Oh mirror, mirror on the bathroom door, I stood before you, my image for to see. You reflected back at me, an image I thought was me. There you were upon the door, and there I was seeing me. I looked, and thought I saw a me that wasn't quite so bad. So I turned from you, and with confidence, went out the door. Oh what day it was. And all the while I thought I saw in you, a me that looked so good. I saw my friends and family, I laughed, and talked, and played. A smile upon my face, a confidence within myself that really felt so good, for after all, the me I saw reflected back me, looked pretty good, and so I went to face the day and see my friends and family. Today I saw photograph of the me that wasn't so.
Oh mirror, mirror on the bathroom door, YOU LIED TO ME. You reflected back to me, an image that wasn't so. You tricked my mind as you hung there, on the bathroom door. Mirror, Mirror on the door, I will never stand in front of you, and believe what you want me to see. Mirror, mirror on the bathroom door, YOU LIED TO ME!
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Being Brave is Overrated
I've said that I'm excited that Jacob is leaving for his second year of college, and I mean that. I'm proud of him and all he has accomplished. It's a great experience for him, and he is no longer my little boy, which has some sadness attached to it, but it's gratifying to see him grow and mature, and move on. After all, that's what we were raising him to do.
Having said all of that, saying I'm brave, that I'm good with him leaving again, the reality is, I'm not really all that brave about it. I discovered that this morning when I went into his room to take his laundry. His room is torn apart, and all of his furniture, books, DVD's, Games, stereo, posters, pictures, his life with us, is being packed up and will be moving out with him. I stood there with his laundry in my arms, looking at his life packed up in boxes and stacks, and realized...this is real. This isn't like last year when he moved into the dorm. He's going to a house, he's paying his own rent, his utilities, buying his groceries, cleaning his own house, (he better), and going to a job, and to college. He won't be coming back here as our son who lives with us. He will come to visit, and he will be a guest.
Needless to say, I cried. Yes, I'm glad for all the positive things happening for him, and I'm glad that he has grown into a man I can be proud of, but a large corner in my heart aches. I want to take my little Jakey Man into my arms and hold him. I want to take him in the van and have him say, "Mom can the van be a heckacockter? Can we fly in it to town?" I want to watch him ride his little bike without training wheels when he was only three. I want to see his bike helmet swim all over his head. I want to see him being little with his boots on the wrong feet. I want to look out the window and see him sitting on the slide, with his guitar in his hands, and singing some country song at the top of his lungs.
I'm brave though, so I will wipe away my tears, act like it's just another day, and carry a box or two out to Grey's truck, and when they pull out the driveway, I will laugh and wave, take a picture or two. Yep, I'm brave. Then when no one's looking I will weep an ocean, and then move on to the next episode of life with Lucretia.
Having said all of that, saying I'm brave, that I'm good with him leaving again, the reality is, I'm not really all that brave about it. I discovered that this morning when I went into his room to take his laundry. His room is torn apart, and all of his furniture, books, DVD's, Games, stereo, posters, pictures, his life with us, is being packed up and will be moving out with him. I stood there with his laundry in my arms, looking at his life packed up in boxes and stacks, and realized...this is real. This isn't like last year when he moved into the dorm. He's going to a house, he's paying his own rent, his utilities, buying his groceries, cleaning his own house, (he better), and going to a job, and to college. He won't be coming back here as our son who lives with us. He will come to visit, and he will be a guest.
Needless to say, I cried. Yes, I'm glad for all the positive things happening for him, and I'm glad that he has grown into a man I can be proud of, but a large corner in my heart aches. I want to take my little Jakey Man into my arms and hold him. I want to take him in the van and have him say, "Mom can the van be a heckacockter? Can we fly in it to town?" I want to watch him ride his little bike without training wheels when he was only three. I want to see his bike helmet swim all over his head. I want to see him being little with his boots on the wrong feet. I want to look out the window and see him sitting on the slide, with his guitar in his hands, and singing some country song at the top of his lungs.
I'm brave though, so I will wipe away my tears, act like it's just another day, and carry a box or two out to Grey's truck, and when they pull out the driveway, I will laugh and wave, take a picture or two. Yep, I'm brave. Then when no one's looking I will weep an ocean, and then move on to the next episode of life with Lucretia.
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