Big Girls Do Cry

     Every once in a while, when I'm just be-bobbing along in my life, something will happen that will take me back to my previous life in Reedley, or West Covina, or any one of the many places I've lived in, and bring me to tears. For instance, we took a family trip to Minneapolis to the Mall of America this weekend. As we're walking around the enormous and crowded mall, Ian noticed all the strollers, and was getting annoyed trying to dodge them constantly. Before I could respond to him, I had a memory flash of Ian being the little boy in the stroller, feeling overwhelmed and frightened at being thrust about, zig-zagging powerlessly by his mother who was at the helm. I remembered how he used to cry and wanted out. I didn't tell him all this; it was a momentary memory flash that was so vivid, and so emotional, the tears just started to fall. Thank God for sunglasses.  I blinked the tears away, and kept walking, and muttered, "yeah, they're annoying, huh?"

     Last week it happened again. I just started a new job--bartender at the gym our family belongs to. I absolutely love my job, and being the new girl, I'm constantly meeting new co-workers and being introduced to them or, being the talkative one, I introduce myself. I met a new front-desk girl who the moment I laid eyes on her, the same familiar feeling came over me: a vivid memory flash as if my life in Reedley was a movie I was watching. This girl had welcoming wide eyes and a happy smile, and she was petite and giggly. Melanie. My beloved Melanie, whom I miss so very very much. I gasped, literally, and had to tell her right then and there she had a twin out in California. 

     "Really? I do?" she inquired.

     "Yes! You do! And she was my BFF and I miss her SO much!" I excitedly declared to her. "Here! This is her!" and I thrust my iPhone to her and showed her a pic of Melanie. This girl, whom I just met and can't remember her name right now and another woman working with her, leaned over and glanced at the beautiful smiling face of my Melanie. I was beaming.

     "Eh, different nose," the other woman sort of sneered. Clearly she wasn't impressed. The Melanie-twin didn't say anything. Her face didn't give away any clues either.

     "She's 4'11" and wears a size 5 shoe!" I gleefully added. That was the clincher. Both women looked at me wide-eyed, mouths gaping open. 

     "Really? NO WAY!" they took turns saying.

     "REALLY! YES!" I confirmed. 

     "SHE'S 4'11 WITH SIZE 5 SHOE TOO!!"

    "REALLY? NO WAY!" I exclaimed.

     "Yeah", they quietly admitted. It appeared she really might have a twin after all and it was sinking in. How this made her feel, I have no idea. Maybe I should've just kept it to myself. As it happens, a customer appeared and we all dissipated. I walked back to my bar and the tears started again. I didn't want to get to know this Melanie-twin. I wanted my Melanie.

     And so it goes. I had a moment laying in bed in the middle of the night a few nights ago; I'd gotten up to let one of the cats out and sure enough, I have no idea how or why, but I started to cry realizing how much I missed our old pool. We don't have a pool here, and I just can't get excited about summer coming. What are we going to do? Yes, there's a lake, yes, but we don't have a boat, and it's not like you can just go out in your backyard and jump in. I cried and cried thinking about all the friends we'd entertained, all our kids' friends that went swimming there summer after summer, and I was just so sad. It's all over with, can't go back.

     I know my kids feel the same way. I know it's been hard on Tim too. We see old friends in stranger's faces. We feel lonely, and sad, and we've put up a wall. It's a tremendous amount of effort to make new friends. It's hard not to feel that we're somehow replacing them. Nobody can replace anybody. The friends we made in California are in our hearts forever, and we hope they all know that. Thankfully we've got Facebook and texting and phone calls to stay in touch.

     It's been 8 months since we moved here now, and sometimes it gets easier, and sometimes it feels like we're going backwards. The snow has melted but it's still freezing out.  We see the temps in California and remember what we were doing a year ago there. Ian's in track now, and although daytime temps here are still in the 30's, they are running outside. In Reedley, the track kids are running outside too, but it's in the 60's and 70's. Stay with that for a moment and feel how that must feel to Ian. It's very hard.

     Even the happy moments can be tinged with sadness. Ian's driving now. He's almost 16. Any parent who's been at this moment in time knows what I'm talking about. It's surreal, it really is. He's becoming a grown-up right in front of my very eyes. I'm proud of him and sad all at the same time, as my chauffering days are slowly coming to a close. He will no longer need me in a way that has defined me in a lot of ways. This is not easy to swallow. I'm getting used to it, and I will be happy for him. And scared. It's a scary world out there. I won't be able to protect him like I could when he was that little boy in the stroller.

     Watching a young mom with her toddler daughter in the grocery store, the same thing happens. Even if she's angry at not being able to get her child to stop a tantrum, it's instant tears. I think of my curly-blonde cutie who accompanied me like glue to a stamp. We went everywhere together. Now Jenni would rather stay home and watch TV or play Wii while I go alone. No little hand to clutch onto and make sure she's safe constantly. She's a big girl now. 

     Whether it's moving to a new city, new state, or new country, or the kids growing up,  the inevitableness of change can be so hard and so sad. The circle of life goes on, and with it, new experiences and people come into our lives as we grow and change along with it.  I'm so grateful that my life partner, best friend and husband Tim has been along with me the whole way, and we're in it for the long stretch.

     I know it will get warmer, and we know that we have enjoyed the snow. Like everyone else in Wisconsin, we are sick of the cold and can't wait to be able to be outside in a pair of shorts. And yes, as time goes on, and we say less and less, "I just moved here from California". The newness has worn off and we appear to be Cheeseheads like everyone else. Only we aren't. Our accent gives it away every time. And quite possibly the sadness in our eyes. We are trying, people. I'm proud of us. I'm proud of Tim. We are doing okay. 

     As they say, you can take the Kuckelman's out of California, but you can't take the California out of the Kuckelman's.