Fighting and bonding

My daughter, Nyah, once summed up our mother-daughter relationship in this quote:  "we fight and then we bond."

I couldn't agree more.  She and I are so alike that we often clash, sometimes to the detriment of Bryan's ears.  His annoyance with us often permeates the space like the smell of turkey burgers to a pregnant lady.  

We may fight and yell at each other, but like the weather in Washington State, wait ten minutes;  we fight and then we bond.

I've noticed as Nyah continues to grow up that we've become a lot closer.  My love of horses has become her love of horses.  Recently, Nyah competed in her first Dressage show.  I was a little nervous doing her show coaching because she has a bad habit of not listening to me.  I'll admit, I'm probably not the best teacher and I have the patience of a hungry lion waiting for the steak to drop.

But, I took on the challenge and before the show, we fought as I thought we would.  I asked her to tell me if she was going to listen to me if I was her coach at the show.  She didn't answer.  Bryan, sensing a fight, told me to let it go.  My reply was less than diplomatic:  if I was going to spend fifty bucks for her to ride two tests, she better f*#%ing listen to me.  

At the show; however, we bonded.  I helped her warm up on Leana, the horse she was riding.  I had her repeat the tests back to me by memory several times.  As she entered the ring for her tests, I reminded her how important her posting diagonals are and to make sure she gets them right every time; something she seems to struggle with.

During her first test, I was probably more nervous than she was.  My heart beat at a furious pace, threatening to jump out of my chest.  I muttered "good girl" under my breath each time she picked up the correct posting diagonal and smiled as she got Leana to ignore the scary white canopy tent the judges were sitting under when only moments earlier and when Nyah was warming up in the ring before the test started, Leana had bolted in fear.  

After her tests, I had the prideful pleasure of photographing her and Leana with their first and second place ribbons.  As I read the comments from the judge, my eyes kept coming back to the comment that she and Leana were an elegant pair. Later, I watched the video Bryan had taken of the two of them and I heard myself agree with the judge that she and Leana were indeed an elegant pair.  

Watching her, it reminded me that she was growing up and that thought made her statement of our relationship that much more important.  Yes, we do fight strong.  But, when we bond, we bond just as strongly.

My birth certificate says 1977, my high school diploma reads 1995

Ok, so 36 isn't that old in the grand scheme of things, but I find myself having trouble knowing that it's almost been 20 years since I walked up onto the stage of my high school and took my diploma after a hearty hand-shake from someone, possibly the Principle or the Vice Principle?  Maybe both?  Memory could be failing me at the ripe old age of 36.

It's not just the fact that my 20-year reunion is around the corner.  My daughter talks about things I have never heard of and listens to music I know nothing about.  I also find myself muttering "get a room" under my breath whenever I see couples engaged in PDA.  Oh, help me!  I've become one of those people that I swore I wouldn't when I was younger!

I think about middle school, high school, college, and any time before my 30th birthday.  And then I think about what I'll be like at 40, 50, even 60.  I think about being 42 at Nyah's high school graduation and 46 when she finally turns 21 and I can take her to Las Vegas.  Will I still be fun or will I be old and crotchety?  WIll I have grey hair and wrinkles I try ruthlessly to cover up?  Better yet, will I have more aches and pains than I do today and will there be yet more physical limitations to add to the list? I hate the fact that I can't do all the things I once could with ease.

Truth is, I hate that I'm getting older and the real reason probably is not related to everything mentioned above. Getting older means that your friends and family members are getting older, too.  You start to wonder who won't be here tomorrow...next week...next month...next year.  These thoughts started to amplify when my grandma passed earlier this year and more recently, an iconic soul, Bill Ray.  Both were about the same age and lived wonderfully full lives. But, they're gone and we won't ever be able to see or talk to them again or hear them tell great stories.

So, who's next? I shudder to think that I could get a call soon that my dad or my mom has passed....or one of my sisters...or a family friend.  I know that death is all part of the cycle, but that doesn't mean I can't fight it every step of the way.

My invitation was lost in the mail

From the time we're youngsters, we're meeting new people and forming friendships.  Part of those relationships are the many invites we'll get over the years.  Invites to come over and play, invites to birthday parties, invites to sleepovers.  You get the point.

We grow up and this same thing continues.  It's how we maintain our friendships and spend quality time with one another.  When we're younger, it might be more about being popular or having a strong social identity.  When we don't receive an invite to someone's party that we thought we should have, it sends us spiraling into questioning our popularity and status among our friends.  We ask ourselves, "am I going to be hated by everyone tomorrow?" or "why doesn't she want me at her party?"  It feels bad when we don't get that invitation from someone that seemed to be our friend.

It happens when we're adults, too.  Only, I don't think it's so much about popularity and social identity.  I think it's more about the deep-seated feeling that we want to feel connected to others and know that they still think about us.  It also seems to be more about social norms - you invite people even if you don't necessarily want to because it's the right thing to do and we were raised not to hurt people's feelings.

I found myself in this situation recently.  It was actually a blood relative that didn't invite me to a major event.  It bothered me.  It still bothers me.  Why should it bother me?  

I'll eventually get over it.  I have in the past.  Maybe it'll help if I tell myself my invitation got lost in the mail...