People, I Have a Problem!

So. We have acquired a kitten. I know you’re thinking to yourself “how does one just acquire a kitten?” Let me answer that for you. I belong to a page on Facebook for military wives. I am no longer a military wife, but my kids are military kids and it’s nice to have a group of ladies that understand the struggles.

Anyway, someone found an itty bitty kitty playing in the road outside of the base. They of course posted an adorable photo of the kitten asking for some pushover (raises hand “me”) to foster or adopt the kitten. I have too many animals, and some may question if I have too many children as well, but I thought I could totally foster this tiny baby cat until we collectively found her a forever home.

I picked up the cat like an obvious drug deal going down in the middle of the parking lot of a local bakery, but instead of exchanging drugs for money, we exchanged a kitten for a handshake and gratitude. Well, I can’t think of a good reason that I shouldn’t keep her. She’s got a sweet round face and patch work fur. She squeaks and meows. She does obvious cat stuff. She adopted us as her people, and now I can’t give her away. 

No one let me foster another animal. I cannot handle the responsibility. I just can’t do it. I’m a few animals away from being a hoarder.

Yes. I know I have a problem.

Meet our new kitten, Callie Cat!

One day, I too will be a motherless mom

My 36^th birthday crept up on me very quickly. It truly feels like I just turned twenty-five last year, but I digress. This past year I have become more aware of my mortality, as well as the mortality of my parents, but especially my mother. Sure, I learned about this stage of development in adults entering middle age and I understand that it’s perfectly normal. I guess I just didn’t expect for me to hit me at the most inopportune time, my birthday.

Every year my mom calls me for my birthday and before I can speak, she begins singing me the Happy Birthday song. Every year without fail, she sings me the song and proceeds to tell me that my birthday isn’t really until later in the evening, around 7:10 EST. I know that I can count on this phone call, no matter what she’s doing. This year she was at work, and made a point to step out during her morning break and call me for my birthday song. This year was also the year that my adult brain decided it was time to hit this developmental milestone of the middle aged. As my mom happily sang to me as she’s done every year that I can remember, the backs of my eyes began to sting, and a lump formed in my throat. 

For the first time in my entire life, it dawned on me, that I should soak up every pitch of her voice and the way she formed all of her words, because one birthday the phone wouldn’t ring. One birthday instead of awkwardly smiling while she finished the song, instead I would be crying because it would be the first year that I didn’t hear that high pitched squeal following her melodic celebration of my birth. 

Now, as a person in my thirties, I certainly have experienced death, and have several friends that have lost one or both parents. Knowing someone that has lost a parent is not the same as losing one yourself, and the weight that comes along with it. In fact, I’m not sure I would know how to parent without my mom. I still call my mom for all kinds of advice or when my feelings are hurt. I can’t help but want my mom to help me feel better. 

For now, I have decided that I can’t fear what may come in the future. While I still have the luxury of celebrating major life events with my mom, I’m going to enjoy it. I’ll just be sure to cherish the things that I once took for granted. I’ll ask the questions that I don’t remember the answers to. I’ll call and do my best to visit more. I’ll soak up her scent and commit it to memory. 

My mom is one of my very best friends, and when she gets old my siblings and I will likely fight over who she is going to live with (seriously, I see this becoming a very real issue for us). She has taken the time to make each of us feel special, and has nurtured our individual personal relationships with her. I strive daily to be at least half the mom that she was, and is to me. 

One day, I too will be a motherless mom, but today I’m just not ready and may not ever be.

~J~