As far as my move to Montana goes, he said, “Well, I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I like you right here. I like having you all right. here.”
Which was fine.
Uncle T is most definitely not the sort of man to sugar coat how he feels about things. I know he likes me right here. I know he likes my children right here.
Most of the time, I like us right here, too.
In the next breath, however, he said, “But, if I were you…I’d do the exact same thing. I’m excited for you guys. It sounds like such an adventure.”
And he’s right. It does. It sounds like one hell of an adventure.
And if he were me, he would.
I have no doubt about that.
Uncle T has always done just exactly what he wanted to, no matter what anyone else thought.
He also expressed to me that he had some fears about my move. The most prominent one being that I was going to be by myself. And by myself, he of course meant that I was going to be without my extended family because, as everyone knows, I haven’t really been ‘by myself’ in…well…ever. (Hello? Can I please. pee. alone?!)
He’s worried how things are going to go without my parents, my aunts, my uncles, my siblings around to help me raise my kids. He’s worried about me not having any back-up, any help, anyone else to help put them in line when they step out of it.
Now, I’m going to be really honest with you because I don’t know what else to be: It’s not the first time someone has raised concerns about Mr. Nunn and I moving away and raising our kids by ourselves. It’s not even the second time.
And I don’t always know what to do with that.
Part of me knows they are right. I know that my kids have always been surrounded by extended family who have helped us shape the little people they have become. I know there have always been other people around to teach them things. Good things, annoying things (thank you Austin & Rachelle). Manners and etiquette and how to properly bait a hook and make a Pazookie. My parents, siblings, aunts and uncles have influenced them in so many ways. It has very much been an it takes a Village situation since the day we brought Logan home from the hospital. We have never been in it alone. I will never try and take any credit away from my Village. They have loved my children since (before) they took their first breaths and I am eternally grateful for that. My children are beyond blessed to be loved by so. many. people.
Mr. Nunn and I are blessed to be loved by so. many. people.
The other part of me, however, wants to stick up my middle finger and scream, ‘fuck off. We got this. We’re pretty good parents, you know. Our work sort of speaks for itself!’ because, at the end of the day, I am the mom of this house, and Mr. Nunn is the dad of this house, and we can take care of our children just fine, thankyouverymuch.
I get defensive and sensitive and insulted when people insinuate that Mr. Nunn and I won’t be enough for our children, that the two of us won’t be able to hack it. No offense against the Village but, if you ask the three little Nunn children, they will tell you that we are the best parents ever.
Messy house, upside schedule and all.
We’re pretty Right On in their books and I haven’t heard them once ask to peace out of our loud, disorganized home and permanently live with anyone else.
Do they love the Village? Absolutely. Do I love the Village? Absolutely. Are we all desperately going to miss the Village? Absofuckinglutely.
But this…this messy, crazy, loving, loud, lessons coming from all directions and hugs and kisses being handed out like Halloween candy life is the one they’d choose, that we’d all choose…
Every. Single. Time.
We took them to Tulare on Friday night. My Mother-in Love manages an elderly/disabled apartment complex and Friday was their Christmas party. She invited us. She wanted us to come and eat, drink and be merry. Really, though, I think, she wanted to show us off. She wanted to show off her grandbabies, wanted to show off her kids. She’s proud of us. Proud of all 5 of us. She likes when people tell her how amazing and beautiful we all are the same way I like when people tell me how polite, smart and funny my children all are.
She raised Mr. Nunn. I raise Logan, Brodie and Elizabeth. I get it. You bet your ass when they are all grown up, I’ll be wanting to show them and my grandchildren off, too. I’m sure it’s validation. Validation that you must’ve done something right along the way for your legacy to look the way it does. Her legacy looks amazing. Especially when we’re all cleaned up.
My kids were marvelous. They really were. I know I’m their mom and I’m supposed to think they are fantastic but I’ll be the first one to tell you if they’re being assholes, promise.
They weren’t being assholes.
They were polite and helpful. Elizabeth said ‘Hi-yeee’ to everyone, even though Elizabeth is kind of quiet, normally. She’s a lot like her mother, observant for awhile before she let’s her guard down. Logan and Brodie helped their MeMaw with everything and shook everyone’s hand. They are a lot like their father, helpful and polite and instant friends with everyone. They never got loud, never acted disrespectful. Helped elderly ladies to their chairs and pushed in their own when they were finished eating.
One of the tenants crocheted all three kids a yellow ducky to share. When they opened it, they were all excited about it. It was a yellow crocheted duck and my 8 year old son, the one only interested in Minecraft lately, was super grateful for it. They named him Mr. Quackers and loved on him all night long. They told the tenant thank-you and marveled at the fact that the duck was made by hand. They held conversations with adults generations older than them and never once got bored.
When we got home, Mr. Nunn and I told them how proud we were. How proud we were of their behavior. How glad we were that they enjoyed themselves and helped their MeMaw. After they went to bed, we told each other how proud we were. How glad we were that we have three children we can take anywhere and know they are going to be grateful for a crocheted yellow duck named Mr. Quackers.
Did the Village do that? Maybe. Those kids have been going to church with my parents since before they could walk, a church where the average age of the members is 55. They’ve been taught to hold open doors, pull out chairs, keep quiet when it’s quiet time and say thank-you for things made by hand. Did Mr. Nunn and I do that? Maybe. We hold open doors and pull out chairs and say thank-you for every gift we are given. We are their parents. The chances of them treating people the way they see us treat them are pretty good. The chances of them behaving the way they see us behave are pretty good. Are we going to be able to continue to make sure we are raising the sort of little human beings people like and want to have around at Christmas parties even though the Village will now be 1100 miles away? Probably. Mr. Nunn and I are a lot of fun at parties, believe it or not.
We’re going to miss the Village. The Village is going to miss us. There is no denying that. But, I’ve spent the last 34 years being raised by the Village and I’ll pass 97 percent of those lessons down, no matter where I live. I’ve learned what I was supposed to learn from them. My kids have learned a lot, too. Their basic foundations are already pretty firm.
The Vilage has done an amazing job raising all of us. Their work speaks for itself.
I think Mr. Nunn and I are going to be okay raising our children by ourselves, even when we miss The Village.
Happy Monday, Friends.
go. do. be.