But we have gotten along more often than not.

We haven’t always agreed with each others’ life choices.

For a long time, I resented her for staying with my father for so long, and only finally leaving him when my brother and I were out of the house.

In the last few years, I have forgiven this. I have forgiven my father for his abuse as well.

In spite of all of our disagreements, my mother has always been there for me when it really came down to it.

When I was 17 years old, I dropped out of college and left the state with a weasel-boy. We headed for "utopia" in Northern California. Never mind that I had scholarships. Never mind that I left other members of my performance ensemble one player short. Never mind that it broke my mother’s heart. Never mind that I was too much of a coward to even tell her I was leaving. My best friend had to tell my mother I was gone. She didn’t speak to me for about a year, but after all these years, she’s still my best friend. I am grateful for her–my soul sister of 18 years–for loving me whether I deserved it or not.

Dropping out of school, leaving everything behind, and heading to an area I’d never seen to live with people I didn’t know in Northern California seemed like a good idea at the time.

I needed to "find myself".

Did I mention that I had been doing A LOT of psychedelic drugs?

I had been in California for about 2 months, when I found out I was pregnant.

My first thought was to put the baby up for adoption, because I was afraid that everyone would hate me if I had an abortion. I, personally, didn’t have a problem with having the abortion, but I was terrified of the judgment, and I was in a situation that would have required the knowledge and help of several others in order to obtain one.

The woman we were living with said that I might want to reconsider. She said, "look at this puppy you’ve had for 8 weeks, and how attached you are to him. Do you really think you could give up your baby?"

She had a point. She also made it clear that there was a place for me there if I carried the pregnancy to term and kept the baby, and that she had no qualms with banning weasel-boy from the property.

But I. did. not. want. a. child. Couldn’t even fathom it. I realized that I had made a huge mistake with my life, and all I wanted was to terminate the pregnancy and go back to school.

I told weasel-boy I was thinking of terminating the pregnancy. He called me a selfish whore.

And I realized that I definitely wanted no ties to that man for the rest of my life.

The next time I was able to get to a pay phone (this was a very rural area), I called my mom, and at the same time asked weasel-boy to get me a snack from the store. 

While he was gone, I whispered to my mom, "I am pregnant. I don’t want this baby. I want an abortion. I need help".

My mother an I had barely spoken for several months, and all she said was that she would be there soon.

She lived in Mayer, AZ at the time. I was just south of Eureka, CA. It’s a 1,000 mile trip.

She was there the next morning. And as we drove home, she told me the story of her abortion, back when you had to sit before a panel of male doctors and justify your choice. She said it was humiliating.

The next few months were rough, but I survived. There were many more times that my mother came to my rescue, and she is doing it again this week.

When the panic attacks and crying jags started. When I couldn’t open my computer without my hands shaking. When I started waking up at 3 in the morning, suddenly, with racing heart, racing mind, and a feeling of doom. When my two-year-old son was up for two hours by himself last week and I didn’t hear him because I was beyond the point of absolute exhaustion (the house was a disaster, but he had only gotten into his toys). When one particular dissertation committee member pushed me over an edge that I have avoided for 32 years. After two years of asking for her help, and not getting it, she finally gave her input, had asked the impossible given the time constraints, but I DID IT. I DID IT! And then, she asked for something else. Something else that meant I had to start the impossible all over again. Because she hadn’t bothered to read my documents. Any of them.

When all of these things happened, my mother said she was coming here as soon as she could.

That same committee member also contributed to the end of one of the friendships I made in graduate school that really mattered to me.

I have survived an abusive upbringing, 26 years of multiple school stressors, two abusive boyfriends, a manipulative ex-husband, a first year of graduate school that involved a divorce, moving 5 times during that first year, and being banned from seeing my stepson of 5 years. I also survived caring for a crippled friend for a year, sitting by the bedside of my father for 6 weeks after a motorcycle accident that we thought had taken away his mind (he was convinced his bed was an airplane), and I even the postpartum period after the birth of my son (I did struggle with anxiety, but it didn’t exceed my coping resources–and my husband encouraged me go stay in a hotel room now and then just to sleep uninterrupted). All of these things I survived, and though I was sometimes emotional, I knew it would get better and I could always get through whatever I needed to do. And yet, this committee member pushed me so far over the edge that I stumbled into campus health crying and asking for help and have now been given a prescription for anti-anxiety medication. It makes me sleepy, but I can actually open my statistics program without feeling like my throat is closing off.

And I can sleep.

And my mother will be here on Sunday. It’s not a 24 hour turn-around like when I was 18, but it is impressive nonetheless. She is coming because she has never seen me like this, and she knows what’s it’s like to totally lose your shit. And when she lost hers, no one was there for her.

I am not embarrassed to say that right now, all I want is my mommy.

I am grateful for my mother.

I am also grateful for the psychologist at the counseling center, who recognized the immediacy of the situation, assured me that I can do this, and said that the problem wasn’t me–that I was having a completely normal reaction to an abnormal situation.

I am grateful for my primary adviser, who has referred to my condition as "Academic PTSD" and who has done nothing but stand up for me and call to check on me and give me permission to just walk away for a day. And who has repeatedly assured me that I am not crazy.

I am grateful to my son, whose response to me bursting into tears was to climb onto my lap, take my face in his hands, ask "boo boo?", and give me a big kiss and hug.

I am grateful to the universe for giving me this son. 

I am grateful that today has been a good day.

I am grateful that I will survive. I know I will survive because my mama will be here, and then it will be okay.

They give me hope.

Personally, I’d rather a friend nurse my baby than give him or her formula. It would be nice if that were viewed as an "normal" option.

I’ve been here since 1 p.m. and the clock now reads 12:15 a.m.

I am grateful that I finally conquered the problem I was struggling with all day. 

I am grateful that I have a job, and that my work challenges me.

I am grateful that I finally get to go home.

I am even more grateful that I have a home to go to, and food to snack on when I get there.

Not everyone can say that.

I know I am one of the lucky ones.

First of all, I’m kind of tired and crabby right now. I’ve been fighting a chest/nose/I’m-so-freaking-tired bug for 2 weeks now. Albie got it too, and seems to have kicked it much easier than I did. I am grateful that his speedy recovery means few nights of me lying awake in bed, waiting for his next coughing spell, so I can…well, there’s not much I can do aside from steaming the hell out of the room and slathering him in smelly stuff.

Albie decided that 5:45 was an appropriate time to start the day today. This, after two months of sleeping until 7 or later. I was REALLY grateful for the 8:00 days. Today was the second time this week he’s been up before 6. I am not grateful for the early rising–his early rising has been THE HARDEST part of motherhood for me. After two years, you would think that I could adapt to his schedule. It hasn’t happened yet. I’m just not built to go to bed and rise early. Even when I am dead tired, if I go to bed early, I just wake up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. And when I am overtired, I become a horrible parent and a horrible spouse. I am terrified that 5:45 will become the norm again. Blackout curtains, my ass.

But, I tried to stay positive. I decided I’d just nap when he did. Except that he fell asleep in the car, and when I carried him inside, he decided that 10 minutes was a long enough nap for today. I am also not grateful for the lack of nap.

I am, however, grateful that when we went to the Farmer’s Market today, I was able to leave the stroller in the car and Albert actually stayed with me (more or less). We fed some baby goats. We munched some kettle corn. We ate some tamales. He even at a mushroom tamale–mushrooms and all! I am grateful for the lovely farmer girl who always gives us whatever he grabs and starts to eat for free. Today it was a tomato. I am also grateful that he didn’t try to punch me, kick me, pull my hair, or otherwise assault me when it was time to leave. I am grateful that we made it to Pane Bianco right as they were opening and so we barely had to wait for our sandwich. I am grateful that Albert seemed to be feeling better, and so we stopped at the playgound for the first time all week. I am grateful that when Albert fell in love with a little girl’s tractor at the playground, the mother said he could keep it. And this was a mother who I could tell did not own much. I almost felt bad that she gave it to us, except that it seemed to make her so happy to have something to give. I am grateful that again, I didn’t get punched, kicked, or otherwise assaulted when it was time to leave. I am grateful that Albert has been especially impish today, and has made me laugh several times. He is currently dancing to pre-programmed music on his kiddie keyboard, and it’s kind of adorable. Now he’s asking to watch 101 Dalamations by saying "woof woof" and patting his leg. I’m grateful for old Disney cartoons that have a certain charm that is not present in the newer Disney cartoons (except for Pixar movies, which are charming in a different way). They may not be educational, but they make me all warm and fuzzy, and that counts for something.

I’m grateful that Albie is sporting his adorable self today, because if he was wearing his difficult suit, it would be really hard to resist feeding him to the dogs.

And then I could sleep.

(the one on the right…)

We have covered miles of roads together, seen fantastic live music acts together, spent way too much money eating out together, created a little monster together, and welcomed that monster into the world at home together. We’ve also argued, fought, and gotten really angry together. But after four years of marriage, we’re still in love. And for that, I am immensely grateful.