Spitting In The Sink

Years ago, Marks grandmother came to visit me. Mark and I were divorced at the time, so for Granny to make it to my doorstep was quite significant. Grandpa Jack had passed away quite a few years before that, and I had not had the opportunity to meet him. His legacy lives on and on in this family.

I'm understanding that he was a good man with a good heart. He was honest, fair and walked a straight line. He helped to raise Mark and his brothers when Gerald and Linda were unable to take care of the kids. (That in itself, deserves angel wings!) He was a good father, a terrific grandfather and a loyal husband. It's more than fair to say that he led his family by example.

Granny and I were sitting in my front room, sipping on lemonade and talking about Grandpa Jack. She relayed a story to me. Grandpa used to chew tobacco and he would spit in Granny's sink. Man oh man, this really made Granny mad. They fought about it constantly. Granny sort of smiled while she was telling me about the arguments that they would have. Trust me, I could relate to the frustration. I'm not sure that Mark fell far from that tree!

Anyhow, we were in the middle of stories and laughter when Granny got really quiet. I looked over and I could see tears dripping from her cheeks. After a few moments, she composed herself enough to say "Linnette, I would do ANYTHING to have that man spit in my sink again."

I carry that story with me. It put so many things in perspective. That story played a significant role in the reuniting of Mark and myself. Suddenly, so much of what we had fought about just didn't matter any longer. My long haired, hippy, guitar playing man could stay just the way he was.

My Little Black Rain Cloud

The end of school is looming. There are signs at the elementary school displaying the date of the final day of classes, flyers are being sent home exclaiming in bold lettering "End of school!" and the kids are talking about it with excitement. Even our breakfast table is a bit jubilant. I have begun counting down with Jaden to keep him excited to go these last few days. He is sincerely looking forward to this break. 

So why do I feel glum?

Don't get me wrong, I do so love the summer. I have always looked forward to having my kids home with me. I love the noise and chaos, the fighting and laughter. I'm the mom that cries when I drop my kids off to the first day of class. I cry HARD. My neighbor, Britney, used to sit on her front porch and await my return walk home. I'd sit on her porch and cry and cry and cry. I know she thought I had lost my mind, but I missed them. I'm nearly inconsolable that first day of school.

My kids have all attended Franklin Elementary School. Man oh man, I love that school. The principal is such a solid man. He has a very supportive staff and I have yet to have any real problems with any of the teachers. 

The final day of school at Franklin is a dance festival. The parents gather outside around a basketball court and each grade performs a dance for us. Kindergarten kids usually dance to "Splish Splash" or to "The Chicken Dance". Ohmygosh, it's so dang cute. I get so excited to watch the dances. I don't allow the kids to practice around me. I want to see the WHOLE performance with the WHOLE group for the first time on the day of the festival.

I guess I'm trying to tell you that I'm not a TOTAL funsucker, I enjoy the little things that come my way. But it's like Sunday night to me. I hate Sunday night because I hate Mondays. I hate the Fall because I hate Winter. I know what's around the corner and it fills me with dread.

I will not have another child attend Franklin Elementary. Jaden graduates sixth grade this year and he's off to a gifted and talented program at the High School. You do know what that means don't you? No dance festivals, no fun runs, no more cute homemade Mothers Day gifts...sigh.

I'm proud of my kids and the adults that they have become. They are an asset to society and each child is an integral piece within our family. I love that they are strong, independent human beings. I know all the right answers to why I feel the way I do. But I can't seem to change my heart. I miss my KIDS. I miss the little moments of wonder that children provide. I have thoroughly loved watching them learn and grow and conquer and become stronger over things that would have brought lesser people to their knees. Yet, I feel melancholy when I reminisce on the alone times that seem fewer now that they are busy.

I remember putting all the kids to bed on Friday nights, then sneaking Tyson out of bed so we could eat popcorn and watch the Utah Jazz play. I miss homework time with Goose and walking with Tanna. I miss the alone time Shelby and I shared together while all the other kids were in school and she had half days in kindergarten. I miss holding their hands while I drive and cuddling on the couch. I miss yelling at them to "go to sleep" or "turn down your music" or "clean your room" or "what the CRAP were you thinking when you shot out all the windows in the playhouse with your paint ball guns?"

It's Sunday night in my heart. I know what "tomorrow" will bring. I'm going to blink and Jaden will finish High School, finish college, find a Diana or Daulton, get married, have kids, stay busy and I'll be the old lady on the street with purple high top tennis shoes, waving my hand and yelling "Hey! What about me?" There it is. I'm a selfish girl and it's ALL about me.