Dear my sweet floundering homing humans,
As you know, I don't shift gears well...but I am trying...
I don’t move seamlessly from one chapter to the next.
I’m not doing so hot with this mother of sort of adult children thing.
I’m not doing great with the parameters of my cancer treatment (which less be honest, are horseshit - no estrogen, little wine, lots of broccoli - fucking BS.)
Oh, and I hate my new boobs.
Want to to know the reality of fake boobs? They hurt. They are freezing. And they come with scars. If you’re trying to decide on a boob job? Save your money. Take a trip.
To recap, this is the chapter I am currently living in and struggling to figure out:
Children floundering and parents in their final chapter
The menopause
Cancer, more broccoli, less wine, a world in hateful tatters
All of that is why I can’t quiet my mind. Not to mention, innate hatred of one another, banned books, fear mongering, stripping away rights, school shootings, and mastering the new accepted use of pronouns.
My heart is breaking for Israel.
Actually, my heart is breaking for my children who are going to have to find footing in this fucked up world. And Israel.
For Fuck’s Sake. What have we done? Or rather. What have we allowed to happen? I wish I were a sociologist and could look at all of it through the lens of an academic. But I can’t. I’m just a menopausal, mother of floundering children, trying to minimize my wine intake human.
And it makes me sad.
I’ve also been thinking about the concept of home.
Like all great words, the word home can be a noun, an adjective, an adverb or a verb.
Home base. Sliding into home. Home free. Home run. Run home. Homing in. Homing pigeon. There’s no place like home.
Homing - the verb - is my favorite. It means to find by instinct or with targeted precision.
Yes. That’s what home is - what you find by instinct and with targeted precision. It is also a process.
While watching the world crumble, I’m simultaneously watching my kids flounder. Which is fine. Life is learned in the floundering. But it is hard to watch.
So, I have decided that from now on, I’m not going to think of them as floundering, I’m going to think of them as homing.
My beautiful flounderers aren’t floundering, they are homing!
I’m going to have to be patient, homing can take years.
Also. I have to learn to stay in my lane. (I’m working on this.)
In the meantime,
I will continue to send prayers into the universe for their floundering to be fun, with a little bit of travel, good wine and better friends.
To you, my beautiful, floundering homers, I’m sorry that I’m not great at this new role, please be as patient with me as I am trying to be with you.
I’m also incredibly sorry that this is the world you have stepped into.
We (collectively) should have done better.
Prayers for all.
Love,
Mom
Thank you! I never know what I'm going to write until I start writing. So I also don't know if the crazy going on in my head will resonate with anyone! Thank you for telling me that it does. I truly appreciate it. Here's to all of us just trying to figure it out and to those posting their perfect lives on IG I'm here to say, "I don't believe you!" And, yes, to a minimal amount of wine the next time I'm home in Tennessee!
J - are you in my head?? I’m Soooo right there with you! The struggle to be the right best self amidst all-the-things is damn hard! I see you and I feel it too. Thank you for putting words to thoughts…in your very real way. I’m here for it. Please continue. And….prayers for you & those pesky girls. I hate mine too but they came with the original pkg and I’ve been trying to offload them for years!?!?
Let’s have some (minimal) wine with our mutual bestie on your next visit South.