How Many More?

My daughter walked out of school last Thursday with a good many of her classmates. They walked out to honor the 17 students and educators who died at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland Florida. I'm sure many students at Great Mills High School in St. Mary's County, Maryland also walked out to honor those fallen folks. And now, less than a week after that peaceful walkout, there is another school shooting. This one at that very school.

How many more?

This Saturday we will march in Washington DC along with hundreds of thousands of others who are sick to death of school shootings and gun violence.

As a parent, I absolutely cannot begin to imagine what those parents are feeling at this moment. I have a knot in my stomach just trying to imagine what it would be like to hear that there was a shooting at my kid's school. The uncertainty until a parent gets proof of life from their child, that time must be extreme agony.

How many thoughts and prayers does this country have left?

18 and I were interviewed last night for a podcast  by my friend Mike who runs Papa Does Preach for his new podcast, DadAF. He wanted to talk to her about her experiences with the walk out last week and how it affected her. She spoke about how she stood in solidarity with those school shooting victims and how we need to bring about change. And now this.

How many more??

I am sickened.

I hate to even think this, but will it take a gunman going into the school of a congressman's or a senator's child or even the school where the president's son goes before something is done??? You'd think after last summer's shooting at the congressional softball game that action would be taken, but no. More children have to die because no one will do anything to prevent guns from getting into the hands of children or angry people with an ax to grind. WHAT. MORE. WILL. IT. TAKE??

ENOUGH!

Almost Empty Nest.........

Hey Snarklings. Experts say Friday is the worst day to post a new blog. I don't know why, that's just what "they" say. Whoever "they" are, they can kiss my butt. It's so rare that I get an original idea for a blog post, that when I get one, I have to run with it, regardless of what day of the week it is, regardless of what "they" say.

As I write this post, we are a mere 2 months from my youngest daughter's high school graduation. Those of you who have been with me for a long time may remember the last time I went through a high school graduation. You may also recall that sales of Kleenex tissues spiked dramatically during that time period. You see, I was coming off of an addiction to Effexor, a really strong anti-depressant that I didn't actually realize I was addicted to until I tried to wean myself off.

Holy shit, you guys.

I cried for weeks over every. single. thing. It was embarrassing. Even my closest friends questioned the decision to quit the anti-depressant so close to this monumental life-changing experience. Probably not my best call.

I was interviewed by Prevention magazine in 2016 about my experiences stepping down and eventually quitting Effexor, and that interview has been making the rounds again lately. I received a Facebook message out of the blue from someone, a total stranger, who read that interview and asked me for some advice on getting off the anti-depressant. "Will I ever feel better?" she asked. And I'm happy to say YES. YES you WILL feel better. It won't happen overnight. But it WILL happen.

Which brings me to today. We are nearing the finishing line, folks. 18 is graduating! 18 got the gown for her senior prom. 18 has been accepted to college and will be in the band once again with her big sister. And guess what! I haven't cried yet. Well, that's not necessarily true. I have teared up thinking about the 'lasts'. I chaperoned the 'last' Christmas parade in which the high school band marched. I chaperoned the 'final' band competition at the state capital and yes, I was weepy. My eyes filled up. However, it's not the 'body racked with heavy, wet, snotty sobbing' kind of crying that I went through 3 years ago. When 20 graduated high school in 2015, I was an emotional train wreck, I think we can all agree on that. But I'm not sure how much of that was truly me being sad that my first-born baby girl was growing up and leaving, or how much of it had to do with the side effects of the drug leaving my body.

It's really hard for me to say which it was, but back then I was overwhelmed with all the feelings. I was happy for my graduate, excited for her new journey, sad for me that she was leaving me, sad for her sister who was losing her best friend to a campus of 30,000. I was grieving a loss. All of those feelings mixed with the side effects of detoxing truly made me feeling like some sort of psycho.

But my head is clear now. My baby is graduating and I'm not going to lie: I'm sad. I'm sad because my nest will soon be empty, I won't be chaperoning anymore band trips, nor will I be spending anymore nights in the cabin at band camp (okay maybe I'm NOT really all that sad about that). But I'm emotionally ready to handle it. I feel so much stronger now. These experiences have made me stronger, and while they sucked while I was dealing with them, I feel like I have come out on the other side better for having gone through it.

I will add one thing: you may want to disregard that last paragraph on the day that I drop 18 off at college in August. Make no mistake. I will be a sobbing, snotty mess that day. My nest will be empty then, and I think I'm allowed to be emotional then. But I now know that I can and will get through it.

Boxtops and Breakdowns...

This morning started off like every other morning does. I woke 15 up for school, I made coffee, I woke her up again, I drank the coffee, I woke her up again. Status quo. When I emptied the coffee grounds into the garbage, then took the garbage out to the garage, I found a Boxtop. For those of you who don't have kids in the school system, Boxtops are those little square things on cereal boxes, tissues and other packaging that are worth a dime to your school. I've been cutting them off of Cheerios since 18 was 5. It's almost like my brain is programmed to do so. I collect them and send them to school so that school can make money.

Let me be clear: only elementary and middle schools in our area participate in the Boxtops for Education program. My kids are in college and high school. Yet, still I cut them. Still I save them. I'd hate for a school to lose a dime. When I get enough of these Boxtops I give them to my neighbor who still has a child in middle school.

Let's get back to me in my garage. I saw a Boxtop on the floor. I bent over and picked it up. It was covered in garage goo, so I brought it into the kitchen and I RAN IT UNDER WATER TO RINSE IT OFF. I rinsed off a piece of cardboard so a school would not lose a dime. I have officially lost my mind.

In the past 2 weeks I have run the gamut of emotions. I saw 18 (yes, she's 18 now) for the first time in a month and I didn't think I'd ever stop crying. When I got to spend 4 minutes with her during her break from marching in the WVU football game with the Pride of West Virginia Marching Band, I could not stop touching her. I rubbed her back, I stroked her hair, I kept my arm around her. It was like, if I stopped touching her, it wouldn't be real, she wouldn't really be there. God I missed her.

If seeing her for the first time was the ultimate in joy, saying goodbye to her just a few short hours later was the ultimate sadness. And seeing her sister have to say goodbye to her all over again broke my heart into tiny little pieces.

I saw my mom recently and spent a weekend with her. She broke her arm at the beginning of the summer and I spent a week with her then. This time it was good to see her again under better circumstances. When I saw her this time, she and I discussed her living situation and how concerned my brother and I were that she is so vulnerable in her apartment. She's 77, living alone in a senior citizens high rise apartment building. Many of her friends are gone and we are concerned about her, God forbid, tripping in the apartment and no one knowing that she needs help. So we discussed the possibility of moving her to an assisted living facility. I explained to her that she would still have her freedom, but that there would be someone there to check in on her. It's one thing for me to call her everyday to say hi and chat, but I'm 4 hours away. I am of no help if, God forbid, she falls in the tub. She seemed receptive to the idea and agreed that when the time felt right to her, she would let us know.

Then I began the search for affordable assisted living facilities, and guess what! THEY DON'T EXIST. I'm looking at places in Philly because she wants to be closer to my brother and her own brother. $3500 for a studio apartment in an assisted living facility. $1800 if she wants to share a semi-private room

As I drove to 15's volleyball game last night with a car full of snacks for the team, I chatted with mom. We discussed the unbelievably ridiculous cost of taking care of a senior citizen who wants to remain independent. We discussed my commitment to my children and my family. She told me that I needed to slow down and stop trying to be all things to all people. And I cried. I cried because as much as I say I'm fine, I've got this, I can handle it, I'm lying. I really don't have this. I really can't handle it. I want my mom to be safe, I want the best for my kids, but I need to realize that I am NOT solely responsible for everything and everyone. I need to learn how to say the word "NO" and mean it.

I washed off a Boxtop this morning and realized that I've lost my sense of me. The Boxtop doesn't matter. I'm gone. Put my picture on a carton of milk, or better yet, on a wine bottle. I need to stop worrying about Boxtops. I need to stop worrying if I've got enough snacks for everyone on the volleyball team (including the managers!), I need to take a step back and remember that I'm a very important piece of this puzzle, and if I don't take care of myself, everything else falls apart. I'm going to take a step back and let someone else do the legwork. Let someone else do the worrying for a little while.

And I'm not going to feel guilty if a Boxtop goes un-redeemed. In the big scheme of things, there are so many other things that are much more important than a dirty Boxtop.