I was writing a status update, but I started to run long, so I decided to move things over here to finish up...
So, like, one week from tomorrow is MARCH. The month of March. WHAAAAAAT??? How is it possible that yesterday was Christmas, and now it's summer and I just want this ride to slow down a little bit because I have too many unread books spilling off my shelves and too many unwritten books spinning around in my head and--mostly I'm just trying not to think about how soon my little tiny (4-pound premie) boys will be starting high school/finishing high school and going away to college and...ok, who has a spare Zanax?? That is FREAKING ME OUT. I have enjoyed the unique ride that is "raising twins," but I do NOT approve of having my oldest and youngest children graduate at the same time. Panic. Big time.
Don't get me wrong--I am looking forward to some aspects of the "empty nest" situation. Like fewer loads of laundry and less general crap to pick up, plus less cooking, and more traveling, but........I guess I just can't believe this part is really almost over. And it makes me sad. I love them so much it hurts, and I always feel like I'm letting them down. Recently I have put my finger on that issue, and I believe it stems from the ultra-high esteem in which I hold my own mother. This causes me to always feel like I'm not doing nearly enough, because she was (and still is) utter perfection: kind, calm, patient, careful, caring--uncomplaining, unruffled. She just seemed to know exactly the right thing to say or do in any and every childrearing situation. She was serenly confident--no hubris or arrogance, just a gentle knowing. And I may be a lot of things, but I am not THAT. I am not HER. I wish, more than anything, that I would have turned out just like her. But I didn't. I am feisty and feminist-y and dreamy and irreverant. I just know how hard life is, how hard it has been for me to always feel loved or happy or whatever, even though I had The Perfect Mother, and it terrifies me to think I'm sending my little boys out into the world with way less armor than I had. But...oh! They're boys, and so maybe, maybe, please-please, MAYBE they will still be ok??? Siiiiiiiiiiiiigh. I guess I just need to focus on being Me and try to whisper to my subconscious that just because I don't match up, like a row of paper dolls, with my own experience of being mothered, that I am still doing a good job.
