Rapieress's Homepage

Rapieress's Homepage http://www.zorpia.com/Rapieress Wed, 11 Nov 2009 17:02 EST Wed, 11 Nov 2009 17:02 EST Zorpia.com A Week In The Life of A Redhead http://www.zorpia.com/Rapieress/journal/1783073 <h3 class="sf_blog_posttitle"><a href="http://aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com/2008/03/12/powerless.aspx">JUST THINK OF HAPPY THINGS AND YOUR HEART WILL FLY ON WINGS... </a></h3> <div class="sf_blog_entry"> Like most parents, I have enjoyed living under the delusion, that in my child's life, I am the super hero .  If there is a problem, I'll throw on my super hero cape and fly to the rescue.  In the 13 years my son has been on this earth, I have restored his faith while leaping small buildings with a single bound.  There wasn't a problem I couldn't help solve.  But like the young bird that learns to fly from the nest, after a certain age, I can't put on my cape and save him from the world anymore.  The world is now sneaking in, under my front door, and making its way into our little wonderful life. Yesterday, a dejected boy meets me at the door, face drawn and eyes swollen. "I didn't get the part I wanted..." Large crocodile tears well up in his eyes.  Before I can put down my laptop bag, he races into my arms, burying his face in my chest.  I briefly wonder, when did he get so tall ...where is my little boy? I realize he is quietly sobbing in my arms, not wanting anyone to hear his anguish.  My heart goes straight to my throat.  I know this is one of those painful life lessons I can't protect him from, or change.  It takes the strength of Hercules for parents to hold on to our emotions when our children are in despair.  Being that I am of the menopausal years, being a woman in general, and being a woman with red hair, it was all I could do not to sit down and have a good cry with him.  If our children only knew how we suffer when they grieve. I hold him in my arms for as long as he wants.  I can't remember the last time he cried this hard, or let me hold him so long.  His hair doesn't smell of baby powder and oatmeal anymore.  He smells like a boy.  I ponder how much longer I am going to be able to stroke his hair and kiss the top of his head.  It just goes by too damn fast. Pretty soon he looks up at me, his face swollen with tears and a nose full of snot, "I don't want to go back," he mumbles.  Another hard part of being a parent: making our kids do things they don't want to do because we know they must.  "Boobello, if mommy stopped getting out of bed because life didn't go exactly the way I planned I'd be still in the bed at my parent's house...and smelling pretty bad..."  He manages a short laugh.  What I want to say is "Go ahead and stay a child and I'll stay the same age.... uh... and we'll live happily ever after!"  But that only happens in fairy tales, where the <del>damsel</del>, <del>princess,</del> freak-girl has a waist the size of a straight pin and marries a guy who runs around in tights, lives with his parents, has a serious gambling problem, and is addicted to cartoon porn... Instead of telling Brian to stay home for the rest of his life, we make chocolate chip cookies and watch a movie.  I tell him stories of how misfortune has turned out positively for me.  I am not sure he is convinced.  He falls asleep in his clothes on the couch.  I cover him with his favorite blanket and Boonie the dog makes her way to his side. It can break a mom's heart to watch our Peter Pans grow up.  Sigh. Second to the right, and straight on till morning... Until next time- <del>Wendy </del> C <a href="http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com/">http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com</a></div> Personal http://www.zorpia.com/Rapieress/journal/1783073 Thu, 13 Mar 2008 16:04 EST