I’m Too Sexy For My Outfit

Delicious Beverage? Or, Unintended Biological Weapon?

I love Mondays. Most Mondays are reserved for homework and house projects. I make it a point not to leave the house. Or, rather, I don’t force myself to leave the house (except to go running in the mornings!). Usually I throw on my only pair of jeans that fit and my old AC/DC Tshirt, but I never actually got dressed today. I have on the clothes I slept in and left on under warmer running clothes this morning. I did throw on a spectacularly bright, short, silky pink robe, with someone else’s initials embroidered on it, at some point today. It looks so hot with my grey and black sweats.

It has been an especially glamorous day!

It’s a good thing I dressed up for it, too.

After my run, I went into the kitchen to make smoothies for everyone in the house. Everyone was in a good mood. The teenagers were gearing up to haul bins full of items for the Greatest Yard Sale of Time and All Eternity to the garage and move some furniture around inside for me.

I made the smoothies and everyone loved them. Apple, banana, blueberries, strawberries, coconut water and bee pollen! I was feeling like pretty hot shit until Hannah pointed out that I’d apparently poisoned her boyfriend. I’ve never seen hives like the ones he was covered in today. It was terrible. He threw up three times. One time all over the bathroom. Each time, I was pretty sure Hannah was going to throw up, too.

The only “un”common denominator in the smoothies was the bee pollen. I called Hannah’s “Otha Motha,” (also known as her step-mom) to see if she thought I should take him to the hospital (It’s handy having a nurse in the family!). She said, among other things, that as long as he was breathing, he was okay. I think that’s a pretty fair statement about teenagers in general — As long as they’re breathing, they’re okay.

Today’s efforts to cull the crap were thwarted, but all homework went as planned. I have felt a sense of ease all day, despite the accidental poisoning. I feel like it’s a “win.” After all, that’s what this whole Excess Emancipation project is about — letting go of enough stuff so I feel freer to roll with the punches. I guess I’ve made more progress than I realized.

How do I detatch?

Hannah in 2009

I have a daughter whose spirit looks like a big, pink rose. She is so kind and creative. She embodies beauty, loyalty, conviction and love.

I am a ruiner. If something needs to be ruined, I can help you out with that. In general, I am a stomper, a thorn in your side and a walking catalyst for change — good or bad. I have the ability to enter a seemingly swell situation and accidentally turn it on its ear. I don’t mean to cause a ruckus. But once the ruiner in me comes out, it feels like I am a runaway train of destruction.

Tonight I managed to basically communicate to my daughter that she isn’t good enough, doesn’t try hard enough and is generally deficient in her ability to love and be loved. I promise you that that was not my intention.

What I was trying to do was let her know that I know who she is. I was TRYING to say that if she feels like she doesn’t finish stuff, she should remember that kid who always finished stuff. I was TRYING to remind her of that 7th grader who put her whole heart into a scrapbook-style history report. I was TRYING to help her remember how creative and industrious she is.

What I actually did, I think, was let her know that she should edit herself more when she’s around me.

Hannah and I are an unconventional duo. We have had a ton of fun. We’ve had some great adventures. And she’s had a rough couple of years. But I am now starting to see that me trying to be or do anything beyond being an available sounding board is counter-productive. My attachment to her clouds our interactions. She needs a rational adult to skillfully guide her and I am more like Lennie, accidentally smothering the puppy with his giant, clumsy hands.

A big part of my road to Excess Emancipation is to sort through my feelings about losing my little girl. If I’m really honest with myself, the “cloudiness” comes from that. I am devastated that she has grown up and her idea of a good time is no longer snuggling in bed with a movie or having me paint her nails. I knew this day was coming. I knew she wasn’t “mine” to begin with — but its still a bitter pill.

My hope for now is to come to terms with my obsolescence. I am seeking out a new plane from which to be her best mom. I can’t keep scooping her up every time she scrapes a knee. I am, at this point, hurting her by not allowing her to clean herself up. Or at the very least, allowing her to choose whether she would like my help or not.

My friend, Sonya, advised me the other day to “visualize myself sending her light and love” each time my worry wheel started whirring. I like the idea. What I know for sure is that this knot in my stomach doesn’t help anyone.

This week I am committed to listening more; keeping my mouth shut more; staying calm; and replacing the angst inside with light and love. I’ll let you know how it goes.