Who do you blog for? Who do you hope reads what you so carefully (or NOT so carefully) write each time you post?
Or better yet, here’s another question – who do you hope DOESN’T read what you write?
Do you censor yourself knowing that someone may read something they don’t like?
I blog for myself and whomever happens to find and read what I choose to write. I don’t censor, I write what I’m thinking as I think it. With a little creativity.
My fiancé reads my blog. In itself, that’s not a bad thing. Really, it’s not. We’ve been together 9 years and he should pretty much know what to expect at this point, right? As should I know what to expect from him. You’d think.
So why does it upset me when he (sometimes) comments unfavorably on the content of my posts?
Case in point: There was a line in my last entry where I said that the kids and I were tight, and it had been just the 3 of us through the hardest parts of our lives. The next line said “Well, add Bill too for the last 9 years.”
Apparently, I made him feel like an afterthought. The truth is that I’ve been with Bill for as long as I was with my kids’ father at this point. Well, almost – a year shy, since I was married for 9 years and 10 months, and Bill and I will be celebrating our 9th anniversary this year. I’m not sure if it’s a sense of insecurity on his part, or my taking for granted that he understands the depth of feeling I have, but whatever it was, it ended up in what passes for an argument between us.
Him: “I saw your blog. ‘Oh, and Bill too’?”
Me: “What? What I actually said was “And add Bill for the last 9 years. Nine Years.”
Him: “Yeah, but it was like ‘oh, and add Bill.’”
Me: “That’s it. I’m not writing to the blog anymore. It’s not like I post much anyhow."
Him: “Fine. I won’t read it anymore. You can keep posting.”
Me: “There’s no reason for you to stop reading…I just…I don’t know. I won’t have time to write much anyhow.”
We both know that neither of those things is going to happen. He could no more stop reading this than I could stop writing it. And the truth is (as I see it, anyhow), neither one of us WANTS to do those things.
In those 9 years I mentioned above, Bill’s put up with a lot. My mom passed away in 2004, and I don’t know what I would have done without him. He shopped for, cooked and served – single-handedly – the reception after the funeral. I don’t think funerals are his thing, but he was there through the wake and the service while I played hostess to those people who came to pay their respects. He and my son, who is not a funeral attendee either, sat together and did what men do when they’re somewhere they’d really rather not be. And that was fine. Better than fine. I was so grateful, and I don’t think I ever told him because I was so busy working through my own issues. For that event, he was the rock in the kitchen and in general for me at my mother’s home afterward – as I flitted amongst clusters of people, sharing memories and thoughts with them. He has been with me through tweenhood, puberty and adolescence. And as my daughter moves into adolescence now, he’s STILL with us, and that says an awful lot!
At this stage of my life, with one in college and one home and more money going out than coming in, he’s here for us in SO many ways! Each week finds him coming through the door with cases of food for the cats, or gallons of heating oil. Or the ingredients for a fabulous meal that covers not only a night’s dinner, but several lunches, too! He’s invaluable, and I guess I don’t let him know that often enough. I wonder what my problem is…*sigh* I guess I expect him to be a mind reader and just understand what I’m thinking. I forget men can’t do that…
So, sweetheart…this one’s for you. I hope you understand how much I love you, and that you are NOT an afterthought in the least. You’re a part of who we are and what we do, and I hope it’s that way for a long, long time.
… in Massachusetts.
Well, a piece of it, anyhow.
This past weekend, I delivered my anxious son to the campus of the Art Institute of Boston. Actually, he’s living at Lesley College, which in conjunction with AIB makes up Lesley University. He’s living on the 4th floor of a dorm in Cambridge, above the library.
It was much, much harder than I anticipated, leaving him there. I cried. A lot. And I’m still crying. I can’t imagine (well, actually, yes I can) what his girlfriend is feeling. She’s a senior at the High School this year. Her gift to him was an adorable photograph of the two of them, interspersed with all the tickets to all the movies they went to together. He and I BOTH cried over that one. And the mixed CD she gave him?? Oh. My. God. Tears in abundance. Before we left, he gave her the Vermont Teddy Bear that I gave him at Graduation with his name and year on it, a strip of photos that he took in a photo booth in Ocean City NJ (they’re adorable!) and his class ring. She cried, too.
After we got him all set up, we ate lunch and walked around campus some. Then there was a very nice convocation ceremony at 4 PM, which precluded our leaving (as originally scheduled) on Sunday. After that was over, we all proceeded to the campus for barbecue dinner, only to be met by a very loud woman proclaiming “The barbecue is for STUDENTS ONLY! Say goodbye to your parents!” over and over again.
He was fine, but I of course was a wreck, and he finally looked at me and said “Just go ahead and cry, mom, because you’re making the most RIDICULOUS faces trying not to!” And the floodgates opened – again.
To Meghan, he said “Don’t forget…it only costs me $2 to get home (Mega or Bolt bus), so don’t do anything stupid!”
So we walked back to the car, short one family member. We were in the elevator to our garage level, and the lady behind us was sniffling. Thank GOD I wasn't the only one! Megs had on her rockstar sunglasses, so I couldn't tell what she’s doing…but I knew. We ate dinner in Lexington at the most adorable little Italian restaurant (Mario’s) and spent the night, just the 2 of us, in the hotel, talking about him and missing him already.
I don’t get the people who are so thrilled to have their kids out of the house. I just don’t. And the folks who laughed at me when I said that, aside from burying my mom, this was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Why is that funny? I feel like someone’s died, to be honest. I hear a song that reminds me of him, and I tear up.
I guess it’s because our family is really tight. It was just the three of us through the hardest parts of our lives. Well…add Bill for the last 9 years, too. But the kids and I are closer than close. And I just spent the whole summer with just the boy-child. Megs was in Colorado with her dad, and he and I got to spend some quality time alone. Which I guess was good and bad. I got used to having him here. We got close again. Not that we were estranged, but he’s a teenaged boy and your parents aren’t cool when you’re 16 and 17 years old.
And seriously, it’s not like he died…he’s just a couple hundred miles away. A moment by text or phone call. But I won’t be “that” mom. I did ask him yesterday how the day was and remind him to send me the list of things he forgot…but now it’s up to him.
And again, I have to ask myself why I’m so sad. I’ve known this was coming since he got his acceptance letter in April. I helped him pack and made sure he had everything. Well…ALMOST everything. I bought him sheets and towels and Wellington boots. And ramen noodles and freeze pops. I drove 300+ miles without being able to see out the back window. I KNEW it. And yet, it still hurts. We’ll be seeing him in October for Friends and Family weekend. And November for Thanksgiving. And December for Christmas. So that’s what I’m holding on to. And I know in time, things will be better, and the wound will be less raw.
But until then, there’s a piece of my heart living in Cambridge. I just hope it stays safe and comes back to me when it’s ready.
