My review of the movie Mom’s Night Out. Let’s start with a little backstory first, believe me when I say that it does matter…so humor me and read, mmk? Until February of this year, I worked full time outside the home. I woke up, got the kids up, helped shuffle them to either school or […]
via Mom’s Night Out. A movie review and so much more. — Just Call Me Mogee
My review of the movie Mom’s Night Out.
Let’s start with a little backstory first, believe me when I say that it does matter…so humor me and read, mmk?
Until February of this year, I worked full time outside the home. I woke up, got the kids up, helped shuffle them to either school or mamaws and off to my very satisfying, wonderful, Monday through Friday 8-5 job. I loved my job, I loved who I worked with, I had my own office, my own business cards, email, extension and Starbucks every day, yes EVERY day. (BTW they turned me into a coffee snob, it’s really not my fault…but that’s not really imperative to this story, I digress)
Continuing on; I hobnobbed with people from all over the world; I felt I had my foot in the door of a business that isn’t easily done by a woman. I had a purpose, a plan, and I worked my purpose/plan. I went to work every day satisfied with my place, with the work that I did and those that I worked with. This company was such a part of my life, my family’s life. It saw me through a divorce, custody battles, a new house, marriage, the passing of my child and the subsequent birth of my last two babies. They were there for me in the highest of highs in my life and the lowest of lows. They weren’t just my co-workers or my ‘bosses’, they were a family to me and I thought they felt the same for me.
After over nine years and continuing declining business and revenue, my bosses made (I am positive) a very difficult decision to downsize. I was part of that decision. The exact reasons can be hashed over this way or that, however I know that they would have not made that decision if they didn’t feel like there were any other options.
It was a very difficult time for me, from the first moment the office manager came in and uttered those two words that said it all “I’m sorry”, to today, when even now thinking of it and revisiting the memory for my review, I still feel the bottom fall out of my heart and I still see her face and hear those words, “I’m sorry”.
So that was it. I was unable to speak all I could do was harden my heart (I’ll feel later, now’s not the time) get up and start packing. My life, my nine plus years, I had to pack away and fit it in my car and make the longest drive home, ever. Word spread faster than snot in preschool, and there were a few brave souls that ventured up to my office for condolences, most didn’t even speak to me. Ok…I probably don’t need to go too much into this part…let’s just say I didn’t hold the tears for long. The last few hours of my last day was, well, very difficult.
So fast forward a thousand tears, several boxes of tissues, more sleepless nights than I care to count, some pretty hefty life change conversations with the husband and here we are, three months later.
As you can imagine, a family of six, going from a two income family down to one, provides many challenges and a lot, and I do mean a lot of unanswered questions. I started my resume in between the tears and sleepless nights and initially I felt pretty positive, despite our glaring reality. Between the husband and I, I had always been the one to see the light in the darkest of times, my faith helped lift my husband and it carried us through and I felt that this would be no different. This time I was wrong.
My resume was out there, I had talked to friends in town who might hear of something, my friends were supportive and reassuring that “better things will come”, “God only closes a door, when there’s a window to open”, “enjoy your time off”. The last one stung the worst. How could I possibly enjoy my time off? My family needed my income; I needed to help my husband bear the load, what about health insurance, the private school we committed ourselves to sending our daughter and son to; the comfortable savings account we built up, how would we keep afloat…how in all of that, could I possibly “enjoy my time off”. Ah, I know they meant well, but it didn’t make the words sting any less.
My positivity ended pretty much when my severance did. There were no job offers, even Starbucks; my beloved Starbucks (who did actually interview me) didn’t want me. It quickly became apparent that although my skill set is employable, unless I had a degree, no one wanted me. The husband and I talked and we both decided that I would go back to school. So the path was set, I’d go back to school and finish my degree, and we’d find some way without my income to make it work. In the meantime that made me officially a SAHM.
Let the journey begin.
Often times while working at my full time job, I fantasized about what it would be like to be a SAHM, I was jealous of others that were “professional mom’s” shuffling here and there to play dates, mommy and me time, this child’s activity to the next, being the ever present positive, happy, doting, loving, nurturing mother, loving those little moments of joy that your child brings, being completely, utterly fulfilled and satisfied in just being a mother.
Now here I am, in that very role I coveted, and I am lost. Where’s the joy? Where’s the fulfillment, the satisfaction? Que more tears. Here I was on the other side of the fence (you know where it’s supposed to be greener) and there was no joy to be found. I did mechanically what I did before I left my job, I cooked, I cleaned, I reared children, I just did more of it now.( Now I fully accept and understand that while my husband is the sole breadwinner now, that my ‘job’ is the house and it’s day to day running/maintenance and whatnot.) Being a MOM was my job now, it now completely defines who I am, and I am not so sure I liked it.
Though out the days, weeks and now months following my decent into madness, I mean SAHMomness, I operated in ‘suck it up buttercup’ mode and just did what was expected of me, I did what a good little SAHM should do…well at least what my perception of it was (mom tip here….do not and I mean DO NOT look to facebook or those goody two shoes ‘my life is perfect’ mommy bloggers to define what the reality of being a SAHM is they LIE….continuing on…) pretty much I operated on automatic, and that’s how it is has continued.
My husband is great about this transition; he’s been so loving and supportive. He recognizes when I need to get out of the house and not parent anymore. He has been very attentive to helping out and not just dumping everything on me simply ‘because now that’s my job’. He’s taken me on date nights and even though we have to keep our purse strings a bit tighter, he recognizes that is money well spent. So last night he took me to see the movie Mom’s Night Out (my review of this moving is beginning soon….it’ll be worth it, promise). I had never heard of the movie before we got to the theater and wasn’t at all sure what to expect, comedy, romance, action, heck or who even starred in it.
After gouging our wallet for the tickets ($11 per person) and then gouging it out a bit more (can we say over $5 for a bottle of water, we shared by the way) we were off to the theater.
The first thing I noticed is that while the theater seated between 150-200 people and it was only slightly filled up when we arrived, there were no men there (other than my husband). We took our seats at the very top and watched the theater get fuller and fuller….all women…then one stray man…more women and another man that makes three. By the time the theater was filled to capacity, there were a grand total of four husbands whose wives (seemingly) drug them to see this ‘chick flick’. (Side note: there were four husbands that totally get their wives…and would probably ‘get’ them later too. And the rest of them (by the end of the movie) were probably wishing their husband was there with them).
When we were waiting for the previews to start, hubs was telling me that this was another Kendrick brother’s movie. The same that made Fireproof and Courageous. Both movies we enjoyed very much. Safe, wholesome, movies with loving Christian values. Never any sexuality, or gratuitous violence or foul language, no adult innuendoes you have to worry about explaining.
I loved this movie. That’s as simply as it can be put, however you’re not getting off that easily, I mean you see what I’ve wrote so far and I am just now getting to the actual review of the movie. I will try not to spoil the actual film for you; I really want you to see it, with your spouse. Cash in an IOU if you have to, he won’t regret it, I promise. Quite honestly it will open his eyes and probably appreciate what a SAHM really is.
This movie made me cry more than once, it’s funny …I mean it made me cry actual running down my face tears, all in the first 5 min of the movie and this was because of the funny. Beyond the funny, it’s moving and above all, it’s real. It’s real, it’s true and it got to me. I felt my heart fill, my eyes were heavy with tears and I knew that I could open the flood gates at any time. (Which would probably be pretty distracting to our fellow movie goers)
I tried so hard to not lose it at the end, I realized that what I was feeling, what I was searching for, what I needed to hear was in this movie. The prayers that I was praying, my conversations with God, begging Him for understanding and patience and for peace in our transition, would come.
God spoke to me, He spoke to my heart, He told me that everything would be ok, He told me “peace my child, you are enough”. I am not so sure that my words are enough to describe to you what transpired in my soul and in my heart from watching this movie. He told me “you are enough”. To hear that from your mom or dad is great, a teacher or respected adult, coworker, friend is amazing, but to hear your Heavenly Father, your God speak to your heart and tell you “my child, you are enough”….when all you’ve felt like is nothing close to enough, is more than my mere words can convey.
Please if as a mother, you’ve felt like less than enough; go see this movie, take your husband or your girlfriend if you’re sans a man. This is a DO NOT MISS movie. Put it on your list, take $25 out of your rainy day fund and make this movie happen.
Coming from this movie there are a few things in my life that are very clear to me.
• I have an AMAZING husband, who really. Does. Get. Me.
• If I keep my heart open to hearing God’s word, He will speak to me.
• I. Am. Enough.
No, this movie isn’t a cure all. I do still and will still have moments that test me and I will fail and fall short from time to time. However I know that when life kicks me in the behind and I can’t find my joy, when I look at me and all I see is a frazzled mess of unkempt hair, no makeup, wearing a shirt full of mystery spots and the same yoga pants I’ve worn all week, that my husband sees me, loves me and says “you’re beautiful”, that God sees me and says “my child, you are enough”.
Wee bit of a epilogue here:
After my EASTER Sunday binge, I had a raging headache that lasted for a day and a half. I KNOW it’s from the sugar. Ugh so not worth the pain…and I do mean pain! 😖😖
Hi my name is Dawn and I am addicted to sugar.
Now you might think that this is just some way for me to emphasize to you that I really enjoy sweets, that I am trying to impress upon you just how much I love ice cream, that if pressed I would say that I’m not really an addict. That the word addict is reserved by those with drug and alcohol problems. While I agree that those are some serious addictions and yes you are right in assuming that I have not fought that battle. Although I have seen those close to me taken in and devoured by that black hole, this blog post isn’t about the evils of drug and drink. I am no expert in that field, so I will not preach to it.
This is the story about me, my very real addiction to sugar and my…
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Hi my name is Dawn and I am addicted to sugar.
Now you might think that this is just some way for me to emphasize to you that I really enjoy sweets, that I am trying to impress upon you just how much I love ice cream, that if pressed I would say that I’m not really an addict. That the word addict is reserved by those with drug and alcohol problems. While I agree that those are some serious addictions and yes you are right in assuming that I have not fought that battle. Although I have seen those close to me taken in and devoured by that black hole, this blog post isn’t about the evils of drug and drink. I am no expert in that field, so I will not preach to it.
This is the story about me, my very real addiction to sugar and my Lenten journey. I desired for several years now to find more meaning, more connection in my experience with Lent. I wanted it to mean more than just giving up something for 40 days. I wanted a challenge. I wanted to use this time to find myself closer to Jesus, I wanted to make this time more meaningful. So I prayed. I prayed to God to help find something that I could shoulder, that would cause sacrifice in my life, I needed that. I needed to find something that would cause me to commit more than just a passing thought throughout the upcoming weeks. So I prayed.
The answer wold come in one of two ways: Dairy or Sugar. Sending a text off to my Sister @ Heart Carrie, I asked her opinion, she agreed, sugar is was. Gulp.
When I say that I am addicted to sugar, let me give you a glimpse into my sugar addiction. While you might get a chuckle out of this, I assure you it is no joke. I crave something sweet after I eat, ALWAYS and immediately. As soon as the last bite is gone from my dinner/lunch, I am on the prowl for a bit of chocolate, or cake or candy, anything with sugar. I would walk the floors in my kitchen searching for something…I can’t just let an hour pass and the craving will wain, no way….an hour after dinner, two hours…I was still craving. It didn’t matter if I was stuffed to the gills full. It didn’t matter how much I ate for dinner, the capacity of my stomach wasn’t the issue, I wanted something sweet, I HAD to have it. I know this about me, so I make sure that I don’t buy any of the sort. I have moments of strength at the store where I’ll pass over something that I’d usually buy…and danngit I am so proud of myself, mental high-fives all around. That usually falls apart in several different ways. In just the same way I have a moment of strength at the store, I’ll make up for it in my moments of weaknesses…..that and the husband. This man, God love him, and yes I do too, will bring this stuff in the house and he KNOWS I have no will power against it….Salted Caramel ANYTHING is enough to make me drool….I can be bought and sold with brownies and don’t get me started on cheesecake.
So lets say I’ve been strong lately, the hubs hasn’t been allowed at the store alone, so there’s nothing handy in the house to eat that is dessert-esque. Think that’d stop me? Nope. I’ll get whatever ingredients I have in the house and make something….even if it’s cookie dough missing half the ingredients…..or dry cake mix (don’t judge) maybe I’d mix it with water, maybe I wouldn’t. I’d hide the chocolate in the freezer (old staple I know) or find the husbands stash…find the bag of chocolate chips that I’d saved for just such emergency…or (hanging my head in shame) I’d get the candy I hid back from the kids…their candy from whatever the last holiday was. I mean, you know I was saving them from it, they didn’t need it in their little bodies, right?….RIGHT??? In the interest of full disclosure, I know it wasn’t for their benefit that I hid their candy and ate it, you and I both know that. I wanted it and I justified it in any way needed to make it ok.
You look on the inside of the drivers door of my car and you’d find a candy wrapper….passenger side door of the van…. empty chocolate bar wrapper. Bottom of my purse, desk drawer, any junk drawer in the house…tip top and back to the left of the cupboard by the stove, top shelf of the freezer, hidden in the pantry….all of my favorite hiding places. Add to this scenario, the fact that I LOVE to bake….a lot. Even in the height of self denial, those few days or weeks when I am strong enough to resist temptation, I’ll bake up something, anything, just to test myself. To see if I give into temptation…sometimes I’d be strong…most of the time I’d fail. Not immediately though. I wouldn’t lick the bowl, or eat one out of the oven or even eat one when I’d take the treats to whatever mtg I was going to, or work…where ever the destination. I’d fail when no one was looking. If there was one left…well I don’t want to throw it away do I? I mean that’s wasteful…in the car on my way home…there’s only a few left. I can treat myself can’t I? And just like that I’d be overdosing in sweet treats and back on the sugar train.
Ugh, something had to change. If I can’t do this alone (OBVIOUSLY) …then who else but the big Guy upstairs. With Him by my side, I know I can get through this. This is a win-win right…I want to be closer to Jesus, I want to have more meaning in Lent and I need to break this grip that sugar has on me. The terms of my self sacrifice was pretty straight forward: No sugar unless it was naturally occurring, such as in fresh fruit and honey and no food that contained sugar unless it was naturally occurring (which isn’t much these days). Now while I was not going to use ignorance as a ‘get out of Lent free card’, I wasn’t going to analysis every minute ingredient in all the foods I ate for trace amounts of sugar. (*side note: seriously start looking at the ingredients…you will be SHOCKED at what you’re actually eating and that’s probably not a good thing) I know what contains sugar and what doesn’t, for the purpose of this journey.
Ash Wednesday. The day is upon us and there’s no turning back. I’ve committed to this. Time for me to come face to face with one of my biggest challenges. I load up my shopping cart with all sorts of fruits and some organic (from USA only honey….I got me a local guy once his bees start producing…but this’ll do for now). Day one and I know I’m gonna need me some Jesus. Oh man it’s killer to see others in my family happily indulging in this treat or that…the kids eating fudgecicles, the husband inches away happily feeding his face ice cream, or chocolate, or hell, both. I really couldn’t stand them, I mean I got angry. How rude is that of them to sit there and eat that when they know how hard this is for me? Why can’t they just suffer with me?? Then I turned in to a martyr…smugly I thought “why can’t they try and be like me, I’m trying to better myself, learning self sacrifice and look at them, gorging themselves enjoying every gluttonous bite” (Que Jesus). Deep breath Dawn…one more….and again. Remember why you took this on, remember your purpose in this. Think how Jesus was tempted and how He would be to those who would taunt and mock Him. I would find peace once again in my decision and the twinge of desire for the sweet would lessen. Jesus was taking the place of my object of desire…as well He should.
Through out the weeks I found myself tested, as I knew I would be. I had made cookies for the office (for no reason…just did). They were sitting on the cookie tray, fresh from the oven, the sweet smell of fresh, warm, baked cookies wafting through the air, a soft beckoning in the wind bringing me closer and closer to the pot of gold at the end of the delicious rainbow…and before I know it, I crossed the kitchen floor. (Oh Jesus…I’mma need ya again)….I could feel the devil that is my desire for sweets talking to me…pouring those excuses out like syrup over a hot stack; “really just one, you can’t be expected to be perfect”..”I mean, Jesus, this guy..sure, He’s perfect. But He’s Jesus, you’re just human, you’re full of failures and Jesus knows this, He doesn’t expect you to be like Him. He knows you’re going to fail and He says He’s gonna love you anyway, right….” “So, come on, just one.” I almost believed him. I was two steps away from picking up a cookie……then I stopped.
You’re right you nasty devil, you’re right with everything you say. But you know what, I want to be more like my Jesus and I know that it’s just one cookie and I know that Jesus will love me even if I eat that cookie. I have broken no commandment here, however I have made a covenant with Jesus and I want Jesus to look upon me in favor and that is more delicious than any cookie can ever be. I suppose it was at that point I knew I was going to be ok. No it wasn’t an easy road, however it was easier as the days and weeks went by.
In all honesty, I was not perfect. I did fail, I did falter and I did cave. Lent is over (officially) on Easter Sunday…and Saturday night, the last night of Lent, I fell and I fell hard….I ate chocolate. Well to be truthful I finished off the last of the Talenti Salted Caramel Gelato (I swear angels make this…course it could be the work of the devil..who knows). I gotta say…as amazing as this stuff is, like SINfully amazing….it really didn’t taste that good, I’m serious. That’s disturbing and very comforting at the same time.
Today, Easter Sunday…all bets are off…and I’ve been consuming sweets with no regard for what they are or why. I’m not even hungry. I am sure today I am doing it to punish myself, to see if I can undermined my success. (the reasons why are a bit deeper than I want to go this blog-around). My darling husband bought a box of (sugar free) chocolates and I baked a lemon cheesecake. There are of course leftovers for me for the rest of the week….(God help me). The sweets that I did eat today, just like the salted caramel gelato, didn’t even taste that good.
So did I really win?
Did I really get from Lent what I was really seeking? I have to say, yes I did. My goal was to bring Jesus into my life more and to kick the sugar habit. Time will tell if I have that unrelenting after meal craving and if fresh fruit will fill the void where high fructose once resided. I do feel more confident in the choices that I will be making. While I won’t be giving up the life I know and becoming a nun, I did put the focus on Jesus. When things became difficult, when I was faced with a choice, I purposely focused on Jesus. I made Him a priority. I know that I can call on Jesus and while He’s not going to smack the cupcake out of my hand, He will reassure me that I don’t need to eat it and I am sweet enough as it is, No Sugar Added.
So the husband and I are in the market for new dishes. We like the more non traditional dishes, option for square plates in non traditional colors and patterns. We can find quite a bit of odds and outs in our local Big Lots store that fit perfectly with our budget and style. Today we perused our neighborhood Big Lots, for nothing specific, just to see what we can find. Well low and behold we stumble upon this:
WOW great selection of wonderfully non contemporary square dishes, just what we were looking for! Don’t mind if we do!
Seriously this is perfect, we love these, they match PERFECTLY with the dishes we already have, we are SET! I set to counting out how many we would need, double checking that they match and that none have defects that would render them useless. None to be found and we just could not believe our luck, coming upon these…..that is until we flipped the plate over and saw this: 
OH wait…can’t see that…..here, how’s this: 
NOT FOR FOOD USE
MAY POISON FOOD.
Yes, you read that right. This thing that looks oddly like a dish, a plate of sorts, that was placed in the kitchen wares section of the store, strangely enough amongst cups, bowls, and along side it’s round and oval shaped counterparts, is not in fact a dish.
So lets say I were to procure this plate type device, that I decide to purchase this item, and remember found among the dishes, in the kitchen section of the aforementioned store. I eat food off said plate and poison myself. Silly me for thinking that I was purchasing a plate that I would actually use…you know…to eat food off of. I must take a moment to pride myself on my average IQ, because if not for my intelligence quotient, perhaps I wouldn’t be here today to bring you this episode of “Crap I found while shopping”
I closing I will leave you with this and Dogbert says it best:
First the data breach and now this? Really Target, we trusted you, we believed in you…ugh. So disappointing, let me count the ways.
Exactly what is this, seriously what were you thinking!? Because it looks like to me a doll with a hair ‘dryer’ that uses glitter as a projectile. If this is indeed what it very much appears to be, then I have one thing to say to you:
Can we talk?
Dear inventor who clearly doesn’t have children, ( because obviously this is the only way this product could have ever been imagined and put into production). I have something I need to get off my chest and I believe I can speak for all the other parents out there: ARE YOU EFFING INSANE??!! Do you realize what this is and what it does?
It shoots glitter.
It. Shoots. Glitter.
Say it with me G L I T T E R.
GLITTER, you childless, inept product developer…..GLITTER. You know as in the herpes of craft supplies…as in, this will never go away, as in you’ll find it in your underwear and in your socks in between your toes. You’ll find it in your laundry that WILL go through the dryer and get on every piece of clothing you and your family owns, it’ll get in your towels, your wash cloths….you’ll scrub the glitter on your body (hey at least it’s exfoliating right?) oh but that’s not all ….you’ll towel off and end up rubbing it it your crotch while drying off (ladies, this is where exfoliating is a bad, bad thing)…THIS STUFF WILL NOT GO AWAY. It’ll get on your work clothes, too…so you can explain to the boss when he asks you exactly where you were for lunch “stud” referencing the glitter on the collar of your shirt and then you can back peddle oh so convincingly that it came from your daughters Barbie doll and not some stripper named Barbie. (of course there will be the people who won’t ask, they’ll just assume and there goes the rumor mill at your next company gathering, thanks Barbie) And just when you think it’s gone….nope, not a chance in hell (remember what we’re dealing with here, HERPES) you will find that shit on Valentines Day, at Easter time, Fourth of July, even Columbus Day isn’t safe from the staying power of the demon craft supply…..you’ll be haunted at Halloween when your deatheater costume is sparkling with sheer terror thanks to that damn doll and her ‘accessories’….on your table runner for Thanksgiving dinner…GLITTER GLITTER EVERYWHERE!!! And just when you think you’ve seen the last of the shinning spawn of satan, we’ve come full circle back into the Christmas season, just in time for the glitter spray on tan Barbie. About the only place you won’t find it is in your child’s room anywhere near the damn doll it came with. In closing I would like to say to you and your product developers and the focus group that told you this was a good idea (which by the way, they lied to you just to get the free product) on behalf of damn near every living, breathing parent, You’re a %#*>£!?&&);!?@$**%# with no &#^@(%&#$#@ sense and I hope you (#$^(@#(*&%^# in a @%^$(&*@# and choke on it.
Sincerely yours,
Parents Everywhere.
I want to talk to you about something a bit more serious. A bit of departure from what I usually like to talk about, however it’s weighing on my mind lately, so I want to get it off my chest and quite honestly, it needs to be said.
I want to talk about getting older. You’re doing it, I’m doing it….we’re all doing it. As I type this, the hair follicles on my scalp are producing more grey (or is it gray?) hairs, the skin cells on my face are not reproducing as quickly as they did 20 years ago, unlike the fat cells that seem to be working overtime on my thighs. I can see the years reflecting back at me in my face, in how my body moves (or rather doesn’t move); all over in who I am. I am slowing morphing into my genetic mother (another topic for another day folks) I digress. We’re all morphing, slowly but surely we’re getting older. Our bones snap, crackle and pop where they use to move smoothly from position to position. Our fast ball has moved out of the passing lane and into the slow lane. That mile we ran in under 4 minutes, well, at least you’ve still got it under 5….for now. We no longer get carded, and we start hearing “yes ma’am” “no ma’am”, “yes sir” “no sir” more and more.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all bad. We gain wisdom and life experiences over time that help us guide our decisions to more clear and just conclusions. We’re better able to mentor our children and young people. We see with more clarity the reasons in life, for this or for that, that in our youth had eluded us. We’re more confident in who we are, what we want and where we want to be in life. We know our limits; we know that one or two drinks is more than enough, that no matter what the current fashion dictates; crop tops are not flattering. However, we can rock those skinny jeans with the best of those 20 something’s and with more confidence too (and face it ladies and gentlemen, confidence is attractive). We don’t have to ‘sell’ ourselves out to find a mate, we don’t compromise and we don’t apologize for it.
We’re also more consciously aware of the years going by, the time we have left, and we utilize that time more efficiently than our younger self did. We understand and know that we are mortal and that someday we will indeed die. The concept of mortality is not lost on us, we no longer ignore that nasty little detail of life; that we will die and with each passing year our percentages of survival decrease. We no longer toss the notion of death aside with a nonchalant “oh I’ve got plenty of time”. Even with good health, regular exercise, a proper diet, and well managed stress we are not exempt from our final fate. That’s just how we’re designed….we are born, we live and then we die.
How many of you have actually given thought to that? Oh sure, of course you have..in passing, (No pun intended there, promise) I have too. However, I never gave it more than a moment or two of my time. Perhaps a bit more when someone’s illness or passing touches me or my inner circle. Admittedly, it just doesn’t stick around long….I mean well, I do….. and I am sure you do too, we all do. We never mean to be callously dismissive of death, but it happens. We just don’t want to give it attention; after all it’s not exactly a pleasant reality is it? Do you want to think about the game on Friday night and how you’re team will fare in your fantasy league, or you want to contemplate your final moments in life and whether or not you have a Do Not Resuscitate order? Do you wanna hunker down with a bowl of popcorn and your love, all cozy on the couch watching the newest episode of The House of Cards, or you want to draft your last will and testament? I think if we’re being honest with ourselves, we know what we’d rather be doing.
So what’s changed, that’s got me thinking about this more? Well as with most, it’s due to someone very close to my heart and the reality that this person probably won’t be in my life for that much longer. It’s a hard, harsh realization and it hits you like a ton of bricks. Now I am not immune to this, logically I know and have known for a very long time that we’re getting older, and that means my parents are getting older. Now I should tell you that I do not live geographically close to my parents, so I don’t see them as much as I would like to. For years I never pictured my mother and father any older than in their mid-50’s. Vibrant, still and leading a very active life, both of them equally so. I never saw their true age, I focused on my mother’s hands and how full they were, what a life they’ve seen, the work they’ve done, the COUNTLESS diapers they’ve changed (we’ll get to this in a bit). My dad; what a strong man, hard working for years in the remodeling and home construction line of work, to be so strong, yet tender and yielding when he needed to be. One thing you have to know about my dad, is that he gives THE. BEST. HUGS. I can’t begin to tell you how wonderfully great it felt to have him hug me, to feel the love and protection that he gave to me, just to think of being wrapped in such strong, loving arms and to know in your heart that you always have a safe place is enough to make a daughter cry….and I know I felt like the most special person to him. I am sure if you ask any one of my sisters, they would tell you the same.
It occurs to me, as I see my parents now, they’ve changed. It’s no longer deniable that they are entering into their ‘Golden Years’ (to which my mother comments are “not so golden”) knowing that their lives are consumed with this health issue or that. Their schedules are no longer booked with their childrens or grandchildren’s activities, but with doctors’ visits, prescription refills dates and speckled with notes from one care giver to the next. It’s a hard pill to swallow (again no pun here intended) to see how their lives have changed.
Now the rolls are reversed and it’s the children taking care of the parents. Making sure they’ve eaten, taken their medicine, get from place to place, to be the liaison with the dr, making sure that they understand what the dr is saying and making sure that the advice is followed up on and additional appointments are made.
Now before I proceed much further, let me take this time and tell you about my amazing family. It’s an essential part of this story, so bear with me. Such a shift in ‘ parental power’ if you will, in a family is very taxing. It can be horribly upsetting and I’ve seen it tear down some strong family bonds. Siblings bicker, aunts and uncles form allegiances, aligning themselves with whatever position benefits them most, losing sight on what matters most, taking care of mom and dad, preserving as much of their dignity as possible in their remaining years. When things get shifted and by default or location you’re the one that is taxed with the bulk of the care for the parent(s) while others, if there are any, take a more backseat role (for whatever reason that may be) perhaps, they do not have the ability to be the leader in this role, perhaps they are not logistically close enough….well you get the idea, there are almost an infinite reasons why someone over another takes on the ‘lead’ role in caring for our aging parents. My family, while not without sibling spats and disagreements, is pretty darn amazing. Remember I mentioned about my mother changing countless diapers…well it’s no exaggeration. My parents have 24 children. (I’ll let you digest that a bit) . Yes, you read right. No, I am not lying or exaggerating. The good Lord blessed them with 10 and they adopted 14 more. I am in line at #20. (that makes me one of the adopted ones)
With my parents aging in the forefront of our family dynamics at this point, my siblings have done a beyond amazing job at taking the reins. We’ve discussed a bit how difficult this situation is and if you can take a moment or two and just imagine how hard it is to be the one to take over and care for your aging parents, in the same ways they took care of you. Think about their reality and how it must feel to them to have that ever present knowledge in their face, knowing that there days/months are numbered. Stop for a moment and think about that. For some of you reading this, you already know the feeling. You know what it’s like to be the caregiver, to feed, to bath to try and help them hold on to what pride they have, while doing for them the basic needs that they can no longer do themselves. You’ve seen them through times of fear and doubt, reassured them when they’re afraid, held their hands and comforted them, the way they comforted you when you were scared.
As I sit over 400 miles away, I see this unfold and I am in awe of what a blessing I do indeed have in my family. They haven’t just stepped it up; they’ve gone way beyond that. We’re all kept in the loop via group text messaging; a Facebook page dedicated to mom and dad’s health concerns. They share pictures of them with those who can’t be close to them; detailed doctor updates are sent throughout the day and as needed and phone calls are made. When I was called up to be there recently when things were pretty up in the air with our dad; never, ever was I treated like someone who’s thoughts and voice wasn’t needed or wanted or warranted, since I wasn’t directly involved in their day to day goings on and care. I never felt like a second citizen for any reason. The love and compassion that my mother and father have shown and given in their years reflect brightly in the lives of their children and grandchildren. The selflessness that is shown is beyond measure and I am in awe. I am sure that they might downplay my words and tell me that I’m full of it. I’m ok with that…this is what I see and what my heart knows to be true. (so take that Dominique clan…the lot of you). In situations like this, that test, to the very core, a family’s love and dedication to one another; my family has passed with flying colors. This is a true reflection of our mother and father and their love and commitment to each other, their children (and spouses), grandchildren and each and every member of the Dominique clan, regardless how you came to be part of this crazy family.
I suppose I ran off tangent for a bit….this was supposed to be about my feelings and experience with my parents aging and eventual passing. Instead I ended up telling you about my wonderfully amazing family. I was supposed to be releasing my fear, anger, frustration and some tears….instead throughout typing this, I laughed, I smiled and yes I still released a few tears, but for a different reason. I am blessed. Truly blessed. No matter what I know lies ahead of me, I know that my family is with me, even 400 miles away.
Sisters @ Heart 