't pack light enough when we first moved in), including M's gerbil, Oreo.  We are going up early because we are accompanying The Doctor on a business trip.  B and L are staying with my parents and they'll drive them up next Sunday.  I have so many emotions running around in my head, it's hard to know what to feel.

Excited: I am super excited for our new adventure!  The schools the curly girlies will be in are fantastic, we are moving into a lovely neighborhood, we will be closer to The Doctor's family, we are moving to a place where there is so much more to do.

Scared: I am scared because change is scary.  What If's keep rolling around my brain and while I'm trying to squelch them, it's not the easiest thing.  What if the girls hate school?  What if they have a hard time making friends?  What if I have a hard time making friends?  What if I end up not loving the house?

Sad: I am so, so sad.  I have lived near my parents for the last 12 years.  We have had dinner with them every Sunday night for the last 12 years.  My Mom and I have met for lunch and shopping on a whims notice.  My Dad has come for dinner every Wednesday for the last 3 years.  We have gone to countless hockey games and movies with my Dad.  I am going to miss all of this so much.  We are still going to see them, but it won't be the same.  I won't ever pull into the Target parking lot and see my Mom's car and feel happy that I'm going to bump into her.  It's sad.

I'm sad because I'm going to miss my friends.  I have great friends.  Seeing them at school, bumping into them in stores, going out for breakfasts and lunches, stopping by for impromptu visits.  I am going to miss my very favorite bagel place and the wonderful owners, servers, and staff, all whom have become friends.  I'm going to miss the bagels, but I'm going to miss the friends more.

I'm sad because the girls are leaving their friends.  I know it's not easy for them, especially when they figured they'd be going to school with them forever.  B and M have phones and B is on 2 social media platforms. I think I must be the only parent in the universe to tell my child to go on to social media because it still doesn't occur to her to do so and I really do feel that's going to be a good way to keep in touch with everyone.  She and M text and FaceTime, but truthfully B is the worst at returning text messages and I am worried she's going to lose contact.  I keep telling her she has to make an effort and she says she will, but she'd rather walk around the dining room table with her earbuds in, zoned out, than text.

L has an iPod and has exchanged her Apple ID with a bunch of her friends, so she's able to text and FaceTime, but not all of her friends have iPods so the only way to keep in touch is through the Moms.

We said our goodbyes this week and it hurts me because we weren't able to see everyone we wanted too.  I made sure B and M had time with their best friends and sadly because of that L got pushed to the side and she pointed out to me this morning she didn't get to see her 2 best friends.  She saw them in the last few months, but I know it's not the same.

The Doctor says I'm making too big a deal of this and I know he's right.  In front of the girls I am keeping an upbeat attitude.  I am telling them this is an amazing adventure we are about to embark on.  We have so many friends we haven't met yet.  This is going to be great!

In private I am teary eyed and sad.  Saying goodbye is so hard.  Today we had our last hair appointments with my super amazing stylist.  She's been doing my hair for years and she is just awesome.  Saying goodbye to her was so hard, but I told her if I can't find anyone as good in our new area, I'm coming back every 6 weeks.

For the past 12 years, my Mom's housekeeper has been our housekeeper.  She was my Mom's housekeeper when I was in high school, so she's truly seen me blossom from messy teen to tidy Mom.  She has watched my girls grow up.  She isn't just a housekeeper, she's family.  We said goodbye to her this morning and all of us cried.  Sure, we'll see her when we come for visits during school breaks and we are visiting during the week, but it won't be the same at all.

I think I need to let myself be sad.  I always tell people who are sad because of something or someone they've lost that they need to have time to grieve.  I actually told that to my Mom a few months ago when we were talking about my leaving.  I told her I grieved already, but much like the grieving process, it's fluid and stages can come and go at any time.  It sounds funny saying I'm grieving because of a move, but it's just the fact that I'm losing the life we've made for ourselves down here.

Looking back, I can see I've gone through all the stages of DABDA except for acceptance.  Up until even last week I kept thinking perhaps we will end up not moving, but I know that's not realistic because The Doctor is 4 months into his new job and he loves it (and they love him).

The Doctor says I have dragged this out for way too long and I can see how he has a point.  Waiting until the very last minute before I have to be up there might not have been the best idea.  I was putting off the inevitable but I wasn't doing any mental work to prepare myself for the actual move.  In putting it off, all I've done is make it harder on myself.

I had breakfast today with a wonderful friend (at my favorite breakfast place).  E is phenomenal because she is so levelheaded and always says exactly the right thing.  I was telling her how I felt and she pointed out that this is the best possible thing for our family.  She told me I am going to love unpacking and setting up our new house the way I want it, and I know she's right.  I am almost certain a month or 2 into our new home, we are going to feel like this is how it's always been.

I have already been through denial, anger, and bargaining (I actually told The Doctor, "If we move, we are getting a dog" because I've always said no dog until L goes to college.  At the time, I figured if I said it, we wouldn't move.  I am now making good on my bargain and have been researching the perfect dog for us.); I've felt depression and now I have got to get to acceptance.  I have told the girls repeatedly that our attitudes will dictate how this change turns out for us.  If we are sad and refusing to let go of the past, this will be awful.  If we are excited for the change and embrace all the newness with open arms, this will end up being an amazing experience.

We are moving.  It will be different, but it will be wonderful.  We will still see our friends and my parents and our lives will be better for this. I guess this is my new mantra until it becomes my reality.

Goodbye, my friend.

This story starts 17 years ago, when I was newly engaged and joined a message board for brides to be.  I was living in MI, no family around and I was so new to town I hadn't yet made friends. I became friends with "The Knotties".  I didn't know any of them in person, but a few of us became close within the message boards.  A few years later, shortly after I had B, I received an email from a Knottie.  She told me she was starting a new, smaller message board and invited me to be part of it.

This message board, ML, was a life saver.  I was still in MI, The Doctor and I were blissfully married and I was excited to be a new Mommy, but I was alone.  I had no friends with newborns, my family was in FL and The Doctor was working resident hours.  I turned to these ladies for everything.  Our friendship blossomed from just strangers on a message board to real friends.  Not all of us have had the opportunity to meet each other, but we all knew what was going on with each other.  We got it.  When one was having a problem with breast feeding, or tantrums, or sleepless nights, or scared to be adding a second, we were there.  We used to say how nice it would be if we could develop a tube system so if one of us was out of peanut butter, another could just stick her extra jar in the tube.  We joked about starting a commune, where we all raised each others kids.

Through the years, we got to know one another more.  We were there for births of our babies, divorces, remarriages, and sadly deaths of loved ones.  We were a support like no other and save for my sister from another mister, I have known these ladies the longest of any of my other friends. . . We are so much more than just online friends.

After Facebook came along, a lot of us moved over there, still following each other's achievements and cooing like proud Mamas when one of our children did something amazing.  Not everyone moved to Facebook, though, and so some of us lost touch.  I can't speak for others, but I have thought about these women pretty much every day.

I received a phone call yesterday from an MLer I haven't heard from in a while.  I met her in Disney a few years ago, so when I saw her pop up on my Caller ID yesterday, I was excited, hoping it was her telling me they were planning another family vacation (secretly hoping I'd be able to crash it).

"Hello?" I answered, quickly and excitedly.

"CGM?" said a tentative voice.

"HRH! Hi! How are you? I can't believe how long it's been!" I babbled.

"I'm OK.  I'm actually calling with. . . Um. . . S died yesterday.  She had a heart attack."

I nearly dropped the phone.  I'm friends with S on Facebook.  Just 2 days before this phone call, she was posting about the pool she loves to take her kids to.  She just started a new business with Rodan & Fields.  What was this I was hearing??  It made no sense.

HRH told me she hated to go, but she'd call me back, another MLer was calling her and hung up and I just looked at my phone in shock, thinking this had to be a sick, cruel joke.

S was 8 years older than me, with a 14 year old son and an 8 year old daughter.  She had the sunniest personality I've ever seen.  Always a smile, a laugh and a kind word.  My heart hurts for her husband and her sweet children.  I wish there were more I can do than just offer words.

I just stared at my phone and said, "OMG" over and over again, until it rang again and it was HRH.

She apologized for having to run and I told her, "It's OK.  I'm in shock.  I can't believe it."

"I know.  S's father-in-law was going through her phone contacts and that's how I found out.  Unless someone stole her phone and is playing a very cruel trick, it's true."

We spent a few minutes reminiscing and catching up, both of us saying we can't let time go like this again.

Most of us haven't been on our old message board in years, but we all reconvened last night.  It reminded me of all of those movies where someone dies and all of their friends who lost track are brought back together to grieve.  Why does it take a death to bring people together?  We never should have lost touch and it kills me that we are now in touch again because we all lost such a sweet, kind friend.

Sometimes, in order to make shocking news feel more real, you need to say it out loud.  So, I did.  I told my parents.

"How did you know her?" my Dad asked.

Saying through the internet or a message board just doesn't convey our friendship, because it was so much more than that.  The only one who truly gets how deep we run is The Doctor, because he was there in the beginning.  This Mommy Board was so much more than just a chat room.  It was a support group, a place to laugh and cry.  They are my friends and it hurts that we lost one so young.  Too soon.

RIP Susan.  You will always be in my heart and on my mind and ML will not be the same without you.