Celebrating Mediocrity....

 A friend of mine has been in recovery for over twenty years. 

Someone once told her that of all the addictive substances out there, the most addictive is motherhood.  Motherhood is legal, everyone seems to be doing it, and it gets glorified on TV, magazines, and social media. This unrealistic glorification, makes the messy, difficult, mind numbingly exhausting realities of motherhood, daunting and hopeless. Once you get your first taste, you crave them with every ounce of your being when they're not there allowing your mind to delve into paranoia (see: they're dead in a ditch somewhere, I just know it, and endless nights of sleepless worry), yet get overwhelmed with angst when you're completely enveloped by them (see: lost in the weeds, locking myself in the bathroom.).   And yet despite this, motherhood always leaves you wanting more. In fact, the more kids you have, the higher the highs, and the more devastating the lows.

Motherhood is the habit you'll never, ever, be able to quit. 

In my post before last, I was accepting the reality of who this new version of Youngest is. The college stickers came off the cars, the dorm accessories have been sold. I forgot to cancel his med appointment, and not wanting to pay the hefty cancellation fee, I mentioned that I was going to sit on it if he'd like to join me. He opted to sit on it early, and leave me to finish it.  He's doubled his medications, and added an ADD medicine that he was successful with as a kid. The doctor's thought is that once the meds readjust, he may not need to self medicate as much and can move forward. He's missed one dose in three weeks.

The girlfriend and he seem to be done, though she's been over a few times. He's had maybe two "friends" over, alleviating the parking lot of cars we once had. I'd be lying if I said I thought we've turned a corner or that the new dosage of meds was a Hail Mary. But I am seeing small glimpses of a decent human being amongst the complete stupidity that is this nineteen year old living in the house. 

The other night he hugged me for no reason.  Like, no words, just really hugged me in the kitchen.  That hasn't happened in probably 6 years, and that's probably generous.

He took a college class at the local community college over the summer.  It was a miserable failure.  Two weeks before the final he was sitting at a 25%.  A Twenty five.  He wanted to quit. I told him there was a difference between cutting his losses and quitting.  Cutting his losses means that he's done what he can to make it work, but finally just accepting that it wasn't going to happen.  Quitting is just that, quitting. And no matter who he has become, quitting was never a part of who he was, ever.

So he worked.  And worked. Every day for two weeks....

Is it his best?  Hell no.  

And while I've never been one to celebrate mediocrity, this C means he doesn't have to start over, again. It means he can take that one, however tiny, step towards a life other that getting stoned in the garage.

Fall semester starts in 13 days. It has been paid for, and aside from a scheduling snafu, which he actually made a point to come home and fix with me today without my asking, he's enrolled full time. 

He's also opted to come on vacation with us, and while his idea of a fun vacation and mine are vastly different, I conceded with two conditions.  First, since I asked him before booking, whatever tickets I have already purchased would be paid for in full if he bailed out on them, and second, his location on his phone to be turned on so if he falls asleep in some bud induced haze on the beach and we had to be somewhere, we could find him.

He said that would be fine. 

Stay tuned....

42 Tickets Please...

 Back in the 80's the only church in our town brought in the carnival every summer.  Since it had absolutely no Catholic aspects whatsoever, I can only think that maybe they got a kick back of the profits when the week was out. Anyway, they set up every year on a tiny triangle of land conveniently located a quarter mile off the expressway ramp, right along the main drag in town. Shortly after school got out, we'd all watch as the truck rolled out the colorful, rubix cube of  twisted metal that would in a matter of hours be transformed into roller coasters, tilt-a-whirls, fun houses, and games booths of every type. 

We'd go every year, eat the overpriced sausages, burgers, cotton candy and candies apples, hoping to not toss all those goodies on the zero gravity later. The boys would succumb to the calls of the heckles of the carnies, spending countless time and money trying to win the girls the rarely obtained jumbo prize.  And the girls in turn would spend a few bucks later, winning it for themselves. The atmosphere was busy, lines for every ride, the smells of fried dough intoxicating, brought only into real life by the screams of terrified kids suspended for a bit too long upside down, and the reality that the guy running it hadn't showered in days and was missing several teeth. The atmosphere only got better after dark, when the colorful lights ramped up and day's humidity ramped down. 

I think the last year I went was my Junior year of high school, but that didn't stop any of us from spending the last few tickets riding down the Monster Slide on a scratchy burlap sack along side the toddlers. Some of the Senior boys, having just graduated, with no prospects of a trade or college, joined up with the show and traveled around for 6 months or so. A new town every 4 days, setting up, tearing down, a roof over their head, a bit of cash in their pockets.  At the time I thought they were crazy, now I think they were kind of brilliant. 

The church fair stopped sometime around 94, when our fairground was paved and became a CVS. The carnival came for a few years to surrounding towns, but it was never really the same. By the time my kids came along there were only two fairs still regularly running, but these were much larger, with livestock, artisans, and boasted the biggest pumpkin. Of course, I brought them, eyes rolling at how the ticket prices had skyrocketed, and how hard it was to traverse the entire grounds. We spent hard earned money on dart games and ring toss, which, it seems my kids always had a knack for. From inflatable sharks, to stuffed animals, to live fish, we brought it all home. After, of course, I carried it all back to the car because they were just too tired to carry it. 

So when the small carnival set up again at in the parking lot of what's left of the local mall, I was curious to see if it would hold any of the nostalgia it had when I was a kid. Oldest, not wanting to miss a potential good time, accompanied us last night. For a Saturday night, it was suspiciously not busy, the majority of patrons being parents and kids under 8.  The lights, sounds, and smells are the same of course, but being paved it was so much cleaner, with no threat of twisting ankles on grassy divots in the trampled grassy field, or getting eaten alive by mosquitos. And the heckles from the game booths just don't have the same ring when the employees have all their teeth and fresh haircuts. Oldest perused the overpriced toy booths until he found just the right one and bought it for himself. They got fried dough, covered in powdered sugar.  I attempted to get a strawberry sundae, except they were out of strawberries, so I settled for hot fudge which wasn't even topped with a cherry. 

And despite the fact that Oldest managed to cover me in powered sugar, ate some of my ice cream, and made me carry his toy around, it was just not enough to bring the nostalgia back.  I wonder if it's just another one of those things that's been changed forever, or if the enchantment was only because I was a kid, who had no idea how many tickets it would take to ride the good rides, and how much that would cost. Maybe part of the childlike wonderment was not wondering if I would need a bathroom shortly after I ate the sausage and peppers. Or knowing that I'd never sink that basketball into the hoop, regardless of how many shot I got for ten dollars. 

Funny how when you're young you want to grow up so badly. In hindsight, it's better I didn't know what I was in for. Otherwise, I'd wouldn't have any memories of small town summer fun, and no recollection of how many tickets that actually cost.