...solidarity sister

The sun is shining, praise be! Spring is finally here, well not officially until 4:58 p.m. but I will take it any way I can. The winter we have had, while I am completely aware we are not out of the woods, took its toll on everyone, like literally everywhere. I found myself easily angered, wearing the same leggings day after day in disbelief. Never before have the words, "Now is the winter of our discontent...," meant more and I have thought them often. But enough about the drear and forlorn season we are gratefully leaving, however long it takes. The dusk comes a little later each night, giving way to more time outdoors and thankfully out of this HOUSE. Fresh air does wonders for the personalities of the kids in this house, it is coming just in the nick of time.

I got to thinking a couple of weeks ago, in my leggings, looking out the window grimacing, about mantras. Those things we say to ourselves to push our way through something, about four-seconds before we might lose our shit, reminding ourselves that it WILL get better. Some are timeless nuggets that we can think about in a greater sense. Others are used in the moment, and for me they have changed over the years. I remember thinking to myself when the kids were little, "You can make it until 7:30 p.m...." Now, it might have been 8 a.m. when I uttered it, but I digress. Then with blooming teenagers I remind myself, "Karma is real, button your lip and think of England." With four kids and four dogs in a house, it is clean, and I use that loosely, for about 17 minutes. I find myself using mantras that I can only say out loud when the kids are not home, and I do it loudly. The neighbors probably think I am disturbed, thankfully my kids already know I am.

The whisper of spring has brought all sorts of new in this house. People are trying new activities, we are hopefully getting a new fence, and new voices are starting to crack inexplicably and without warning. Did you know the spring dance is in a little over a week? Yes, I did and I still don't know what the devil you are wearing, Abe. Are we needing to match your date? Are we buying flowers? Is this even a thing? The last three questions I am predicting to get answers to about 4 hours before the dance. I have found out quickly, much like a hostage negotiator, I am only allowed to ask certain questions and some have to be in the form of a haiku. Who has time for this, really? I am waiting to hear back the rest of the 13 year old demands, praying for the hostages survival, and let's face it, my own (Insert mantra here).

I have realized that I must be making a face when I am thinking about any given mantra. Only one kid identifies it, and her name is Nora. I have noticed it over time, and I think to myself, is she my kid who bypasses the 'Hellish-12s?' Could we be the urban myth? The teenage girl and her mom who do not fight? I pray for it. In a house full of men, rife with fart and wiener jokes, she is my bright ray of girlishness that my psyche sometimes needs. Today Nora offered to help me 7 times before 8 a.m. Anything from making breakfast to cleaning up dog puke. She was right there, like the friend that holds back your hair when you are puking. No joke, dog puke makes me want to puke, and there she was offering to help despite the fact it was a one person job. Her brothers? They alerted me to the puke, but just kept right on playing their iPads/phones. While I profusely thanked her, I thought of a new mantra for the day, "Solidarity Sister!"