Miss you already, my Goober boy….

My son made a gruesome discovery today while I was away from the house. Bagheera, one of our kitties, was hit by a car. We are heartbroken at the sudden loss of our Bagheera, whom we affectionately called our “Goober Kitty”. He was with us for over 11 years, and lived a long and happy life, but that doesn’t make this any easier.

Goober was the only cat I ever had who talked to his reflection in the water dish. He was so worried about that cat, and he tried to set it free on more than one occasion.

He would sit outside my office window and wonder why I couldn’t pet him.

PetMeMom

But he was such a love… He wouldn’t just rub up against you; he would push his head up to you and hold it there. I never had a cat that would “headbutt” for pettins’ rather than rub his head to the side like other cats do.

When he purred, he “chuffed” like big cats do.

He was a talkative cat. I could ask him, “Who’s my goober kitty,” and he’d answer me.

He called me, “Mooommm”; quite loudly, I might add, especially when he would get lost inside the house. Not that our house was large enough to get lost in… he would love on you in one room, walk to another room, and forget where you were.

He was a beautiful Bengal boy… and his family tree had no branches. If I could have made him a kitty banjo I would have.

And I loved him with all my heart.

Bagheera Kitty   March 2004 – June 2015

From the Mouths of Babes

My niece recently posted a list of questions she asked her young son, and shared his loving, adorable answers. I wish I’d done something similar when my son was his age. However, I firmly believe that it is never too late!

Behold, the 17-year-old perspective on the same questions. And, yes, I enjoyed going through these questions with my son. I hope he had just as much fun as I did.

  1. What is something mom always says to you?

Boy!

  1. What makes mom happy?

Coffee

  1. What makes mom sad?

When you don’t get anything for Mother’s Day from your favorite, most beloved son.

  1. How does your mom make you laugh?

When you get confused by memes.

  1. What was your mom like as a child?

Low-key “problem child”.

  1. How old is your mom?

Hmmm…. 29.

  1. How tall is your mom?

smol

  1. What is her favorite thing to do?

Drink coffee.

  1. What does your mom do when you’re not around?

I don’t want to know.

  1. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?

Can’t decide between loudest scream, weirdest dance, or “used up the entire worlds supply of coffee beans”. On second thought, all three of those.

  1. What is your mom really good at?

Making incense. Your incense is the bomb.

  1. What is your mom not very good at?

Chess. “You’re not good at chess, mom. I would totally kick your ass.”

  1. What does your mom do for a job?

You make incense and other aromatherapy products. And probably sell them as drugs. Hard core drugs. Don’t put that, though.

  1. What is your mom’s favorite food?

The souls of the damned.

  1. What makes you proud of your mom?

Do I have to choose one thing here? I mean, somehow I didn’t wind up dead. Good job! … I’ve honestly never thought about specific things. I’m just proud of you because you’re the bomb, in general, pretty much.

  1. If your mom were a character, who would she be?

Probably Kanayamaryam, from Homestuck.

  1. What do you and your mom do together?

Make a lot of tasteless jokes in the car.

  1. How are you and your mom the same?

We finish each other’s … sandwiches.

  1. How are you and your mom different?

I crave change a lot more than you do.

  1. How do you know your mom loves you?

You’re very understanding about my stance on controversial issues.

  1. What does your mom like most about your dad?

I have no idea.

  1. Where is your mom’s favorite place to go?

There are a few places. The garage, to work on her incense; Neesi’s house; Starbucks…

  1. How old was your Mom when you were born?

Hang on… ok… you were … ?? Thirty…two?? No… Thirty, right? No! You were 29.

Seventeen

My kid turned seventeen today. Every year I’ve written some blog entry or journal entry about my son on his birthday. You know, that mushy-mommy-thing. But my kid is seventeen. He’s growing into a fine young man now. It’s time to let go, while I’ll treasure these memories forever.

So, this year I’m just going to say Happy Birthday to my dude. You’re a great kid and I wouldn’t trade the world for you. And, btw, I’m so relieved you’re just having the D&D party you asked for this weekend and not the party I had for my 17th birthday that got out of hand. I had people showing up for that one I didn’t even know, and some weirdo ended up hitting on my mother!

Yeah, I’m glad you’re my kid. 🙂

17th bday

Karma

I heard the news fourth-hand.
I can’t say from a friend of a friend;
The original source is merely an acquaintance
Kept at a distance for good reason.
I heard you were dying today.
A wasting death… poor dear.

After the fifteen years I held onto
Too terrified to leave
Me finally standing up to you…
I didn’t see your rage building with my confidence
Until it was too late.

You tried to kill me.
You wrecked MY son’s home.
You can’t call him yours anymore, thank God.
Holding him hostage in a standoff…
You took his childhood that day,
His friends, everything….

And now you are dying.
A wasting death… poor dear.
I smile every morning as I cherish the news.
You are terminal.
You will slowly waste away in pain
Knowing there is no cure.

October-Domestic Violence Awareness Month

Watching Apples Grow Into Trees

I didn’t realize just how long it’s been since I’ve posted here. Yes, I’ve been AWOL. Trying to get my head together kinda’ does that. As in any journey through recovery, we always make new discoveries. Yesterday I didn’t just stumble across one; no… it was a brick wall I ran into at full speed – and it wasn’t about me. It was about my kid.

Continue reading “Watching Apples Grow Into Trees”

Pride

menopauseexpress.com - Pride

 

Pride is a quiet being that lurks inside of all of us. It sneaks out sometimes, in the form of judgment, and we don’t even notice it. It stings. It makes us feel ashamed; make us hide things. It can bring us down and make us cry. We can even hate ourselves because of our own pride and mixed emotions we don’t understand. Continue reading “Pride”

Sixteen

My son is sixteen years old today. My baby boy – no – my young man, is sixteen.

Remember sixteen, and all that came with it? I had so much fun at sixteen.

I won’t go on again about that tiny bundle I held so many years ago. I write about my son every year, and that seems to make it into the story every time. A mom will treasure that moment for a lifetime, but at some point her child does grow up.

As proud as I am of my boy, the thought makes me a bit wibbly (and, yes, he will always be my “boy”, no matter how old he is).

I’ve been writing a birthday journal entry about my son since he was seven. Most of them are in my private journal.  I’ve looked at all of them today because I’m truly at a loss for what to say on his sixteenth birthday.

I could pour all the motherly love and memories in the world into my entry, but that doesn’t convey what it means to be sixteen, nor does it make this day stand out from any other day. I love him just as much the rest of the year ‘round. I could write “a letter to my sixteen-year-old-self” for my son to read, in hopes of saving him the troubles I experienced and mistakes I made, but the maternal curse is real and he is living proof. He would nod and smile, feign attention, but take it with more than just a grain of salt, because it comes from his mother (as healthy as our relationship may be). He has to see for himself.

So, after sixteen years, I find myself looking at the young man I’ve raised. I’m the luckiest mother in the world and couldn’t ask for a better son.

Happy Birthday, my teenboy. I hope you have as much fun at sixteen as I did. Well…. maybe not that much fun. 😉

Teenboy