Baby you can drive my car..

1982 Honda CivicMy first car was actually a VW Fox. I couldn’t remember the year though and well, hated it. The heat never worked and it had this weird, fake feeling leather that the old Volkswagens had and I sort of feel, still do.

I traded it in for a VW Cabriolet. It died and after a series of stupid, crappy vehicles, I landed this beauty. Only my brother and I painted mine black with pink racing stripes. I loved that car.

It had probably 200,000 miles on it. The radio worked sometimes but it was the best car I’d ever had. I only had to get rid of it when Devlynn’s car seat wouldn’t fit in the back. They were much bigger than and a 1982 Honda Civic has a tiny back seat.

I handed my little Civic over to someone for 300.00 and moved onto motherhood.

Just like that.

As an adult I’ve had a few different rides. A white jeep kindly gifted to us from my in laws. It was stolen on New Year’s Eve and when it was recovered I was too afraid to drive it again. My sister in law helped us get a mini van. It was purple and felt horrible and perfect all at the same time. Buying a minivan made me feel like I was never going to be be cool again. I may never have been cool to start with though. The purple monster served us well, driving us two and from Pennsylvania and then finally it was the van that brought us here to live. The jury is still out on if it brought us home.

As many Dodge’s do, the transmission fell out and I took it too a junk yard, thanking it for it’s service and crawled into van number two. The worst car I’ve ever driven in my life. Never have I been so happy to see a flashing check engine, knowing it meant the end. That brought the Explorer. The car I loved, the car that died. The car that led me to the stupidest van known to man.

Okay that might be an exaggeration.

Last year we leased “the” van. We’ve named him Clark even though I still don’t love him enough to call him by name. He’s brand new and I don’t ever have to worry about him breaking down but not only did he come with a car payment. He came with shame. And utter uncoolness.

Minivan soccer mom, in the minivan that every single mother in North America drives. Except mine doesn’t have a DVD player or automatic doors. Because the jokes on me. (I do confess I hate those doors so really, I am okay with it except mornings at preschool when I feel silly to remind the poor preschool teachers that they have to shut it themselves. Insert embarrassed face).

I should preface that it’s a good van. And as I said, I don’t ever worry it will leave me stranded on the road. I have both peace of mind in good mechanics and Honda Care but there is something to be said about turning in your hot pink hair and picking up a set of minivan keys.

I sold out for safety. I sold out.

I might be having a midlife crisis I realize.

But I didn’t say that outloud.

I’m now searching for Devlynn’s first car. We’ve a small budget and I hear her say a lot how bad she wants a Jeep. She’s not getting one but hey, a teenager can dream. I think back to how great it was to have a first car. I’m excited for her to feel the indescribable feelings of freedom that comes along with being handed your first set of keys. Hopefully she won’t hate me when I ask her to pick up milk…. or drive her brothers to practice.

I hope she finds a car she loves. That she can remember fondly and google should she ever have a midlife car crisis. I have so many fond memories in that car. So so many.

 

 

Hi! I'm Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

Girl crush #BehindTheBlogger

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Being an introvert isn’t a bad thing. Although I am starting to worry I sound like one of “those” introverts who uses her introversion as a crutch. I don’t. I am just okay with it. I, for the most part, very much enjoy the silence of just being by myself. I like to be home, with my kids doing things at home. In my home. I think you get the point. But sometimes, I’d REALLY like to have a friend.

We are “walkers” at school. This last year has been more driving then walking because Dexter still doesn’t get that we cannot play everyday. Especially days when his sister works. And so, in order to avoid a fit, we drive and I park by the bus stop where Drew is dropped off and Davis’ bus stops. I realize this is a bandaid to something I should just deal with but by 3:40, I’ve had enough crying for the day. So we drive. But when we walked, I liked it. Because it was a small chance at a little small talk each day. And I enjoy seeing the little people each day, most happy to be going home, telling mom or dad or whomever, about their wonderful day.

There are a hundred and two blogs out there about the beautifully made up moms. Hair done and legging that are more then my car payment. This isn’t one of those. Most of my mothers are in the same yoga pants I wear. They are often more colorful and rarely as beat up as mine, but they’re yoga pants indeed. Except this one mom. And she is my crush.

She’s beautiful. I once snapped a photo of her. Crazy stalker much. I posted it on my Instagram account like a crazy person and quickly deleted it when someone I know recognized her. I had shared with a glimmer of hope of wanting her to know how much I looked up to her. Because I do.  Her in her boyfriend jeans and wild shirts. She talks so nice to her child and has this wonderfully curly mop of hair that makes me want to touch it. She is always smiling. She is always dressed adorably and I found out today, she is a pretty successful entrepreneur. She just exudes happy, and kind and I want to know her secret. She’s my girl crush… my mommy girl crush. But I chickened out and deleted it in hope no one would share or think I was a complete nut job.

But she makes me smile. In mom world where it’s so cut throat and mean, I want to tell her every time I see her how lovely I think she is. I’m sure she’d think I was nuts or stumble across this blog post and immediately file a restraining order. But she makes me smile. Because she’s just seems to be who I want to be in my heart.

I wonder sometimes, well often, how it feels to be so comfortable in your own skin. I don’t believe everyone is happy or comfortable all the time but what’s it like to feel beautiful in a shirt with enormous chrysanthemums printed on it? What’s it like to talk to everyone with ease? Or wear big, beautiful rings of fake plastic gems? Or have unicorn colored hair. I’d gladly turn in black tee shirt for something wild if I could just get my heart and head in the same camp. Sometimes I run my fingers across the beautiful sparkly things at the mall and think, I’d like that. But I never buy it, because *I* would look weird. That’s what my head tells me. Anxiety, boy it’s a bitch. But I would like to be girl crush to someone… she’s my inspiration and I’d like to do that for someone else someday. Pay it forward, as soon as I get out of my own head.

In my younger days I had a wilder presence. I don’t really know what changed and I think about the pair of overalls I wore nearly everyday without fail. Because I didn’t care and they stayed up, unlike the jeans of today. And it’s about more than just clothes. It’s about self. Loving yourself so much that people can see your joy. I want to show people my joy too. But sometimes my thunder cloud is just too thick.

So girl crush, you make me smile. I want to buy all your things now…. and I want to learn from you how to be full of joy. Thank you for making me smile.

 


 

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Hi! I'm Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

You Make Me Smile

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Dexter has always been a feisty one. He was a tiny little chicken shaped baby with almost no hair except the little mohawk like tuff on the top of his head. His labor was miserable. All in my back and long. I remember thinking in my head, “hurry up little boy” but he took his time. It set the tone for his life to date.

He was also a wild baby. Bullheaded. Determined. He would climb things and do things that just weren’t normal of a baby his age. I will never forget the day that he managed to open our front down, navigate the front steps and go to the car… that is parked on the busy street. In a few short moments I’d lost him, because he wanted to go. Thank God for kind people who’d grabbed him as I flung my entire self out the door towards the street.

Dexter didn’t talk. At all for almost two years. Looking at all the words Dixon has at only 18 months, I feel so bad I didn’t realize how little my Dexter said. He was two before he could even say his name and even that was tough for him. He said almost nothing his entire first year in preschool and his chosen form of communication was always a fit, closely followed by head pounding. We had a rough year.

Months of speech therapy, lots of constant talking and we’ve finally met some milestones. Yesterday I listened to him speak in 5-7 words sentences. Of course he’s got a little bit of help but he’s coming along. He’s got so many new words and such a bright and nice attitude. He’s like a new child. The child I knew he was.. the child hidden by the frustration of not being able to tell people what he needed. What he wanted and what needed to be done.

We were out and about last week. He played happily with kids and tried to make simple conversations. He’s big. Well, taller, than the average three year old we’re finding and I think the expectation of him may be that of a four year old. One child who found it curious he didn’t “talk”, said he was dumb. “He doesn’t talk so good. He’s dumb.”

My boy? Dumb? Not at all. And while my heart broke into a million tiny pieces, it was quickly built back up when he looked at the child as if nothing happened and kept playing. Because he’s happy. And I don’t know if he just didn’t realize what being dumb was or if he didn’t care but either way, his bright and beautiful smile made me smile.

I think he knows in his heart how hard he’s working and what a good, sweet and fun boy he is. He’s not dumb. Not at all. And unfortunately kids can be cruel and sadly, it seems to be starting younger and younger. Hopefully, we’re providing him with enough love and kindness so that those words go in one ear and out the other… and that he just keeps smiling… and knowing that he makes me smile too.

 

Hi! I'm Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.