Dawn Is Me

Today, I traveled a little over 20 miles with my youngest son and his alto saxophone in order for him to participate in the New York State School Music Association (NYSSMA) solo festival.

He performed there (solo: The Hunter’s Chorus, scales and sightreading) before a single judge and he did very, very well. In fact, he scored 27 out of 28 points, earning an Outstanding rating.

Mom was right beside him for as much of the performance as she was able — they kicked me out during the sightreading segment of the performance — because that’s what Moms do, isn’t it?

We’re there for the band performances and the chorus performances and the NYSSMA solos and the All County Festivals. We’re there for the school plays and the parent-teacher conferences and the IEP meetings. We go to the honors ceremonies and the games and the graduations.

We support and encourage. We beam with pride at their accomplishments. And we’re there to offer a hug and a chocolate milkshake after the team suffers that knuckle-biting loss.

We have full dance cards.

I’m an old hand at all this, of course. Richard is the youngest of four. I’ve already watched two of them graduate from high school; next year, I’m looking forward to watching the first college graduation.

But one of the neatest things about being a Mom is when the shoe is on the other foot.

I got to live that last week. Two days before my trip with my youngest son, I took a different trip with my two daughters. They sat in the audience and cheered me on when I received the Lewis Henry Morgan Award in Anthropology (awarded to the first-year Anthropology major with the highest GPA) during the Honors Convocation at Hartwick College.

I don’t know if they ‘get’ this or not but having them there meant everything.

We do more than support them while they build their lives. We also show them how we live a certain set of having-a-life options. They might never choose any of those options for themselves, and that’s okay, too. But, among other things, if I’m busy having a life of my own, I can leave them be to develop lives of their own.

That is as it should be.

So, right now, as I embark on the terrifying task of rebuilding my life, I can make it a little less terrifying by reminding myself that I am more than a safety net. I am also a model. And I am beyond blessed because my kids are there for me just as I continue to be there for them.

I don’t really have the time to make a list of all the things about parenting that it make so rewarding but one of the best things about being a parent is that you have kids. If you do your job in such a way that your kids know that you love/like them, then eventually you reach a certain point at which certain aspects of the relationship get to be mutual.

That’s when Momming gets to be more than just rewarding or fulfilling or even fun. That’s when it gets to be amazing.

That’s when Mother’s Day gets to be a family affair. And how kewl is that?

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I AM A WOMAN ON THE VERGE

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I’ve decided. I want an Accent.

It doesn’t have to be new. I try not to be unreasonable. But that’s what I want.

Christmas really changes in nature as your children grow up.

There are a lot of reasons for that but the most important reason is that, as your children get older, they start wanting things that you really just can’t afford.

Or, at least, things that I just really can’t afford.

Once upon a time, I bought David three cars for Christmas. Of course, they were made entirely of plastic, carried little plastic people (the name of which escapes me right this minute), and were approximately eight inches long.

Now, there are no cars for Christmas. Gina’s holding out for a Kia Forte and that’s just too big to fit in this Ms. Santa’s bag of goodies.

So, barring winning lotto numbers, it’ll be hard to get them “just what they wanted” at this point. Besides, I’m broke and still trying to pull together the money just to move.

One thing I’m determined about: this is my last Christmas in this house.

I’m feeling a certain amount of pressure to get my children out of here, never mind me. Not that he is doing anything particularly abusive. Baker is no more abusive than he has been all along. His emotional cluelessness hasn’t changed a bit.

But the kids are unhappy here, profoundly unhappy, especially the girls.

I want to get us all out of this house so that I can create the kind of home we used to have, one that’s full of fun and music and light and laughter. That’s my pledge to them and to me.

In fact, I guess you might call it my New Year’s Resolution.

So, Christmas was quite pleasant (and thank you very much, ladies, because I know that keeping the tone light and happy cost you plenty) and I hope we’ll have some fun while ringing in the New Year.

And then it will be time to get to work.

Enough of that whiney stuff.

I can see that the school year will proceed according to schedule, with no real surprises and no startling new behaviors on the part of my children.

Three days into the school and Ricky wins this year’s award for most airheaded child of the Baker clan, hands down. Clearly, he hasn’t changed much over the years.

This child of mine, who once left his shoes in a tree (he’s never going to live that down), called me from school on Thursday morning (before homeroom had started) to tell me that he’d left home, headed for school, without his school bag.

As I have said repeatedly, my children are lucky that their mother has a sense of humor. Dutiful me climbed into the car and ferried the backpack to the middle school.

Kimmie seems to have undergone a major transition of some sort. Her birthday was almost ten days ago and it seems that she didn’t just turn 15. Seems she really turned fifteen! if you see what I mean (which you probably don’t).

I smell a breakthrough of some sort coming. Stay tuned.

Headline-grabbing Gina, not content with simply heading off to embark on her junior year at Ithaca (which is fairly exciting all by itself), is currently preoccupied with trying to not catch the H1N1 virus, aka swine flu.

See? I told you she’s smart.

Evidently, it’s all over the place on Cornell’s campus (you know those Ivies, they don’t do anything halfway) but there are only around 20 cases across town at Ithaca. We’ll hope it stays that way.

Who needs television? If I really want excitement, all I have to do is watch my kids.