Slipping Time

Most days, I feel young. Like run across a field, dance in the flowers, young. That wasn’t the case yesterday. My eldest offspring, the eldest of my Gremlins, turned seventeen. He probably thought his mom was back to being a whack job as I stared at him with a mixed look of love and trepidation. I know he doesn’t get it but some of y’all might as I tell you what was going through this lovely brain of mine.

At first, I thought about the first moment I held him at the ripe ol’ age of nineteen. I knew I was going to do whatever I needed to do to create a life this mewling, scrunched-up face baby deserved. It was a pivotal moment in my life. That’s the moment I began to learn what it meant to love someone unconditionally. As a later-in-life Christian, I’ve heard the preaching about being gay is a sin and all that jazz, but you know what? If my son told me he was gay, I wouldn’t banish him from my home. I wouldn’t stop loving him. I would hug him and be the mom he needs me to be. Who am I to judge? I’ll leave that for our Father when the time comes. There is enough hate and judgement in the world that I’m not going to cast any stones. I don’t believe that’s why we’re here. How can we preach to people about the gospel in one breath, then spew judgement and hate in the next? It doesn’t align, folks. It. Just. Doesn’t.

I learned to love because of my child. It made me re-evaluate every decision in my life. I was with a man who didn’t value me. Who made me feel small and question my self-worth. Did I really want to raise my child with the relationship I was in as an example of what people in ‘love’ looked like? I didn’t. Maybe some people judged me for walking away, but as I sit here typing sixteen years later – it was one of the best decisions I ever made. I met a man who valued what I had to say, who treated me like I was worth more than what I even thought I was worth, and he treated my child like he was his own. We’ve been married fourteen years, and we’re still going strong. Our house is filled with laughter and love, which is how it should be. I may fail at everything else in life, but my family life isn’t one of them.

So, that’s why I had the silly, love look on my face before it turned to trepidation. Trepidation because the thoughts started flying through my mind of what I was doing when I was seventeen. Man, we’re so dumb at that age. We think we have life figured out when the reality is we don’t have the first clue. Next year, he’ll be stepping into this vast world as an adult, paving his own way through life. That is scary.

I thought about my children growing up. I thought about how fast time slipped past me like a thief in the night. I’m trying to soak in every single moment with my kids before they leave my nest to create their own. We can chase the dream of rising to the top of a corporate ladder or of building an empire, but no matter how much money you make, you can’t buy back time. You can’t buy back the moments you missed while you were traversing across the country for your job. Moments are precious. Cherish them. Always.


Lonely Estrogen

Y’all, the testosterone in my house runneth over, and I am the lonely estrogen outcast. I feel like I have a gang of gremlins living under my roof that gang up on me. There’s a ride by farting near me, which is uncool, and I 100% blame my father for it. So we, my angelic self and my gremlin husband, try to teach them manners, which my father finds joy in blowing to smithereens. Gotta love grandparents, right?

I had a sentimental, estrogen-filled moment this week. I had handwritten notes to both my boys, attached them to their bedroom doors, and then returned to work. I thought it was a sweet gesture, and I think it’s important to let our kids know that we love them, believe they are awesome, and blah, blah, blah.


As I’m finishing up my workday, I hear the bus roll by outside, then the gremlins enter. Backpacks fly, shoes are kicked off (next to the shoe rack – lord help us if they ever actually put them on it, I might stroke out), and the TV is turned on full blast. I finish my work a little while later and stroll out of my den, then I casually wait at the kitchen table as I browse through a magazine. I just know they’re gonna love the notes. I was the epic, loving mom today. I’m so great. Yada, yada, yada. All those thoughts are rolling around in my mind as I sit there.

A little while later, the youngest gremlin goes to his bedroom and comes back to the kitchen with the note in his hand, and I smile, which quickly fades as he crumples it up and throws it in the trash. I pointed at the trash can, an incredulous look on my face as I told him I took the time to handwrite him a note, which he just threw away. Finally, the gremlin looked at me with a serious look on his face and said, ‘Mom, we’re not girls. We love you because you feed us.’

My mouth pops open and shut a few times like a fish, then I realize I still have the other gremlin to count on. He’s older and wiser, right? I walk to the hallway, and I see the note tossed carelessly on the floor, and I stop mid-stride, gaping at the paper. &#U+1F926;


That’s when I realized the youngest gremlin was probably right. The only thing I need to do is feed them, and they’re happy.

Maybe the old saying was right after all. Perhaps the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Pfft. Whatever. Where’s the estrogen at? These testosterone-filled gremlins make no sense to me.

The estrogen in this household is lonely at times, but there are moments when a light from heaven shines down, soothing my soul. Last night, I secured the youngest gremlin’s fealty when he’s older for $20,000 a year if I happen to make it as an uber-famous author. You see, the youngest gremlin is proud because he scored a 98% on his state test, which is amazing. I just like to remind the gremlins when they are older that no matter how smart they thought they were, their momma was smarter.


To make my week a little brighter, I stumbled upon the video of the grandfather gremlin learning how to twerk. *rubs hands together* <insert diabolical laugh> So, for your enjoyment, here is a video of the gremlin patriarch twerking after my niece showed him how. Yep, this is my dad. (If you see zero blog activity over the next few weeks, he might’ve killed me for this.)

Twerking Gremlin Patriarch


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