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50 is the new 40.

I’m saying farewell to my 40s this month. Some people dread turning 50, while others embrace it; I’m opting for the latter. If you didn’t already know, turning 50 allows me free entry to the cool people club!

My forties have been full of ups and downs. I began as a single mom of three finding my footing following a high-conflict divorce. I sought refuge in a 100-year-old home that needed a ton of TLC:

Foundation pier system (thank you, Pankey Foundation Repair!)
Added a SECOND sump pump + French drains
Chimney rebuilt from the roofline up
New AC unit (thank you, DMC Service!)
New duct work to get air flow to 2nd floor
Bat removal/remediation (bat vent installed)
New fence installed on the CORRECT property line (after survey confirmed suspicion)
Repaired cracked sewer line in backyard (thank you, DMC Service!)
Cluttered, creepy crawlspace emptied of previous occupants’ creepier odds & ends
*This list is not exhaustive!

Suffice it to say that triaging all the contractors along with monitoring the work and progress was more than a full-time job. I jokingly referred to 6029 Alhambra as “The Alimony House” because all (ali) the money (mony) went straight into shoring up the place and restoring the years of neglect by previous owners. My girlfriends decided that it had been built atop an ancient burial ground and the spirits were furious, so they kept throwing things at me that needed fixed. Several friends even came over to sage the house, but I’m not sure it worked. I won’t bore you recounting the nightmarish winter morning when an ancient pipe in our attic access froze and burst, leading to gutting the breakfast room, asbestos abatement, soon followed by mold remediation. My youngest still refers to it as “the time it rained in the house.”

My forties continued with other things I wasn’t prepared for, like a hysterectomy. There was also internet dating, which fortunately led me to my husband, Tom, who is my rock and my biggest cheerleader. He’s my Scrabble partner (my partner in ALL things) and helps me when I’m stuck on Spelling Bee! His special talents include spotting the pangram right away, growing delicious veggies in our backyard, and making a spectacular range of drool-worthy dishes and dinners. If you ever need a trivia partner, he’s your guy– this man not only knows EVERYTHING, he remembers it all, too! He is wicked smart and a wonderful dad and stepdad to our kiddos. I also couldn’t have survived COVID + pandemic homeschooling + grief/loss without him by my side.

My forties also brought me the best bonus kids ever, who continue to go to great lengths to be awesome siblings to my youngest. They love and embrace her, they include her, and they’re endlessly supportive despite the age difference. She looks up to them so much, and I’m forever grateful for these two incredible role models.

My forties brought me (us) a tripod dog from KC Pet Project who has NO CLUE she’s missing a leg. Pssssst… #AdoptDontShop! This photo was taken by the talented Trish Elting, who chose to feature Loki in her book benefitting KC Pet Project, For the Love of Dog.

My forties also brought me to my knees. I lost my twin daughters when COVID hit in 2019. Tom, his kids, and Piper have stuck by me and buoyed me through my grief (which, by the way, isn’t linear and still shows up when I wish it wouldn’t and detracts from other big events and important things in our lives).

August 30, 2020, the last time I was with all three of my girls.

In Matt Haig’s book The Life Impossible, the protagonist, Grace, sees someone wearing an Eras Tour shirt and it sparks some deep thoughts which resonate:

“The word ‘eras’ entered my mind and didn’t leave. I thought about how you enter a new one. Not just by stepping back through rows of headstones in a cemetery but in your own living existence. How you need to create a distinct break with what has gone before. In geology it is often after an extinction, isn’t it? The Mesozoic Era ended with the mass death of the dinosaurs after a meteor. I wondered if I was starting a new era or if I was taking too much with me. This is the challenge of life, isn’t it? Moving forward without annihilating what has gone before. Knowing what to clasp onto and what to release without destroying yourself. Trying not to be the meteor and the dinosaur at once.“

Embarking upon a new era feels like a fresh start, a gift. For me, it will be the gift of releasing, of letting go, moving forward, and resurfacing. I began setting the stage for this new era when I enrolled in the MAT program at Pitt State at the age of 46. Now I’m about to begin my third year of teaching 4th grade! I love working with kids. I’ve always enjoyed children and learning new things together. Teaching helps heal a part of my heart that still hurts, although I wish it wouldn’t.

This was a long way of saying that I’m ready to turn 50 and continue building and investing in the things that matter most: my husband/our marriage, the family we’ve created together, my youngest, my teaching career, and myself.

Fifty, I’m ready. Let it rip.

Another December

Nineteen years ago today my belly was tight and round with a dark line down the middle.

Nineteen years ago I was younger, naive, full of awe and wonder as you rocked me with your somersaults and hiccups. You were determined to make your debut despite a huge snowstorm and an ice rink of a hospital parking lot. The IV drip the nurse started only made me desperately dizzy. The contractions continued, and my doctor booked an OR. Twenty-nine year-old me hadn’t planned on having preemies who’d end up needing to stay in the NICU for three weeks.

But there you were, swimming in preemie onesies the hospital provided.

Now you’re about to turn 19. I haven’t had you under my roof in almost five years. The last time I got to celebrate your birthday with you was when you turned 14. I dropped a lot of gifts off on your dad’s front porch. I mailed you a lot of cards and texted you a million times. Now you’re in college and I don’t have your mailing addresses. The ones who do have them are not allowed to share with me.

I have caused you tremendous pain and anguish, and I am sorry for all of that. I’m working hard every day to be a better person who puts good things out into the world. I am sorry that I have not been the mother you wanted and needed. I take full responsibility for my many faults and fuck-ups, and while I will never be perfect, I have learned a lot from losing you. I carry this loss with me every day like Sisyphus: I lug the big boulder up the mountain, only for it to roll down and have to heave it up all over again. This is my punishment. Monster Mother.

So much has happened since we’ve been estranged. You left not long after your grandfather passed away, but just before COVID hit. You’ve survived a pandemic, high school, and losing your stepmom, just to name a few. I wish I could’ve been there for you through those things.

I wonder what you are like as young women now. Seeing glimpses of you in photos others share is proof you exist (because sometimes my brain insists I dreamed you, made you up inside my head) and painful because it’s a reminder of what I’m missing.

If I could do it all over again I would yell less and listen more. I’d perch on the foot of your bed to admire you instead of nagging you to finish your homework or clean your room. I’d bite my tongue, linger longer, and hug you so often you’d cringe.

People always tell you there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance; however, they don’t warn you that grief isn’t linear, and you can be upside down, inside out, and sideways every day. You can go to therapy, take your medicine, exercise daily, and write your heart out. But my grief feels different because it’s incomplete. You are not dead; you are still very much alive. But I didn’t get to say goodbye, so I didn’t get closure. Maybe that’s the price I must pay for being Monster Mother.

That boulder is calling, so I’d better get back to it. Happy early birthday, my beautiful daughters. I will never stop working on myself in the hopes that maybe you’ll see how sorry I am and how I wish things were different. I can’t un-do the past, but I can strive for a better future.

I love you, Abby and Izzy.

Love,

Mommy

“All of These Must Go.”

She was tall and had the longest, thinnest legs I’ve ever seen. She was like a giraffe, a giraffe with a pixie cut, anyway. Her delicate fingers held her cell phone as she snapped photos. She walked in whispers, in waves. And then in one fell swoop, she saw my books.

“Oh,” she said. I could smell the distaste as the word dropped from her lips and hung there. “These, all of these must go,” she said, and one of her arms gestured, as if I could use a magic wand to POOF them away.

Giraffe lady’s business card was shiny, waxy, and I folded it over and over upon itself. Her leopard-print kitten heels clicked along our scuffed up wood floors. They sneered at my New Balance tennis shoes from Costco.

I couldn’t keep up with her. She wanted our life put into boxes, compartmentalized, hidden, camouflaged. Like only the house existed, not the people inside of it. No evidence. Clear the crime scene, no human beings have deigned to breathe within the confines of these walls! No children or adults have sullied this place, look how pristine it is!

Giraffe lady emailed me a to-do list of eleventy billion things that needed attention before proceeding.

I heaved myself up and began. What else was there to do?