The other side of mom

I have found over the years that I increasing sound like my mother.  Every day I sound more and more like her in my work, home, and yes even with my children.  My mom is not your ordinary woman. She is reserved yet driven, kind to a fault and yet can get her point across with a look or one sentence. She is what I have always wanted to be, so in some respects this is an accomplishment for me.

I found myself this week saying things that would only come from her.  Things like "what would you do in that situation?" or "I bet if you thought about it from their perspective you would understand." I'm conflicted about this at times because it is hard think about everyone's feelings before my own, but at the same time it is something that is engrained in my soul. It is who I am because of my mother. 

My middle daughter Makenzie came down with a stomach bug today.  It was not planned and in true working mom fashion I went into panic mode.  I rearranged schedules, thought 14 steps ahead of every phone call, and tried to make her as comfortable as a 3 year old throwing up every 20 minutes can be.  When I held her in my arms, sweaty, and weepy I channeled my mother and broke into Makenzie's favorite song. The voice and song that once soothed me as a child surfaced and created a safety that Makenzie hadn't felt all day. At that moment I became the mother from my childhood memories and I crossed over to the other side of mom.

I didn't learn how to teach a lesson, how to deal with my kids, or how to be a wife from my mom. I learned how to be a person that can juggle, manage and succeed at all those things at once.  I am the person I am because my mom challenged me to think about what I do before I do it.  I am intentional and deliberate because of her questions and example.  I am me because she was willing to let me try and fail, always knowing that the best way to teach is by example.  I am not her and never will be, but I am a better version of myself because of her.

The revolving question.

9 o'clock already.
where did my morning go?
rushing
3 drop offs, 15 minutes of tears, 1 lost lunch
Where did my morning go?
No parking, morning meeting, giant coke
9 o'clock already
the bell rings
students rush in
no time to be, just time to think.
Think aloud, solve problems, change course
It's lunch, where did the morning go?
a little slower
more time to search our brains.
one great book
one new class
working, working, working
the nine o'clock Metra barges into my consciousness.
Is it 9 o'clock already?

The Cone

"Open the door, you have to come see this!" I darted outside to reconnect with my bloody and battered best friend and there he was stuck in the yard between a rock and a picnic table, literally.  Although Jumbo peered out of the tiniest eyes that I have ever seen, I know he blames me for all this pain. I wanted to crawl in that cone and take his pain away.

Maybe it is my guilt or overactive imagination but the cone continues to pop into my head. I'm the one that needs the cone. I need it to block out the noise that has become the realty surrounding my profession.  A cone so I can sit and savor every word the 30 unique personalities share because they value my opinion. One to focus me on the most important tasks of the day and bounce me off a wall when I start riffling through boxes left by someone I don't even know.  A dome of solitude when the complaining becomes too much.  Jumbo doesn't know how truly lucky he is. 

In a week, when his world becomes whole again, I'm sure he'll spend a little more time at the water bowl, running up and down the stairs, and sneaking food off the kids plates.  He'll remember how good he has it.  Maybe sometimes it would be good for all of us to wear a cone, so we can bask in the joys of our world when we finally take it off.