The Home Stretch

Here I am, exactly 2 months to the day of my fiftieth birthday, so I figured maybe I would check in and say "Hi." I guess this is the proverbial "home stretch." Funny thing, I always thought that was a baseball term, relating to the run from third base to home plate, wrong (of all my limited sports knowledge, baseball is the lowest on the list). Upon further review, the term specifically refers to the final portion of a race track, from the last turn to the finish line. Informally it has come to mean the final stages of an undertaking, one web definition even explaining it as the last part of something, like a journey or a project.  Guess I'm approaching the final turn, in the home stretch to 50.

I set out last August 13th to share this year daily and publicly, and although I abandoned ship many times along the way, I have come to realize my absences were a necessary part of the process. I've been writing in my head all along, but those entries were just for me. Silent discussions that would have mostly bored you or exposed parts of myself that I've decided are better left unsaid. The last few months have been more introspective than usual, probably too much alone time than is good for me, and more than likely temporarily disconnected me from the people who I love and who love me most. Granted the almost nightly hour long walks were good for my body, but maybe not as good for my family. They helped me sleep better but left more laundry in the basket than the drawers. I enjoyed almost all of those walks with Boola, something I didn't do the first 12 years of her life, and hopefully a happy memory she took with her when we said goodbye a few weeks ago. I didn't blog about the end of her life, my 13 year old golden retriever, whose death hit me so much harder than I could have imagined.  I am not a dog person, in comparison to my friends who really love their dogs like children. I didn't grow up that way; my childhood dogs (Muffin and Bridget) always seemed to be part of the package of suburban life, but never really a part of the family. I have no memory of them coming into or leaving my life. They were just there and then not; I can't explain it any other way. Boola came into our life shortly after my Dad died (thus her name, Boola, a nod to his beloved Yale, and a little inside joke because he was the original non-dog lover) and although I still can't say that I loved her like a child, she was a member of the family for the hardest years of my life. The sadness in losing her was undoubtedly wrapped up in all we had been through while she was here; letting go of those memories a bit and acknowledging how much had changed in the 13 years she was around. I was 36 years old when we she arrived and the day we said goodbye was a heart-wrenching, slow motion replay of all she had witnessed in her lifetime. Her presence was practically the only constant of those years, everything else in a seemingly relentless flux. Enough said about that for now, can't go down that road again. We are still sorting out what our next four-legged friend will be; we have agreed on a large breed, preferably short-haired (still finding tumbleweeds of long blonde hair ) and an activity level more suited to our soon to be empty nester lifestyle.  I think I'll go for a boy dog this time, and already picked a name, Eli, continuing the slightly irreverent “Yalie” reference for my father. My friends and family are relieved that I have retreated from my bull mastiff fascination (especially the Cane Corso variety) and that I have vetoed Jeffrey's desire for a German shepherd or a Rottweiler.  I'm sure we'll make a decision before I turn 50, so stay tuned....

In the months since we last spoke David graduated from college, a perfect weekend with family and friends that ended with Mother’s Day with all 3 boys and my mom; couldn’t have asked for more. So what precipitated this blog, other than my noticing that today is the 13^th of June and 60 short days from THE day? I’ve covered lots of topics in the last 10 months, some funny (hopefully) and some serious, and some inspired by my children. It got to be a little inside joke in our house, something happens and I get the “is that gonna be in the blog?” query. For a while most stories found their way to the page, but countless others did not. Andrew felt a bit slighted that David’s wisdom teeth were blog-worthy and his own extraction just two weeks later did not warrant a post. Sorry Andrew, but I just wasn’t feeling the need to share the second time around. Andrew had his solo blog moment at the DMV and many honorable mentions along the way. But today, he inspired me and humbled me.

I arrived home from work and noticed a typed paper casually sitting on top of his backpack. It was obviously graded; I could see the teacher comments in the margins. I was also pretty sure that he did not leave it there intentionally for me to pick up and read, but I’m a mom so that’s what I did. Let me back track a bit and let you know that this is not a child that requires any prodding to do his homework and he has barely given me an instant of angst in his entire academic life. I rarely get to see his work anymore and most of it is well beyond my skill level anyway. I did spend many nights in the past year correcting his practice SAT tests (yes, he did them nightly and yes, it was worth the effort) and although I was only required to correct his answer sheet I was pretty amazed by his nearly perfect responses. On more than one occasion I secretly wondered if he was taking a peek at the back of the book, but I knew better. Back to the paper … Of course I flip immediately to the last page to see the grade (come on, you would too) and see the A++, along with some pretty heady comments from a notoriously grade stingy Professor (he does have a PhD) of 21^st Century Literature. I knew that he was a good writer (he is my son, and his skill set is enhanced with much better grammar), but what could have inspired this glowing praise? And then I sat down and read it, twice, maybe three times, partially because I was trying to absorb every word and partially because I kept tearing up. It wasn’t sad, actually clever and funny at times. I cried because it suddenly occurred to me that this paper wasn’t written by my baby. It was the work of my 16 year old son, who somehow in the blink of an eye became a young man with a mind and an intellect that took my breath away. Somewhere in between the countless hours of PS3 and Facebook and ESPN he really learned a few things. Don’t get me wrong, I knew he was smart and a good student and all the stuff we see on the surface, but this was more, this was understanding and reason and maturity. When Andrew got home from work I told him how amazing it was and he beamed with pride, “Mom, Dr. Shivers does not give A++’s. “Well Andrew, I guess he thought you deserved it, maybe he just never got a paper like that before.”. His response “Is this going to be a blog post?" For Andrew, I came back to the keyboard. There are always the predictable moments of parental pride, but this one caught me off guard. How did I not know that this was inside of him and when did he get so much smarter than me? I guess that’s what we all hope for with our children, taller and smarter. Now we’re three for three in both categories. Apparently, my work is done.

I have to say this was kind of fun, the words flowing pretty freely tonight. Not sure when you’ll hear from me again, but I’m going to make an effort to chronicle these last 60 days on a more consistent basis. There are still a few stories that I didn’t share along the way and I do miss the daily rush of a post. I hope some of you are still out there as I enter the last turn, 50 is starting to feel pretty good.