Category: children

16Apr

I’m waiting

I grew up in a household that there were very few arguments and very little conflict. At least, not to my recollection; and maybe perhaps disagreements between my parents were kept behind closed doors. Even in my teenage years, I don’t recall many “knock down, drag out” fights between my parents and myself. We didn’t always agree, but it rarely got ugly.

I was always extremely close to my dad, but my mom, well, my mom always played her life pretty close to the vest. She was distant. I don’t recall many heart to heart talks. I observed friends that had a close relationship with their mom and I was always a bit envious, but sad as well.

One day when I was in my early teens, my Mom and I got into a disagreement. I can’t recall what it was about, but I recall that I felt like I was completely and utterly in the right. I stormed out of the house, slammed the front door, and sat down on the front steps of our house.

As I have said before, I forever sought after my mother’s love and approval; always laying in wait for that magic moment when I felt more than just a bother or an inconvenience to her.

I was fuming; so mad I could barely see straight.

I was right.

She was wrong.

As I sat there, all I could think about was how right I was, and how wrong she was. Righteousness was running through my veins. How dare she not see my point.

I sat there for what seemed like a really long time.

The longer that I sat there, the more I began to realize something. I wanted my mother to come after me. Come find me. I wanted to be important enough that she sought me out to make this right. But she never did.

Who knows what was going on in her head. Dinner needed to be made. Clothes needed to be folded. The floors were dirty. Who knows. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t about our disagreement.

After what felt like hours (I’m sure it wasn’t), with my proverbial tail tucked in between my legs, I went back into the house, carrying on with whatever. But my feelings had been hurt. One more notch in the belt of disappointment with my mom.

There’s really no point, or moral to this story. Just that I hope as a parent,  I hope that I was more in touch with my kids.

And if you are currently a parent of a precious young human being, on occasion, meet them where they go. It could mean everything to them. 

Love,

Cat

‘

29Nov

Black Friday

Today is Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, Black Friday. I’ve never been one to want to go shopping on Black Friday; wake up before the chickens, crowds to fight, traffic to contend with; it’s just not for me.

I much prefer sleeping in on Black Friday. No agenda. No plans. Just take it easy after the much anticipated Thanksgiving day. Maybe not even get out of my pajamas.

Charlie has his own Black Friday tradition. Weather permitting, he and a group of friends ride their motorcycles to Waynesville, NC for lunch. It’s an all day event that keeps him out until dark.

In the three years since Charlie and I have been married, we have hosted Thanksgiving in our home each year. Some years we have had all of our children present, some years not. Sometimes work schedules have not permitted, other times one lives out of town.

Our Thanksgiving gatherings are always a mad house. Kids running around. Dogs chasing kids. Kids chasing dogs. Multiple conversations going on at the same time. Laughter. Photo bombs. Wine flowing. The dining room full. Overflow at the kitchen bar. Smiles, all around. Controlled chaos, if you will. Or maybe not.

This Thanksgiving didn’t go as planned and I’ve been a bit sad today.

The flu hit.

My daughters Heather and Robin (and all four grands) were exposed to the flu last Saturday. On Tuesday, Heather became the first flu victim and now, Lexi is showing symptoms. Thankfully, Dave (Heather’s husband) has not fallen victim yet. Robin and her family graciously bowed out of attending Thanksgiving in order not to expose the rest of us.

So here we are yesterday with a feast to feed 15 and only a few family members there to enjoy the bounty.

For the first time, all of the guests were able to gather around the dining table – with seats left over. It was a wonderful evening. Conversation flowed freely, no children there to interrupt, the dogs finally settled in to having company. We even played a few games of Smart Ass in peace. Ahhh… so this is what a quiet dinner is like.

But it wasn’t the same. At all.

Bring back the chaos.

Let me hear multiple conversations going on at the same time. I want to see Robin looking in the fridge for more deviled eggs. I want to glance over and see Heather having a conversation with her daughter. I need to watch my adult children interact with one another. I missed watching Charlie and Dave in deep conversation about a subject that’s generally way over my head. I need to purvey the room and see all of my loved ones under one roof. Brandon and Shane giving each other a hard time (what brothers do). Jason holding Logan. The trio of Lexi, Luna, and Lucas running through the house. Stephen and Amber sitting on the sofa taking selfies and making jokes. And later, the adults once again, gathering around the dining table for a few hours of board games.

Nope. It wasn’t the same.

So instead of sleeping in on this Black Friday morning, I was on a mission. Get up, get dressed, pack up all of the leftovers and deliver them to the doorsteps of my daughter’s homes. It was the least I could do for the self imposed quarantined families.

My deliveries have been made. My quest fulfilled. And now I sit at my local Starbucks sipping on a Breve Latte and nibbling on a piece of pumpkin bread. And thinking….musing….pondering…

….and counting my lucky stars of just how fortunate I am to have the family that I have. All of them. Their quirks, their hearts, their imperfections, and the perfect way they love me. And although this Thanksgiving brought a bit of disappointment, it was still a good one. Sometimes it takes the absence of something to really appreciate it.

So today, on this Black Friday, I give thanks for my family.

Love to you all.

21May

To Brandon, with love.

Michael and son Brandon – Halloween 1991

Today marks the tenth anniversary of Michael Corrier’s death, my husband of 11 years.

I hesitate to publicly acknowledge this date out of concern and respect for my husband Charlie. But, he’s mature and understands that this day is still a day that I stop and remember a man; a great man that was in my life for many years. Just because I have had the good fortune to meet and marry Charlie, doesn’t diminish the good years I had with Michael. 

Ten years is a long time to go without seeing someone, or talking to someone. Their voice becomes distant, their presence becomes less, their name comes up less often, and sometimes, the people around you never even knew that person.

Life goes on, with or without us.

And as true as those statements are, I stand firm in the belief that Michael Corrier is a man that will be missed and thought of for as long as some of us have a breath left in us.

In less than two weeks Michael’s son Brandon will be getting married to an absolutely wonderful woman named Kelsey. The Save the Date magnet has been stuck proudly front and center on my refrigerator for months now; only to be replaced recently  with the wedding invitation.

Brandon and Kelsey have been making preparations for months. The dress. The venue. The non traditional wedding cake. All the fun things (and some not so fun things) that it takes to host such an event.

And as happy and excited as I am for them, I’m so sad that his Dad will not be there to witness his son getting married. That moment of pride when a father looks over at his son standing at the alter, most likely remembering the day his son was born, his first steps, and so many other milestones that we are privileged to witness as parents. Mike won’t be there for that moment when Brandon watches his beautiful bride walk down the aisle. Standing in for Michael as best man will be Shane, my son, Brandon’s step brother. 

So let me tell you about this man named Brandon.

He came into my life in 1998 when his dad and I married. I thought step-parenting of two young kids would be a breeze. Boy was I wrong.

Just because I was ready to be a stepmother, didn’t mean that Michael’s children were ready to be stepchildren. I was met with reluctance and resentment. When Brandon and his younger sister Heather were with us, they missed their mom, and quite frankly, they didn’t want to be there with us.

Much of our first year of marriage was spent trying to adjust to being part time parents. (Shane had recently moved in with his own Dad).

Even though things weren’t ideal, we all got into a pattern, a routine. It made it easier that Brandon and Heather made friends with some of our neighborhood children. Summers were spent at the pool, cookouts, sleepovers; life as a stepmother, and life as a stepchild became easier, less stressful – and yes, eventually, actually enjoyable.

Michael always looked forward to seeing his children.  He would make it a point to stock up on groceries, look for movies to watch with them, anything to be able to spend time with them. I loved watching him interact with his kids; conversations that would take place over dinner, tucking them into bed at night; he loved being their dad.

I watched Brandon go from a little boy to an awkward adolescent (as most adolescents are). When he turned 13 or so he asked to come live with us. Thankfully, his mother agreed –  and that’s when I became his full time stepmother. Coincidentally, around the same time, Shane came back home to live with us.

Boy was my plate suddenly full! And awesome!

Those few years that Brandon lived with us is when I came to know him much better. Every morning I would take him to school. We had about a 25 minute commute – and don’t judge – but we bonded over listening to Mancow’s Morning Madhouse on the radio. In case you don’t who that his – Mancow is the name of a radio host that was loud, opinionated, irreverent, and sometimes inappropriate. It was mine and Brandon’s guilty pleasure.

As teenagers almost all of us go through a time when our dress or our hair (or both), drive our parents crazy. And Brandon was no exception.

All of his clothes were black. From his hat down to his shoes. With the exception of his gold chain that kept his wallet attached to his jeans. Goth, I guess… but it drove us crazy!

Thankfully, he grew out of that phase.

High school. Rugby team. Good grades. First job. First car. Graduation.

And then one weekend Brandon went out of town with some friends. And his stepfather had to make the impossible call in the middle of the night to Brandon.

“You need to come home. Your dad died tonight.”

Shocked.

We were all shocked by what happened. Suicide. Oh my God, why?

I believe that night Brandon became a man.

At the funeral service he bravely got up in front of everyone; steadily, without hesitation, never faltering.  He talked to this group of friends and family about his dad. About Michael’s  never ending love of family. Of friends. And his children.  Brandon talked about how his dad was always the last one to sit down for dinner, making sure everyone had everything they needed. He spoke of his love for his father. His generosity. The way he hugged, the way he loved.

I have never been more proud of Brandon than I was that night.

That was 10 years ago.

I have watched Brandon grow into one of the finest human beings on this planet. He could’ve used his dad’s death as a crutch, or an excuse not to succeed in life. Any lesser person would have. But he didn’t.

Brandon stayed by my side in the darkest of times, even while dealing with his own grief; when there were no answers to the questions. No rhyme, no reason. And even though we were “technically” not related any longer, he has never not been my son, and I have never not been his stepmother. He made the choice to stay in our lives after his father passed away, and for that I am eternally grateful.

This fine young man has completed college (he and Shane graduated on the same day). He has continued to advance in his career. And now, he will be marrying the love of his life.

We miss Michael. Some of us always will.

But I have been blessed to have a part of him continue to be with me through his son.

Michael’s legacy.  Brandon Michael Corrier.

So, next Saturday, as champagne filled glasses are raised and toasts are made, I will raise my glass and silently toast to Michael and the son he left behind.

Cheers to father and son. Cheers to your legacy Michael. You would be so proud of him, I know I am.

Wish you were here to see it all.

14May

Turn the page

A few weeks ago a piece of my heart backed out of my driveway headed south to New Orleans. A new car. A new job. A new life. Adventures out there for the taking.

Shane. My son.

This boy, this wonderment, this blessing was born to me 31 years ago. I was the ripe old age of 30 when I became pregnant, 31 when he was born. Years earlier I thought I was finished having children. My former husband and I had two daughters, and that was enough for me. My life was full, it was complete.

Then divorce happened.

I remarried a few years later, and found myself yearning for “Just one more.” That’s how I approached Shane’s dad, a man that had formerly been a self proclaimed bachelor. Although it took some coaxing out of this reluctant forty year old Irishman, I won him over to the idea of having a child of his own.

Each one of my children has a special place in my heart. I remember when my first child was born I could never imagine how I could possibly love another human being as much as I loved Heather. And then Robin was born two years later. And whoa! I loved her in her own unique way. By the time Shane was born, I knew how much love my heart could hold for a child – but I was still a little amazed that he had me from his first heartbeat.

Sadly, when Shane was 5 years old, his father and I divorced.

This kid took it all in stride. I always said that he was my “happy medium” child…. not too head strong, but not passive either. He was always a happy guy, fun to be with, a jokester, always a smile on his face. Shane is an easy person to to like, to love.

The older I get, the more I seem to say, “Where has the time gone?” And nothing makes me say that more than when I see my children.

When Shane first started preschool he had a tough time saying goodbye in the mornings. There were a lot of tears, and lots of hugging at our morning drop off. His little voice pleading, “Please don’t go Mommy.” I can’t count how many mornings I spent the remainder of my commute choking back tears, feeling like I had broken my son’s heart. It took several weeks, but it got easier as Shane & I got into our routine. High five. Kiss on the cheek. Tell Quack to have a good day (Quack was his teddy bear that rarely left his side). And then one day there were no tears. No “one more hug Mommy”. No looking back for a last glance at Mom. Just a little boy learning independence.

Turn the page and he’s walking into high school. Then he’s driving. First girlfriend. First job. Graduation.

Turn the page and he’s off to college. Then graduation. Then nursing school. Another graduation. Then his first job as an RN.

Then later talks of setting out and seeing the world. Serious talks of travel nursing.

And just a few months later, Shane gets the call he’s been waiting for. A job is his for the taking in New Orleans.

And suddenly I’m the one wanting to hold on. I’m the one with the lump in my throat silently begging for one more hug, one more high five. Where’s Quack when you need him?

Time to empty his apartment. Pack his essentials. Store away memories. Countdown to his new life.

And on that last day as Shane drove away, as a new chapter in his life opened, a chapter in my life closed.

The chapter when all of my children lived in the same city. A time when a “family night” was sanctioned and all would arrive. The times that Shane would call and say, “Hey, are y’all home? I thought I would drop in”.

But that’s okay. For everything there is a season.

I wish you well son. Go see the world. Be happy. Be resourceful. Be adventurous. I’ll leave the light on for you.

All my love,

Mom