I remember holding my breathe waiting to hear each of you cry for the first time. A moment that lasted seconds and felt like years.
I remember being a turd and hiding from my parents when I felt like the world was unfair and I wanted them to show me that they would miss me.
I remember raising several children, untraditionally. Dinner would sometimes be dry bowls of cereal, on the floor, so my “puppies” could eat. I’d watch all of you, on hands and knees eating with your mouths, vacuum nearby, you were the cutest puppies I could have ever asked for.
I remember every single surprise when I found out there was going to be another one.
I remember a few years of “military house”. Where you all would stand at attention for inspection before heading off to school. I think we started this because, to you it was a game, to me it was survival and the only way I could make sure you didn’t head off looking like homeless kids with dirty faces, dirty clothes and only one shoe.
I remember forgetting you all at daycare a few times. Usually a Friday evening, work would get slammed and I would lose track of time. I’d get a phone call to see if I was coming to get you 15 minutes after the last care provider should have gone home. I remember signing a piece of paper saying they had the right to call social services if I wasn’t there by that time…. But they never did. I’d always rush to grab you and then home… Where the baby sitter would be sitting in her car, lost in a book, not realizing I was late for her too.
I remember trying to find a sitter that I could trust with my most precious things, and failing, multiple times. There were some good ones. Lynnette, Caroline, and the lady that discovered the baby’s food allergy were the best. There were some bad ones… The one that stole all my underwear… That one we won’t even go into detail. Or the one that was making her own “special” videos for my husband after you were all down for a nap. I ended up taking you to work with me many times, between sitters… Because I couldn’t find anyone that was worth watching you. You all would patiently and quietly play under the sales tables with curtains and obediently be quiet and out of site if my boss would come by. But, you survived. We survived, together.
I remember leaving my first marriage in the middle of the night and had nothing but the clothes on our backs. We stayed in a women’s shelter for several months, you were the reason I didn’t feel alone and completely lost. Every time I felt like giving up, I’d get rewarded with a new word out of your mouth or a smile and I’d find the strength to continue.
I remember locking you in your car seat and locking the door to my little car, as it shut click and I walked around to get in the drivers seat, I realized the keys were in the ignition and my door was locked too. You got to meet a lot of very hot firemen that day.
I remember ‘fast baths”… Where you were all too young to care and I was too tired to spend 3 hours on your nightly baths, so you’d all line up, little, naked and giggling… Sometimes pee on the floor if I took too long with the kid in front of you. We’d just turn on the water and I’d kneel by the side of the unplugged tub as, one at a time, you’d get in, let me soap you up and then nearly drown you to rinse you off before you were given a towel to exit the other side so the next in line could get clean.
I remember driving down Colfax with you hanging out the window, excited to see the next hooker so you could yell hi as loud as you could in your sweet baby voice…. Could have killed your dad for teaching you what a hooker was.
I remember feeling like I was always behind, always failing you all. Still do. Parent guilt is constant.
I remember asking you all where Mount Rushmore was, and when the answers were scattered and after a google inquiry was made, 30 minutes later, we all piled in the car and spent 4 days getting lost. Best 4 days ever.
I remember you learning to sign things before you learned to talk. “More” and “hungry” were your favorites.
I remember finding you were going to be a straight-to-running kid when, at 10 months old, you managed to climb onto the kitchen table and made a 2 foot jump to the kitchen counter because you wanted to play in the sink.
I remember putting all of you on leashes to go to the store. You thought it was a game, I was just trying to not lose any of you. My favorite was when you would bark at women who looked down their noses at me because what I was doing wasn’t “appropriate” in her eyes.. This was the first memory I have of giving up on pleasing others in the way I parented all of you.
I remember the first time your tooth went through your lip, how worried I was that you were going to die. There was so much blood and you were so little.
I remember how you refused to pee in the toilet until we bought you sparkly princess underwear and you decided you were ‘ok’ making the toilet dirty over the prices panties.
I remember the crazy weeks of no sleep… That turned into years. I still lose sleep over you, every night.
I love the way you tell people you raised me, because, in a sense, you did. I learned just as much from you all than you did from me… Or at least I hope you learned something… Maybe how to not make everything more difficult, constantly for yourselves.
It hasn’t been easy, like ever. But we have had some good times, great laughs and fantastic adventure… And I wouldn’t trade one second, one struggle, one mess, or one success for anything.
Your turn… Make memories that you can carry forever, the bad ones make you grow, the good ones make you laugh. Trust your instincts, be random, learn to find humor in everything… Give yourself joy, no one else will. Be proud of what you have accomplished. Give second chances, you were given them. Forgive because otherwise it will steal your peace. Accomplish, finish and exceed at everything you choose to do. Be part of a solution, or find the solution if you can. When you fail, and you will, try again. Appreciate every second, don’t take any for granted, be humble, be grateful and find your wisdom in your mistakes. Trust the people that have nothing to gain or lose from your success or failures… Those will give the best advice. But mostly, make memories, my loves, because it’s the only thing that really matters.