What Makes Us Parents?

I am a mother. It is the most honorable title I hold. I'm a photographer...a legal assistant...a friend...{sometimes a pain in the artichoke}...a lover...a fighter. But mother, that is a title I didn't apply for. I was given that title by Little Miss and have worked diligently each and every day to live up to the high standards of those moms before me. {My family rocks it at motherhood, the shoes I stepped into were huge.}

I was blessed to gain this title initially in the most conventional way- I simply gave birth. {15 hours of labor, simple} I gave birth and then took care of my daughter, in order to hold onto the honorable title. Others become parents by marrying someone who has children already or adopting...which still allows them the respective parent title.

I heard the wheels squelch to a screeching halt as some of you read that. You can become a parent by marrying another parent? It's contagious like that?! Well, only if you're born to be a parent- only if it's in your heart already. You don't just 'poof' become a parent- you have to prove yourself, no matter how you become a parent. I have heard an argument recently regarding step-parenting that totally struck a nerve. Oh, he's so good with her kids. Or- She treats his kids just like hers, even though they aren't her blood. This baffles me for one simple reason- if you adopted a child, would you treat that child any differently than your biological, blood-related child? Of course not. So why is it so surprising when you see a step-parent being...*shock* good at their job? It all boils down to loving a child and making sure their needs are met. Why would anyone ever want a child to feel like they are less than wonderful? Or worse, like they are not good enough? We could all learn a lesson from our children in that respect- they love with their whole hearts. They tend to not see color or judge what is normal- they simply see a person who cares about them, no matter what blood relation or title exists.

In our our home, we opted not to call each other step-anythings. I'm not a step-mother...that sounds so cliche and Cinderella-ish. {I would never let my hair be gray or wear those awful gowns.} We are bonus parents. Our girls are 'sea-stars' and the our titles to them? We are BooMa + BooPa. {We have called each other Boo from the start...our kids are super creative- bam, our names were born.} Being a bonus parent does not take away from our little one's biological parents' position- it simply adds to it...an extra person to love, an extra person to learn from and look up to. Being a bonus parent and holding the title of BooMa is a pretty noble and rocking title, if you ask me. It was something I had to earn...and continue to have to earn. I am so proud to be able to add it to the list of my many titles.

Up next for new titles? Trick-rider. 

The Day the Blond Went Hunting

With hunting season rapidly approaching, I thought I would share about my first hunting experience which just occurred last fall. While I come from a hunting family, I am far from a hunter. I tend to be more apt to adopt something fury with four-legs, rather than murder it in cold blood hunt it...but I'm always up for trying something new...and was actually pretty excited for the experience.

I knew we would have to wake up in the wee-hours of the morning and assumed that there was not a coffee-maker in the Breaking Bad inspired 'bus' we were sleeping in. {Seriously, Walter White wouldn't even cook meth in this thing.} So, I snagged some bottled Frappucinos as a coffee-backup plan. I definitely didn't want to start out our morning of killing the defenseless without proper caffeination.

We hopped on the 4wheeler and set off down a dark path.

"Don't the deer hear us coming!?" I yelled asked.

"WHAT?!?!!" my sweet man replied.

"Don't the deer...nevermind."

I knew there was no way he could hear me over the 4wheeler motor.

A few moments later, we arrived at our deer stand. 

"Where does the 4wheeler hide? Don't the deer see that and think DANGER AHEAD?! I mean...in Bambi...." I was stopped by the look. The one that says, are you seriously asking me if deer sense danger? We are here to hunt- they get shot for a reason.

I moved on. I had a plethora of questions I needed answers to.

Once the 4wheeler was safely hidden in a nearby bush, we climbed into the deer stand. As the sun began to rise over the fields, I surprised myself. I was having such a good time taking in all the nature that surrounded me. The fog rising...the birds chirping...the crackle in the woods...wait.

"Is that a deer!?" I whispered, excitedly.

"No, it sounds like a bird or something. Shh," my sweet man said, trying so hard to be patient.

"Do you think it's a spotter?"

"A what?!"

"A spotter...for the deer. Like- they send out the bird first to peep the scene," I said, trying to keep a straight face. {peep the scene}

I got the look again.

"SHHHH" he said, lighting a cigarette- he seemed stressed for some odd reason.

"Don't they smell that!?" I asked.

He took a deep breath and put his head in his hands. 

I decided I would try to file some of my questions away for a later time. He clearly didn't appreciate my commentary. But I was just so curious.

I heard a gunshot in the distance. I had to fight the urge to scream, "RUN BAMBI RUN!!!!!!!" 

"Look!" my sweet fella whispered, pointing behind our stand.

Running through the field behind us were four deer. {Too far away to shoot at. Score!} Now, I couldn't tell you about racks or if it was a doe, ray or mi...but they were breathtaking. 

"Look how fast they are. I want to ride one!!" I said.

I got the look, followed by a Jesus.

As the excitement faded, I felt my eyes starting to get heavy. Knowing talking was not an option to keep me awake, I opted for my trusty Frappucino. If anyone has ever opened one of those, you know it's not the most quiet activity I could've chosen.

Crackle. Craaccccckle. Crackle. Crrrraaaaackle. 

"Sorry," I whispered.

The look.

Craccccckle.

"There. It's off," I said, proudly twisting off the top.

POP. {I had forgotten about the sealed top, whoops.}

"Seriously!?!?" my sweet(?) man yelped.

"SHHHH!!! You'll scare the deer!!" I replied, taking a sip of my coffee.

He looked at his gun. Clearly contemplating shooting something other than the deer. I got the look one last time before we climbed down from tree stand and headed back to Walt White's.

I wasn't banned from the hunting camp...but I was given much stricter instructions on trip #2. Along with duct tape.

Happy hunting!

Thanks to Roanoke...

Tonight wrapped the 2015 season of The Lost Colony. While Little Miss's season wrapped on Wednesday evening, we had to come back one more time to watch the final show.

I, personally, have watched the show so many times this summer that I catch myself whispering the lines along with the actors. {I may audition next year. Eleanor...do you need an understudy?} I have seen the rain dances, bug dances, hidden yawns...each night exhibited new excitement from the cast. But this week? This week was phenomenal. The emotion from each cast member was true. The audience felt it...they felt the pain of the colonist who'd lost loved ones- and who were uncertain of their own futures. They felt that pain because the cast members were truly hurting. The end of this season meant the end {somewhat} of their family. The end of meeting together each night to share in something that only they can really understand. 

I will admit, I was nervous when Little Miss took her part with The Lost Colony. I worried about all the things mothers worry about when they send their child off to school or a new extra-curricular activity. What if there is a bully? What if she doesn't make friends? What if she forgets her manners and is rude? What if...what if. Those worries faded almost immediately during her first performance. Whether it was Queen Elizabeth herself or a colonist, they all greeted Little Miss each night by name. They even learned who her Granddad was...and loved him just like she does. 

During tonight's show, we watched from the stands with Little Miss...who saw parts of the show for the first time- having missed them while she was on stage herself. I watched her eyes twinkle with excitement. I listened to her whisper, "watch for this part" or "gunshot coming!" to her little seastar. {seastar: best friend/step-sister...step-sister is so cliche} 

Toward the end of the play, Old Tom spoke from the roof...and tonight I heard his speech completely differently than I'd ever heard it before.

"Roanoke...Roanoke made a man...a man of me!" he exclaimed.

My eyes filled with tears. 

Oh, Roanoke...you have helped my baby grow this summer. You have taught her so much in these few short months. I am so grateful...grateful for the experience, the people, the talent...all of it.

As the cast made their final march through tears, I cried right along with them. While I hope Little Miss will join the cast again next year, there will never be another first year there...with this incredible cast of people. 

I have to make a special note to Mr. Jesse- who held Little Miss's hand each night as he told the story of The Lost Colony. You may never understand how special you are to us. In losing our "Big Gully" this same year, you brought a part of him to life for us. We love you...and will see you next summer, whether here or in Alabama!

Scary Shadows

Horse people know when they have found that horse. The one horse they have a stronger bond with than they share with most humans. The horse that with one nicker, one nuzzle or even just a simple look- you can tell exactly what they are thinking...and they can tell exactly what you need.

Recently, I've been taking my 'Pretty Fly White Guy', Tristan, out for evening strolls on his own. Leaving a pasture mate {security blanket, boss mare} at home can tend to create new obstacles. The first outing, I didn't test him...we rode down the road with many scary boat-monsters on blocks, with dumpsters that scary monsters jump out of, passing by the tarps that flapped in the wind, clearly showing their fangs. I let him look and take his time.

The next outing, we walked up to the dumpster {scary monster home} and sniffed it. Tristan snorted so loudly he scared himself...and myself. We rode down to the end of the road and out towards the docks to see a new monster. Boats in water...floating. {Clearly this is unnatural and unsafe, right?}

With each ride, Tristan's confidence grew and our bond got stronger. He didn't spook at the same 'monster' twice, he was aware and protective, but not screaming like a teenage girl in a haunted house. Each night after I unsaddled him- I would thank him for keeping me safe and he'd nuzzle me right back, thanking me for keeping him safe too.

Last night we went out just before dark. I needed the ride more than anything after a very long and stressful day. {A horse ride to a cowgirl after a stressful day is equivalent to an entire bottle of wine.} Tristan did great, we could both feel my stress fading away with each step he took. And then I did it...I ruined the calm horse by leaning forward and patting his neck.

"Good boy, T..."

He jumped-in-place, snorted and farted all at the same time. I look around- there was nothing but a man in the distance working on his boat.

He snorts again, at the pavement.

"Tristan...it's your shadow! See?" I said moving my hand around.

He jumps, ears squared out like a donkey, and snorts again.

"You are literally scared of your own shadow."

Snorts again.

Sometimes no matter how big and strong you want to be, your biggest obstacle is yourself. 

The shadows reminded me of the fears that had grown in my own head before taking Tristan out, without his boss-mare. I worried he would be a complete psycho. I worried he would hurt me. I worried he would have a Storm-sized meltdown {the horse who almost killed me, who was promptly sold} even with our strong bond. I worried...about everything.

Thankfully, all those worries were just shadows...they weren't real. (And I didn't even have to jump/snort/fart to realize that.)

He's There.

If you ever need a reminder that God is there...just ask.

Dare County Boat Builders 12th Annual Fishing Tournament was this past weekend. I worked at it last year and stood quietly at my uncle's boat, Sea Hunter 2. Tears rolled down my checks because I missed him being there- telling stories and bragging about the days catch. I texted him a picture of the boat and told him I loved him.

I miss you, darlin. And I love you too. 

This year I knew it was going to be strange. While he hadn't been able to attend the tournament in years, this was the first year I would be there without being able to call and retell stories to him and hear his laugh. Mom and I talked in depth about it. She felt the same way.

"He will be there this year though, right beside you," Mom said.

On Saturday evening, Mom and I were standing out by the pig cookers...stealing fried food. ;-) I told her that I had walked Little Miss over to the boat and how different it looked. The pink lettering is now blue...doesn't have the same sparkle that it once did. Then a truck caught my attention.

"Colton James," I said pointing to his truck, scarfing down another shrimp, "that's the guy who is performing tonight. He fished in the tournament too--"

I was abruptly cut off by a scream from my mother.

"THAT'S VERNON'S FRIEND!! Eden!! That's Colton...the one Vernon always talked about...."

She continued talking about Colton fishing with Big Gully as she darted over to the truck to attack the man getting out of the driver's seat. {thankfully, it was Colton}

He hugged her and held her for a moment. He told her Capt. Vern was one of a kind, an amazing friend and an incredible fisherman. 

He took the stage later that evening and we were able to hear songs live, that Big Gully had always wanted us to hear. I knew he was right there...dancing around the room with his lovely wife- both healthy and laughing together, like they always did.

So, I want to thank God for reminding me that when I think something is going to be hard- He is there. And when I am really missing someone I've lost...He is there and so are they.

Thank you, God, Big Gully and Heather Maxwell...for bringing Colton to Pirate's Cove again. ;-)

King Zorro

On Monday, we didn't say good-bye.

We didn't cry. {well...we tried not to.}

We ate raw bacon and told stories without words...we snuggled in bed in silence, letting our memories do the talking.

For 13 years, I have been a "we" with Zorro. While I have been attached to other 'we' companions, he has been my constant- my partner, my guardian, my best-friend, by my side through it all. 

We went to college together, moving several times. Our travels took us all over the East Coast- it never mattered where we lived, he was happy as long as he was with me. He was my first baby- he taught me how to love and nurture...he truly taught me how to be a mother.

When Little Miss arrived, I never worried how he would handle her. I knew he would protect her just as he had always protected me. Although he took the initial introduction of the baby blanket a bit rough, {he tore it to shreds} once he met her in person- it was love at first sniff. He would whine when she would cry- and sleep uncomfortably on the floor near her swing while she swung.

Up until a few weeks ago, Zorro never slept a night alone. He has always slept right next to me in bed, tucked neatly under the covers for the entire night. When he stopped following me to bed at night, I knew I was soon going to have to make a very difficult decision. I began praying every night for God to let Zorro know I would be okay and that it was time for him to go. But deep down, I knew that he wouldn't let go on his own. His loyalty has always been to be by my side and letting go just wasn't something he would do unless I helped him. I changed my nightly prayer- and asked for a sign that Zorro was ready.

On Monday morning, I got out of bed and Zorro, who was sleeping in the hallway next to my door, wouldn't pick his head up. He was awake, but just couldn't look at me. The sign was clear.

Saying the words out loud was the most difficult...I could get through the day if I didn't have to say it- say that I was about to lose my best friend. But I had to...and every time I would say it- I would lose it. {I'm so thankful for my work family. Mostly for them not judging my ugly-cry in the middle of our workday.}

So Monday afternoon, like I said...we snuggled, we ate raw bacon {well, he did} and we said "save me a spot up there!" because it's not good-bye. Good-bye's are final...and this isn't final. I know we will meet again someday. Until then, I know he is watching down over me each day, just like he always has.

Rest in Peace, my sweet boy...my King Zorro.

 

What a Wonderful Year

Yesterday was the last day of Little Miss's 2nd grade career. 

I can't...I just...can't. Where has time gone? Why is it that, as she gets older, time goes by faster? {and somehow I don't age a day, weird}

As I walked her down the hall to her classroom, we walked past the room she spent her kindergarden year in. It took me back to the first day I walked her into the elementary school. I had butterflies in my belly and tears running down my cheeks- she held her head high and was ready to start her school day.

We walked past her first grade classroom...and again, I went back in time to the memories in that particular classroom. The two teachers who will undoubtedly always hold a very special place in my heart.- they helped both Little Miss and I through many life changes in one short school year. They always seemed to know when I needed an extra, "She's doing fine...and so are you, Mom" or when Little Miss needed an extra hug at morning drop off.

This year, Little Miss started the school year upstairs- and midway through the year, moved to a new classroom in the new wing of the school. I remember the fear she had, at the beginning of the year, of falling up the stairs. {let's face it, she's her mother's child} Those fears have now faded.

As we rounded the corner and walked into her classroom, I became overwhelmed with emotion. {my baby is about to be a third grader} I kept it together while we gave her teacher our "thank you for rocking our 2nd grade experience" gift. Little Miss's teacher this year has also been so extremely special to us. We had our first experience with a bullying situation- and Little Miss so desperately did not want to be a tattle tale, so she held back telling anyone at school what was happening. When I told her teacher- she reacted immediately. It was so difficult to watch my little one be upset- and not be able to resolve the issue for her. To try to teach her how to resolve it on her own- without turning into a bully herself. Thanks to her teacher being 'on it' and her mommy-instincts kicking in too- within days, the situation was resolved and the girls were friends. {seriously, she worked some magic or voodoo or something} 

When I left Little Miss in her classroom, for her last day in second grade, I thought back to my second grade year. The field trips...the day my dad picked me up on my horse, Sham...the laughter....the last year before 'real' school stress began- it was a wonderful year. Both times I was able to experience the second grade...they were both such wonderful years.

The Lost Colony + Little Miss

On Valentine's Day, we celebrated my uncle's life- affectionately known as Big Gully, Capt Vern, Goat....On a day known for celebrating love...we celebrated our love for him by sharing stories from the book of his life.

The following week, Little Miss auditioned for The Lost Colony. She practiced a poem to recite in front of the director- a simple poem about bears that she said reminded her of Big Gully. My stomach was in knots for her...but she held her head high and wasn't nervous at all.

About 6 weeks later, we heard back from her audition. Unfortunately, the news wasn't what we wanted to hear. They encouraged her to audition again next year because she did a phenomenal job. Little Miss was devastated. (I'm talking- homegirl was ready to start a riot.)

A month went by- she would ask here and there when the play was starting. Followed by, "Mama- I don't think I can go watch it this year...I'm still so upset I didn't make it." I told her we didn't have to...but tried to encourage auditions again. 

A few weeks ago, I heard from the casting director again.

"Is Riya still interested in acting? We have a child who couldn't make the summer commitment and Riya was at the top of our list!"

I almost dropped the phone. I may have screamed in his ear. {stage mom status}

Little Miss was to the moon with excitement. She couldn't wait to get to her first rehearsal and find out all the details of the part she would play in the longest-running outdoor drama in the United States.

On the first day of rehearsals, we gathered in the backstage area of Waterside Theater. I told Little Miss stories from my childhood- from playing backstage to walking across the stage on my high school graduation day...she was too enthralled with her own experience to hear my tales.

"This year...we will be doing something a little different. Each year, our narrator is dressed in somewhat of a graduates outfit- and reads from a book to help the audience understand some of the details in the show," said the director.

"This year- our 'historian' will be more of a local looking guy. A man with a white beard, a fishing cap and boat shoes...an older fisherman-type," he said.

I felt Little Miss tug at my arm.

"It sounds just like Big Gully, Mama!" she said.

I couldn't help but fight back tears. I was thinking the exact same thing. 

"He will pull two children from the audience each night to help him explain the story," he explained.

"I hope I get that part!" Little Miss whispered.

"Riya...can you come up here to stand with our historian...you'll be spending a lot of time together this summer!" he said.

The tears streamed down my face as the other moms surely thought I had lost my mind. {overly proud stage mom?} 

Little Miss stood next to the historian, beaming from ear to ear.

As the sun set beautifully over the sound that my uncle fished in daily, I knew he had something to do with this moment. Not only did Big Gully help get Little Miss into The Lost Colony...he got himself a part, right beside her, too.

...untitled...

For the last almost-year, I have wanted to write something. Anything. Something describing the river...no, ocean, of emotions that were flooding through my life.

But I couldn't. It didn't seem appropriate. While I made most of my life public for quite sometime, whether by my own choice or not, somehow- now, it didn't seem right. The fishbowl I was swimming around in was changing...and it was time to hang curtains around the glass house.

I wrote posts in my head over and over. Thinking of different ways to try to catch up my blog on my life- then I would question myself. Why do I feel like I need to do this? Because writing is my therapy. That is why. I felt like if I just started fresh, I would be leaving out chapters in my book. {Even though, lets face it- the book has been sparse over the last few years.}

So here goes...

I was driving to the airport...head just above water in the ocean of emotions I just mentioned. I'd driven this drive hundreds of times- but this time it was different. This time I was dropping my daughter off for her first trip to visit her dad since our separation. She was excited to see him and I was excited for her...and terrified for myself. {emotional roller coaster} She had never, ever been away from me except for a night here or there with my parents. I worried about every.single.detail of her trip from seat belts and baths to dinners and stranger-danger. {I mean psycho worried- I wanted to book myself a ticket to fly with them...and just follow along behind every step of her stay, to be ensure everything would be fine. I didn't, of course. But I wanted to.} Then before I knew it, I was driving home, listening to her stories of all the adventures they'd been on during their time together. I had nothing to worry about. {but that's what moms do}

There are things that I will not say about my life, the people in it and the decisions I've made over the past year. Simply put? I am happy...and it's a wonderful feeling. I love my daughter more than anything in this world. She will always be the first priority in my life. Her father is not a bad person- or a bad father...in fact, he's a great father. He and I just weren't meant to grow old together as husband and wife. We will always be in each others lives and I will never utter an ill word about him. {did you catch the pun?} I do hope that we will be friends...even though no one ever thinks that can truly happen. 

I don't know when or if I will even post this entry. But it is a start. A start to 2015...a new life and new happiness.