That Fucking Rodent Lied: A Weekend

March 25, 2013

Go here^. She’s awesome.

Yo, Punxa-whatever Phil. You lied, rodent. Lied!

Too bad you’re too fat for the Le Creuset treatment, because I’m pissed off.

I am over winter–ready to kick it’s icicle-shaking arse to the curb.

It snowed in my neck of the woods this weekend. A lot. With howling winds to boot.

Now this shouldn’t come as a surprise, since March is usually the snowiest month in Colorado (read: 1-2 monumental dumpers), but I’m still kinda bitter about it.

Okay. Complaint parade over.

Okay, not. Because this weekend was a doozy.

It started on Friday, when I met Miss M. at school for lunch. She begs me almost every day to come to lunch, which of course I can’t manage, but we’ve settled on 2-3 times a month. She likes to celebrate Mommy Lunches with a Happy Meal (don’t judge) and I’m fine with that.

I wait in the hallway, contraband in hand, as the first graders trickle in from the playground. I smile at the faces I know: Kella, Kiana, Evelyn, Logan, Spencer. Miss M. is almost always one of the last through the door. Her hair is always a study in disshevelment and she’s dwarfed by her thick, bright pink glasses. Poor Minx. Enormous, stunningly beautiful eyes and they don’t work a lick.

She sees me and her face breaks open to a jack-o-lantern grin. She leads me, with fanfare, to a cafeteria table. I open many packets of ketchup.

The kids who sit at our table aren’t familiar faces, and M. doesn’t talk to them. She leans in close as she eats, my body a shield or a pillow or a soft place to land. I wrap my arm tightly around her and cuddle her close, reminding myself to cherish this, because it won’t be long before she’s too big for cuddles. I inhale the scent of her shampooed hair, feel the snap of her shoulder blades poking through her sweater.

She eats heartily, which is good. Nearly every day I unpack an uneaten lunch–completely untouched–and when I ask, she shrugs and says, “I just wasn’t hungry.”

She says the cafeteria smells bad and it makes her feel queasy, and sitting there with her, I see her point.

The lunch ladies dim the lights; our signal that lunch is almost over. I kiss M. on both cheeks and gather up the empty ketchup packets.

“I’m so glad you came for lunch, Mama,” she says softly, eyes threatening to spill. “I get so lonely at lunchtime.”

*Swear Jar*

I cry all the way home and then call Mama and she cries too so at least I have company in wreckage. The people who yearn for the “innocent simplicity” of childhood are charlatans and frauds. There is nothing simple about childhood. It’s a shark tank–admit it.

I call my husband and cry some more. My hatchling is lonely. She feels isolated. How can I fix this? He gently reminds me that not everything is mine to fix, that she will figure out the complexities of lunchtime in time and on her own. I try to take this advice without hissing.

Miss M. arrives home from school in high spirits but Miss D. is glum. “My stomach hurts. Really bad.”  I give her a fiber gummi and an apple juice, figuring she’s blocked (history with that, yo). She’s a world-class toilet clogger.

Saturday.

Stomach ache still in residence. I give her another apple juice and feel her forehead. Warm. Ibuprofen dispensed.

An hour later, Miss D. treads softly into the room and takes a seat next to me.

“Mom? Do you think I’m going to get my period soon?”

Inhale.  “Actually, yeah. I think that might be what’s going on right now, with the stomach ache. What do you think?”

“Mom? I kinda already got it,” she says, sotto voce.

Donotfreakdonotfreakdonotfreakkeepcalmdammitswearjar.

“It. Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve gone through 3 pairs of undies already but I put off telling you because I didn’t want you to think I was freaked out about it. Because it’s no big deal…right?”

I look into her earnest face, which suddenly looks so much older. “Of course not, Bunny. It’s not a big deal at all,” I say. She rests her springy curls on my shoulder and I stumble for my bearings.

She looks out the window at the ghostly whirls of snow. “I thought they said it was Spring. Dorks.”

Dorks, indeed. The snow swirls and the wind howls, but the bigger storm is within these four walls.

I portion out ibuprofen, teach D. the language of mini-pads. I think about tampons but can’t bring myself to cross that water. Maybe in time.

I wake in the night, sweaty and rabbit-hearted. I slide out of bed and open Miss D.’s door quietly. She’s so buried under the covers that you’d never know she was in there. If I got my period at age eleven, I think I’d burrow too.

I open Miss M’s door and she startles awake. “Mommy? Are you here? Are you looking for me?”

Yes, little thing. I am looking for you.

Yes.

{ 63 comments… read them below or add one }

Wendi @ Bon Appetit Hon March 26, 2013 at 5:22 am

Here I think I’m going to get snarky Kitch at her finest and you go and tug on my heart so hard that I cry.

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Tiffany March 26, 2013 at 5:40 am

Oh this one got me good. The loneliness at lunch…I would want to go to lunch every day or homeschool her. But that’s not going to solve anything, right? But…the thought of her being lonely and not eating…*sigh*. And Miss D. God love you, Miss D. I got mine about a week after I turned 10…I feel your pain. And it’s no big deal. And yet at the same time it’s a huge deal. Hang on tight, kiddo. And Kitch? Your heart is so big and warm and sweet and kind…those girls are lucky to have you as their Mama.

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Britney Nichole March 26, 2013 at 5:55 am

Ohh… I didn’t expect to cry on this one, either. But thank you cause “laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.” (–Dolly Parton, of course.) I can’t stop clicking all these link-ups at the EO because I’m loving them all but soon my four year old is going to tumble out of bed and I’ll make breakfast and put chocolate chips in her oatmeal just to shock her into joy because one day she is going to get her period and this doesn’t last forever and —sigh, crying again.

Thanks for this.:)

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TKW March 26, 2013 at 8:20 am

Britney,

So glad you popped in! And chocolate chips in oatmeal sounds like a fine way to greet the day.

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Tinne from Tantrums and Tomatoes March 26, 2013 at 5:58 am

It’s no big deal and yet it is the biggest deal of them all.
Brought me right back to the time I first got mine, age 11, at school. Took me three days to figure out what was going on and then to run to my mother crying, because WTF.
Great post kitch, great post.

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TKW March 26, 2013 at 8:22 am

Tinne and Tiff,

Eleven just seems so young, you know? Ack, how do we handle ourselves when our bodies betray us so early?

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Shannon March 26, 2013 at 7:06 am

Boy, you sure were in the thick woods of parenting this weekend. First, the lunch table thing and then the big one. Oy! I feel for you and I’ve been there. They both know you are there for them and that makes such a big difference in the end.

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Katybeth March 26, 2013 at 7:59 am

You’re a wonderful Mom.

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Abby March 26, 2013 at 8:13 am

My heart? Melted, on all accounts.

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Sherri March 26, 2013 at 8:16 am

Wow. I feel ya – I do. I was such a late bloomer (may have disclosed that here before), but my oldest got her period at 10 or 11 – definitely 5th grade. It happens earlier now – not sure why but seems universal. She’ll be fine – may have been secretly hoping for it since others are in the same boat :). I know it’s hard for you, but… she is still so little – so young. And your little one – well… it will work itself out (and, partly, with mommy there, it feels lonely when you leave :). My 2nd grader, the gentlest of all my kids, is having trouble with his lunch hour too – sometimes finds his 1st grade brother and sits with him. I’m tearing up thinking about it, but… have to say – so so great that you go and eat with her. Not every mom does that :).

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Kel March 26, 2013 at 9:22 am

Oooh ouch. This one hit pretty close to home.

My Professor was bullied through school, so that loneliness is something she knows well. But it made her very choosy in her friends, which results in A, very tight friendships, and B, extreme heartache when someone moves away. She is now 21 and her bff is moving to Colorado from NC. My Professor is grieving so, so hard.

Tell Miss D that she is an amazing young woman, and that all of us women out here are standing to welcome her into our ranks. In our family, the girls got their first piece of “adult” jewelry when they hit that point. It was simple – a necklace with a gemstone in their favorite color (amethyst for the Professor, blue topaz for the Artist) and a little diamond above it. It made them realize that while many women automatically associate period with misery, there are positives to it. Your increased emotions can also make you more creative. And while many PMS symptoms can be alleviated by B vitamins and some yoga, the discomforts can also make us pamper ourselves more, when so many women neglect themselves. The restorative power of a hot bubble bath and a glass of wi…um…mug of tea…are amazing!

Love to both of your girls, and to their amazing mama!

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TKW March 27, 2013 at 6:12 pm

Kel,

I love the idea of a necklace to mark the moment. You are genius!

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Ami March 26, 2013 at 9:28 am

Oh man, I got my period at 11 years old too. My oldest daughter just turned ten. PANIC ATTACK.
Despite making me hyperventilate this is a gorgeous bit of writing. Gorgeous.

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Jamie March 26, 2013 at 10:11 am

What a weekend. Hugs your way, my friend. 11. Shit. Fuck. Damn. I got it at 13 but somehow the “teen” makes it sound so much more OK.

Sorry for all the cursing.

As for the tampons, honestly, you can just buy her a box and try not to think about it when she locks herself in the bathroom for an hour. That’s nothing to feel guilty about. Really, there’s not much anyone can do to help in that department. Not even my foul mouthed, 90 pound Asian best friend who got her period at NINE could do more than shout useless instructions through the door. Although she did offer to “get up in there and show me how it’s done…”

Shuddering at the memory! You are a great mom. And writer.

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Kristen @ Motherese March 26, 2013 at 10:56 am

“He gently reminds me that not everything is mine to fix.”

I hate that he’s right. I struggle with this one – big time – and suspect I will for some time to come.

Sending big hugs and an industrial-size bottle of Midol. xo

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TKW March 26, 2013 at 1:06 pm

Kristen,

I’ll be fighting my instinct to block every painful bullet life throws at her…forever, I think.

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ayala March 26, 2013 at 10:58 am

Yes, you are here for her now and always :) sweet post !

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annette March 26, 2013 at 11:16 am

Savor each moment! (I know you do). They will take life in stride because you are there for them.

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Heather March 26, 2013 at 11:24 am

This is so painfully beautiful. Like life. Ugh, it’s so much too hard.

Love you.

H

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TKW March 26, 2013 at 1:05 pm

Heather,

That’s the beauty and the wreckage of having kids. Through them, you re-live childhood; the good, the unsettling, the terrible. A loaded blessing, those kids. xo

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Arnebya March 26, 2013 at 12:09 pm

Fuck. (Just lemme throw all my cash in the swear jar now because fuckfuckfuckityfuckforfuckssakefuckitallforever.) I cannot bear what I imagine must have been a monumental restraint effort to not scream and hit the walls. Yes, it’s no big deal but ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck it’s such a big deal. And 11. GIMME THE GODDAMN JAR.

My oldest, now nearing 13, was 10. TEN. Trying to deal with her newness and maintain my sanity while still enjoying the absolute little girlness of the younger ones…just let me lay here.

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TKW March 26, 2013 at 1:02 pm

Arnebya,

Ten? Holy swear jar, girl. It just doesn’t seem fair at all, does it?

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Pamela March 26, 2013 at 2:35 pm

Dear Lord you can write!! I am sorry about Miss M. Oliver went through that this winter and it broke my heart. Now he doesn’t want me beat him at lunch and I’m thrilled. It will get better. Promise.

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TKW March 27, 2013 at 6:15 pm

Pamela,

Promise? This stuff is killing me.

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Lisa March 26, 2013 at 2:39 pm

I hear you on the lunch thing. Frey is always bringing home most of her lunch, partially due to the ADHD meds making her feel queasy, and partly due to being the pickiest eater ever (though I think we may have equal pegging on this one).
She also says often that she does not play with anyone at recess, but this seems to be more because she wants to be alone – something she has in common with me at that age – rather than being left out.

And the period thing, my oh my, how I am not looking forward to that. She will be 8 next month, and with my genetics of starting early, and the tendency to early start anyway these days, I reckon we will be seeing something happening in the next 2 years.

Its sad that things are happening earlier for girls, when they are less likely to be emotionally prepared for it. I think it has something to do with all the estrogen in the water supply thanks to us ladies and birth control, so we probably only have ourselves to blame :-(

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TKW March 27, 2013 at 8:28 am

Lisa,

My husband blames the hormones in chicken :) Whatever the cause, it’s so hard to grow up so early!

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amber_mtmc March 26, 2013 at 3:45 pm

Well now, I didn’t expect to cry. I had a pretty shitty childhood. Massive anxiety/OCD/depression did not make things easy for me. On top of that, I had multiple “friends” who would dump and/or use me in elementary school. I wish that it didn’t happen. I wish kids were more kind.

And the period at 11? Yeah. Shitty.

Love you, Kitch.

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TKW March 27, 2013 at 8:29 am

amber,

I know where you’re coming from. Mean girl stuff started in earnest at grade 4. I mean, what the heck? Can’t we just get through elementary school without this stuff?

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SuziCate March 26, 2013 at 4:28 pm

Sniff, sniff…now, why’d you go and do that to me?! Another lovely write.
Crazy how we can’t wait to get our periods and then we can’t wait to get rid of them…kind of like a lot of other things in life, huh? Grass always seems greener on the other side.

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faemom March 26, 2013 at 11:55 pm

*hugs* for you. *hugs* for Miss D. *hugs* for Miss M.
I’ve been where Miss M is at. She’ll grow up and be awesome and find friends who love her for being awesome. It still sucks. Childhood can suck. Maybe I should send Evan over. He’s not fitting in either, but I won’t push him to confomr.
I’ve been where Miss D is at. But I was 13. I shall say prayer after prayer that this is quick and that it doesn’t come again for several months. The poor thing. Puberty sucks. Sucks. Sucks. Sucks.
I probably will never be where you’re at. Boys don’t get periods. They just miss the toilet. You’re an amazing mom!

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TKW March 27, 2013 at 8:31 am

Fae,

What a sweet response. I will definitely take Evan should you send him over. Well, until the “new set of sheets per day” phenomenon sets in. :)

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Katrina Kenison March 27, 2013 at 7:17 am

Blown away here. Just beautiful writing, and presence, and love. And FYI, my guys are 23 and 20, and I am still having to remind myself that there are things that aren’t mine to fix.

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TKW March 27, 2013 at 8:33 am

Katrina,

Do we ever get over it? This compulsion to just find a way to fix things as soon as possible, sparing them prolonged pain?

I’m over 40 and still, when I tell my Mama about something I’m struggling with, she answers: “What can I do?”

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Jenna March 27, 2013 at 8:24 am

There you go again making me cry with your magical writing.

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Alison March 27, 2013 at 8:56 am

Oh my. Sucker punched me right there with the lunchtime loneliness and the growing-up-too-fast-ness.

Parenting is so hard when you just want to absorb all their hurts but can’t.

(lovely, lovely writing)

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Rudri Bhatt Patel @ Being Rudri March 27, 2013 at 10:39 am

This post brought me to tears.

Hugs and love to your little minxes.

xoxo

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Biz March 27, 2013 at 12:20 pm

My baby got it when she was 10 and in the 5th grade. She was a head taller than all her friends, had been wearing a bra for nearly a year. Turns out she was an early bloomer, and by high school, she was one of the shortest ones!

Yep, the tampon lesson was interesting – thank goodness for videos!!

Hugs!

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TKW March 27, 2013 at 6:26 pm

Biz,

videos? Must. Know. About. HELP!

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Kim Jorgensen Gane March 27, 2013 at 8:41 pm

SO very beautifully written, my soulful friend! GOBSMACKED! And can I say, I LOVE THE FREAKING JUDY BLUME BUTTON!!! Awesome! And YOU are awesome!

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Barbara March 28, 2013 at 5:21 am

I got mine that young too. Someone must have done something right because I wasn’t traumatized. Not to say my mother wasn’t, but I don’t remember being upset when my daughter got hers…at age 13.
Really had to laugh at the tampon story (I taught my granddaughter how to use them…funniest day of my life, actually. She handled it like a pro.); must ask my daughter if I taught her too. Who else?

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TKW March 28, 2013 at 11:24 am

Barbara,

Mama tried to teach me. Mirror on the floor of the bathroom, hanging off the toilet, trying to hit mark. I was terrible at it! Looking back now, it was funny, but I was mortified!

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denise March 28, 2013 at 10:23 am

You touched on so many wonderful-awful-gut-wrenching things in this post. Wiping tears that started at your darling baby being lonely at lunch and continued with your other darling baby getting her period.

Looking for her. Yes, yes you were.

I am hugging you right now. So tight.
xo

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TKW March 28, 2013 at 11:25 am

Denise,
I’ll never turn down a hug from you. Thanks.

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gigi March 28, 2013 at 10:50 am

Dana,

I rarely, rarely cry when I read blog posts.

This made me cry. All these things we want to help our kids through, make the way a little easier for them, but so much of it they have to navigate on their own. It’s heart-wrenching. Period at 11. Makes me get all knotted up inside. My girl’s just about 8.

Hang in there, momma. This was beautiful, and someday y our girls are going to treasure reading this. And then they’ll gift it to their own daughters.

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TKW March 28, 2013 at 11:27 am

Gigi,

Thank you for your kind words. Miss D. started sprouting breasts at age 9, so you have quite a future in front of you. Somehow, I know you’ll handle it with grace.

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Debi (@TruthfulMommy) March 28, 2013 at 11:05 am

So, I came here and I read and I see my kindergartener and my 8 year old all over this damn thing and I am crying. Crying because I know that stomach ache is coming in just a few years for my 8 year old and it’s too fast. Too fucking (swear jar) fast. Hugs mama. I hate the letting go, growing up shit. I want them to stay with me and be my little girls for ever. There, I said it. Damn it. Love this post.

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TKW March 28, 2013 at 11:29 am

Debi,
Thank you for commenting and for sharing about your daughter. I wish they made terrariums for children. I’d eagerly plop my kids into one if I could.

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Shellie March 28, 2013 at 11:07 am

This was a completely evil post comprised of loveliness and honesty. How dare you remind me that someday my little Blueberry will grow up and pull this crap on me?!?! I’m glad I stumbled on your blog and look forward to hearing more about your swear jar. I gotta get me one of those fucking things.

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TKW March 28, 2013 at 11:31 am

Shellie,
Cracking up about the swear jar! I think I’m going to pay for a nice vacation in no time (I am the primary offender in the swear department).

I’m so happy that you stopped by–please come back! And hugs to you in advance about Blueberry’s puberty. It is rotten.

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tracy@sellabitmum March 28, 2013 at 11:13 am

Stop making me love you more.

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TKW March 28, 2013 at 11:35 am

Sellabitmum,

Whaaa? You love me? Dude, I have been stalking your blog for over a year now! You must made this entire painful puberty experience worthwhile. I love you too! *doing a dorky little jig.*

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TKW March 28, 2013 at 11:38 am

*just* not must

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Cathy March 28, 2013 at 11:15 am

Ah Kitch, yes, the curse of motherhood – not everything is ours to fix. And some things we cannot, even if we try. I’m in the middle of that too – my 14yo, boy, lonely, isolated, acne, gangly, not quite sure of where he fits in, if he fits in.

That is curse-worthy – the 11 yo now having to deal with THAT. WTF. I’d swear too. Seems like robbing her of childhood. Meh.

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TKW March 28, 2013 at 11:37 am

Cathy,

Guess what? She not only got her period, she got a zit the size of Crackatoa on her forehead in the same weekend. Puberty is evil!

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BigLittleWolf March 28, 2013 at 4:35 pm

Oh.My.God. What a beautiful write.

Mothering just isn’t for sissies, is it. Tears, tears, tears in my eyes. You are so good. Your babies no longer babies are so lucky.

I’m still trying to figure out how I did this… but with boys. It’s a blur. A big long blur.

xo to you. And screw the rodents.

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Koreen March 29, 2013 at 6:44 am

Good lord you made me cry on a holiday morning. Dammit. Our children just break our hearts, don’t they; in all the good ways and bad ways.

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Lisa @ The Meaning of Me March 29, 2013 at 12:28 pm

Oh my God, both of your girls crossing the threshold of something major at the same time. Ugh – shot to the heart. Too much for a Mamma to bear. You are such a great Mom and your honesty about these mother/daughter moments is wonderful.

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TKW March 29, 2013 at 5:40 pm

Lisa,

I have to be honest because I mess things up like nobody’s business. I want to do better, but I fail.

ps: Shot to the Heart? You are far too young to understand this, but I once told my husband that if Jon Bon Jovi ever rode up on his motorcycle and knocked on the door, I’d grab my birth control pills and my leather jacket and I’d be GONE. Yeah, I am old.

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Lisa @ The Meaning of Me March 29, 2013 at 6:21 pm

Uh, flattered that you think I am too young for the Bon Jovi fan club, but I was a cary-carrying admirer. I might still consider hopping on the back of his bike if he ever knocks…but, of course, I’d probably pull a muscle. :)

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Lindsey April 2, 2013 at 6:15 pm

Oh, Kitch … I relate to every word of this. Just because … well, yes. The wanting to fix. The wanting to protect. The stumbling for bearings. Oh yes. So beautifully written. Thank you.

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TKW April 5, 2013 at 2:22 pm

Love you, Linds. Even if you don’t believe it.

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Jennifer April 5, 2013 at 12:50 pm

I know this is totally weird, but I’m crying. I just… yes, all of this. Why does it have to be so hard?

PS I call my momma too when something like that happens, but I’m sure you already knew that.

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TKW April 5, 2013 at 2:24 pm

Jennifer,
That’s why I’m so afraid of the future–who will I call if she’s not on the other end of the line? xo

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