If I were to say, “Cherish every moment.” Would you be offended?

Feb27

Lately, I’ve noticed a trend among newer moms, many of whom seem to be banding together and bonding over something some of them seem to be annoyed and insulted by, and I’m having a difficult time wrapping my head around it.

I’ve seen it on blog posts, on Facebook, and on Twitter, it’s a thing now to be angry at a certain something being said by moms who have already been there, done that, and thrown away the stained t-shirt.

It can be said in different ways, but the gist of this offensive comment is this – cherish every moment – Somehow this has become an affront to mothers with young children. They don’t want to hear it, is it really such a dastardly thing to say?

I’m trying to put myself in their shoes, because the truth is, I’ve been in them before. Admittedly, it was a while ago, but I certainly haven’t forgotten how it felt to walk in them. How it felt to pace the floor with a crying baby in them or chase after an energetic toddler in them.

I haven’t forgot how it felt at the end of the day when I could finally slip them off for a while. I haven’t forgotten any of it, because sometimes, it really does seem like just yesterday I was wearing them.

When my kids were little the same sort of things were said to me, cherish every moment, they’ll be grown up before you know it, make the most of every minute; and other such sage words of wisdom from moms who managed to survive parenthood. There were even moments I was relieved to hear it to be honest, because there were days I really needed those words to remind me there was indeed a light at the end of the diaper strewn tunnel I was living in.

I respected those words, I held on to them and I tried my best to heed them. One day I was standing in line at the grocery store with four little house trolls all vying for my attention in one way or another, not cherishing the moment at all and listening to some woman remind me how fast time flies, and then the next, I was that woman. I was the one standing in line behind a frazzled and tired young mother just wishing I could tell her that the moment she was in was going to be nothing more than a speck of a memory in what will seem like such a short, short time.

Now, when I find myself wanting to offer up what I thought were kind and comforting words to a young mother, I bite my tongue. What if she doesn’t want to hear it? What is she finds offense in it? It makes me sad because truly, there is no offense intended.

I’m not trying to be condescending or make light of the struggles they may be going through. I’m not making the assumption that they don’t already cherish every moment, or that they in fact need to be told time passes quickly and that in what will seem like the blink of an eye, their children will be grown and those mommy shoes will be tucked away in the back of some closet of their minds.

In some ways, I want to say it because I remember and sometimes long for those days again. I say it because it’s true, and if I could have stretched out those moments and made them last a little longer I would have.

It’s not meant as an insult, it’s never meant as a condemnation of some sort. It’s not meant to mean anything other than what it means . . . cherish every moment. Maybe I say it to comfort myself, to assure my own heart I made the most out of every day I had with my young children. Maybe I say it because time is still going by so quickly and every second I spend with my children now is all the more precious to me. I don’t want it to move so fast and it still is.

Moms need each other . . . it doesn’t matter at what stage of parenting we’re in, we belong to a sisterhood who should be encouraging, building up, and protecting each other while we cherish every single moment. The day will come we all walk in similar same shoes at some point . . .

Seems like only yesterday sometimes

Today became yesterday
before I knew it had passed,
I pray my sweet memories
of each moment will last.
When tomorrow arrives
I will cherish the day,
for I know that it too
will pass quickly away.
In the midst of a moment
precious memories are made,
we wrap them in love,
in hopes they won’t fade.
We gather them up,
tuck them safely away,
inside of our hearts
to look back on someday.

Crystal R. Cook

I wrote this little poem years ago, I recall just how I felt when I sat down to pen the words to a page. I’d had a moment of heartbreaking realization, time is fleeting. I could not believe how fast my children had grown. They were still babies then really, now those mommy days have passed , some days it truly does feel like it was only yesterday.

Time really is fleeting.

Tattered Jeans

Feb9

They are only little for such a short while . . .

Our Camp Grenada – Apologies to Mr. Sherman

Feb9

Found sillies from the shoebox – I love rediscovering things I jotted down and tucked away . . . She was likely a pre-teen when I presented this one to her. It had no effect on the state of her room. Ever.

I may revise it for her and her husband.

My silly lyrics loosely based on what I remember of Camp Grenada by Alan Sherman – This version is lovingly dedicated to my daughter, my inspiration, my messy muse if you will. I dramatized things just a tad, but the premise of this little ditty is based on actual events, my husband and I are still in therapy, but things are getting better by the day.

I’ve actually had this tune stuck in my head since 1977 I believe, at least the tune to the first verse, I’m not certain if it even has any variation in tune between stanzas, all I know is it haunts me. It never leaves. It’s the fault of my sweet little troll sister. She sang it repeatedly from the age of five until just shy of her ninth birthday. I wonder if she even remembers the song.

This is your muddah,

and your fadahh,

we’re writing to ya,

our dear daughta,

we’d like to say that,

we really love ya,

but if you don’t clean your room we’re gonna holla.

We are standing,

in your room now,

things are movin,

and things are crawlin,

dad looks mad now,

I feel like bawlin,

if we’re not careful we could end up fallin.

There’s that new game that,

we just bought ya,

it’s in pieces

neath your fadahh.

It wasn’t his fault,

now just keep readin,

I’m pretty sure that I can stop the bleedin’

I see garbage,

he sees dishes,

we both wish that,

we had three wishes,

we would wish that,

things were cleaner,

or maybe we

could just be meaner.

Maybe we should,

get outta here now,

it’s getting dark and,

I feel fear now.

What if we can’t,

find our way out,

I don’t think that there’s a clear escape route.

Oh my dear daughta,

it’s getting hotta,

it’s been hours,

since we’ve had watta,

we are thirsty,

and we are hungry,

maybe there’s a snack under that laundry.

Your faddah’s searching,

beneath the pile,

it seems to go on,

for miles and miles.

I don’t see him,

and I don’t hear him,

oh I hope that he’s not suffacatin.

I’m going in now,

it’s been an hour,

I’ve got to find him,

he’ll need a shower.

When I reach him,

I will hold him,

I just hope and pray that he’s still breathin.

Oh dearest daughta,

things look real bad,

I hope we make it,

don’t be too sad,

if we’re unconscious,

when you find us,

just resuscitate me first and then your dad.

By the way dear,

you are grounded,

no matter how this,

letter sounded,

we would rather,

throw your junk away,

than look at this big mess for even one more day.

Sincerest of apologies to Mr. Sherman . . .

Crystal R. Cook

Light it Up – Anthem for my children – Burn, let it burn.

Feb6

This song, Bonfire by Building 429 is my anthem for my children . . . When I heard these words they rolled down my cheeks. I want my children to be proud of who they are, to stand for what they believe and never be ashamed or let anyone try to dim their light. This song says so much of what I have always tried to instill in them. My babies burn bright – Powerful – Like a modern day version of This Little Light of Mine – Let it burn.

BONFIRE

My mama always said I was born for this
And some people wouldn’t like that I was different
It never really mattered how hard it would be
Cause she filled me with love and the strength to lead
She said, “Oh oh, that kid’s a flame”
Said, “Oh oh, that kid’s a flame.
He’s gonna burn something down if you get in his way”

I came to light it up
Light it up
Light it up
If I was born to be a flame, then I wanna light a bonfire
Light it up
Light it up
Light it up
If I was born to be a flame, then I wanna light a bonfire
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
I’m gonna burn something down if you get in my way

This is the shout out, this is my voice
Calling all the men, women, girls and boys
The dropouts and losers, the hurt and the broke
Time to reclaim what the darkness has stole
Marching to the beat of a different drum
We live for the love, without counting the cost
If you wanna be free, then it’s time to go
Lift up your hand so the world will know!

We came to light it up,
Light it up
Light it up
If we were born to be a flame, then we’re gonna light a bonfire
Light it up
Light it up
Light it up
If we were born to be a flame, then we’re gonna light a bonfire
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
We’re gonna burn something down if you get in our way

We are not meant to be silent
We are alive just to shine
We are not meant to be quiet
We are the light of the world, we’ve gotta light-light-light it up

“Oh oh, that kid’s a flame”
Said, “Oh oh, that kid’s a flame.
He’s gonna burn something down if you get in his way”

We came to light it up
Light it up
Light it up
If we were born to be a flame, then we’re gonna light a bonfire
Light it up
Light it up
Light it up
If we were born to be a flame, then we’re gonna light a bonfire
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
We’re gonna burn something down if you get in our way

He sparks. He is a good man.

Jan30

My son is like one of those little fire starter gadgets, you slide the metal prongs across the magnesium and sparks begin to fly.

The sparks he generates often flicker softly to life, creating a perfect and manageable fire which can reach right into your heart and keep you warm long after the flame turns to ember, then ash.

Other times, those little sparks burst into a raging inferno and those closest to him must seek shelter from the firestorm about to engulf them. The flames extinguish themselves quickly enough, but the damage left in their wake takes time to repair.

Bipolar is funny like that.

He surprises me sometimes. Recently, one of those little sparks set a blaze which tore through my home with such force. Before I had a chance to douse the flames, it snuffed itself out as it often does, and I sat in the silence while the smoke cleared.

Sometimes, in spite of the destructive nature these wild flames possess, something unexpected and good rises from the ashes they’ve left behind. He came to me, calm . . . as though nothing had happened, wondering why I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. I’ve learned to simply move on, wipe off the soot and just look ahead.

He’d written something he wanted me to see. I received this message on my computer a short while later: Steady is the mind that fixes, angry is the mind that destroys. If we wish to change something, to fix the problems that befall us, it cannot be done with a fist, but with a stand. And you fix any grammar errors that may or may not be present.

Sparks. He is filled with beautiful, sometimes scary, always passionate – sparks.

He is a good man. His heart is so good. He would never intentionally set a fire he thought could bring anything but warmth and comfort, he doesn’t even seem to know when one of those wayward sparks begins to burn out of control.

He is a good, good man.

Mother of the Year in one picture.

Jan28

This is photographic evidence of the day I earned my first Mother of the Year award. No wait, I think I had already been awarded two by the time this little munchkin mishap occurred.

I have a collection of them.

You’d think the kind stranger who snapped the photo for us would have said something. He didn’t. No worries, the chubby little troll sliding from his ride was unscathed.

My Badge of Honor – Still Wearing It With Pride

Jan24

I am at that stage in parenting when most, or at least many, mothers are trying to decide what to do with all the space in their emptying nests. Maybe they’re gathering stacks of books they’ve put off reading, turning a now empty bedroom into a home gym, or my personal dream, a library. Maybe they’re thinking about taking up knitting or skydiving or writing the novel they’ve always wanted to write . . . I don’t know, my nest is still quite full and my little birdies are currently inhabiting any spaces that could one day become my library.

Three of my offspring are now what the world technically refer to as adults, and the youngest is mere months away from the legality of this reality, but as of yet, only one of them have spread their wings and flown away. I’m not ashamed to say I am content and okay with my nest being slightly more crowded than perhaps it should be at this point, but still, I very much want to see the beauty of them soaring one day.

It’s sometimes hard to believe I have children old enough to be considered all grown up. I remember when I thought if I heard *Mommy* being shouted throughout the house, the store, or the playground one more time I was going to change my name. I remember so clearly . . . mostly because it was yesterday. Literally. With the exception of the playground, it was in actuality, yesterday. You should see the looks I sometimes command at the supermarket.

Yep, my grown up kiddos still call me Mommy. They are bigger than me, bigger than their father, and they call us Mommy and Daddy. They likely always will and to be honest, I love that. I love it so much. I wear that name like a badge of honor.

Sure, we get odd glances and some behind the back comments every now and then, but it never bothers me, it never has. Maybe if people knew why these giant creatures we created call us mommy and daddy they wouldn’t snicker so much, maybe they would think it’s as precious as I do.

The oldest two of my former house trolls are bright, brilliant, and beautiful young men who came into this world with a few challenges. Those challenges have gone by many names over the years: developmental delays, speech delay, sensory integration dysfunction, ADD, learning disabled, PDD, OCD, ODD — the list is long. They were both eventually and properly diagnosed with autism and many of the extras which often accompany it. The younger of the two has an additional diagnosis of bipolar just for fun. It’s not really that fun.

Those boys are my heroes, without a doubt, truer than true heroes in my book. I used to think I would one day have children and I would teach them all about life and love, but it turned out they were the ones who taught me about those things. My children, all of them, have taught me more than I ever imagined possible.

I was abundantly blessed to have these amazing children who have grown into these amazing people, who strangely to some, still call me Mommy. You see, speech came late for those first two boys of mine, and when it came, they called me Mommy and they have called me Mommy every day since. To them, it is my name, it is who they first came to understand I was and they saw and still see no reason to change that. Their younger sister and brother followed their lead and I am blessed with the honor of being called Mommy.

While I do long for that someday library, I am happily okay with waiting for their wings to grow strong enough to carry them.

Crystal R. Cook

Please Promise Me

Jan7

Please promise me you will never change. Tell me you will still be you no matter what the world throws your way. Assure me you will guard your heart against the trials, the sorrows, the detours and the roadblocks you will stumble upon as you travel through life.

Please promise me you will always look for rainbows after every storm, tell me you will search for the good when it is buried beneath the bad, and tell me you will always see the beauty of the tiny flowers beneath your feet when everyone else sees only weeds.

Oh, please promise me you will never let your voice be silenced when the crowds try to drown it out. Promise me you will walk alone if everyone around you chooses to stray from the path. Promise me you will turn away when temptation beckons, and promise me, please promise me, if you have to change it will be only for the better, like the little caterpillars who trade their legs for wings.

Promise you will believe in yourself when something or someone makes you doubt, tell me you will lean on faith when you are weary and share your strength when you are strong. Promise me you will never forget to pray. You must promise you will never forget what a precious treasure you are.

Promise me, please promise me . . .

CRC

Gorgeous Geek

Dec5

Today – A blessing.

After school we went to the thrift store. My son, Michael, is always on the lookout for a great suit jacket, a snazzy vest or a playful bow tie, because bow ties are cool of course. We found a handsome jacket and a fine, fitted vest. With the added bonus of 75% off, we were feeling quite accomplished. As we readied to leave, a blessing occurred. A beautiful exchange I am certain will forever be in my heart.

Behind us, a precious woman with the twinkling eyes and loving smile of a young lady in her early seventies I would guess, reached out and touched my arm.

She asked if Michael was my little brother, I liked her immediately. I told her he was my baby and her eyes twinkled even brighter. She looked him in the eye and said, “You are the most gorgeous geek I have ever seen.”

How stinking cute is that?

She continued, “You certainly are young man. You are perfect. The way you dress and act is just perfect.” She touched his hand and said, ”Thank you for existing, thank you for being you.“

The woman behind the counter nodded in agreement and said he was certainly a polite and wonderful young man.

Michael thanked them both, smiling like the gorgeous geek he knows he is, and we turned to leave. The beautiful woman with the twinkling eyes again touched my arm, she said, “Thank you for making him. Thank you for bringing him into this world.”

I am still smiling. I am so proud of him. The world can see him, really see what kind of man he is becoming, he wears who he is with pride and confidence. I look at him and I know without a doubt, I added something of worth to this world.

My children, each of them, are treasures. Each a unique and brilliant light in the darkness. Once upon a time, when they were still my little ones, we would sing, this little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine . . .

Oh, how they shine.

Crystal R. Cook

Regaining Wonder

Oct18

I sometimes envy the look of amazement and innocent wonder in the eyes of a child as they gaze upon something I’ve somehow forgotten was worthy of such awe. I don’t remember when I first lost the gift of seeing the marvel of what we grow up to find ordinary, but I remember quite well the day I realized it had happened. It broke my heart. My tears blurred the road before me as I pulled the car off to the shoulder and cried. I tried to contain it for the sake of my children, but now I realize it may serve as a great life lesson for them one day.

Christmas was fast approaching; the kids were giddy with all the anxious excitement holidays bring. School had been out for a week and they were growing more and more restless with each passing day. I had so much to do, there were still gifts to buy and wrap in pretty paper, cards to sign and stamp and send, and what seemed like a million other things. I felt flustered and frazzled, the thought of the inevitable trip to the grocery store with four young children was weighing heavily on my mind.

We arrived at a supermarket filled with bustling, busy, and irritable shoppers. I fit right in. All the things that cause general annoyance in the store seemed magnified, the kids wanted this and they wanted that, the lines were long and my fuse was growing shorter by the minute. We made it out relatively unscathed and set off for home. The children must have sensed I was ready to lose what was left of my mind, they were unusually silent as we drove home, the sky was darkening and the twinkling lights of the season gave the evening a beautiful glow, I was too consumed with frustration to notice.

About a mile or so from our home is the entrance to a lovely neighborhood the kids have dubbed Christmas Light Street, the entire block lights each night with the most magical displays of Christmas cheer imaginable throughout the entire holiday season. The kids began to buzz in the back of the van, the closer we got to Christmas Light Street, the louder they became. I couldn’t take it and I yelled at them. I told them to knock it off and be quiet until we made it home.

The dead silence which followed my outburst was eerie and uncomfortable. As we passed by the fanciful wonderland, the entire day replayed in my mind, it hadn’t been as bad as I was making it out to be. I realized the conversation I’d intruded upon was filled with joy and excitement. My children were laughing and talking of Santa and baby Jesus and I yelled at them for it. I’d stolen a precious moment of perfect childhood innocence I knew I could never give back.

This realization is what brought me to the side of the road in tears. Even the memory of that moment brings tears to my eyes and a pang of sadness to my heart. When I regained what little composure I had left, I turned to them an apologized. If I could have given them each a piece of my heart I would have. They forgave me. They didn’t say it, but I saw it in their eyes. I felt unworthy as we sat there watching cars pass by. I made a u-turn and drove straight back to Christmas Light Street and we drove up and down the two blocks of twinkling delight for the better part of an hour.

We sang carols and we talked about the presents Santa would soon bring. We talked about the birth of Jesus, and for the first time in a long time I felt the magic of childhood and I vowed never to let myself become so detached from what was real and wonderful again. I have my moments of course, but I try so hard to keep myself in tune with the purity children are blessed to see each day. We live in a world that does its best to rob our children of this gift, as my children have grown I’ve seen it insinuate itself into their hearts as well. Sometimes, I am the one reminding them to hold on tightly to the simple joys in life.

I wish we could drive down Christmas Light Street every evening; I never again want to feel what I felt as I sat crying on the side of the road that night . . .

Crystal R.Cook