>My Precious

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So, you might have been expecting a post about my truest ‘mostest’ precious: my kiddles.
Well, ya, should be maybe, but not today.
Because this post is about another underlying obsession, one that turns me into my own Gollum.
Yeah, that Tolkien, he knew what he was talking about…
See that picture up there? That’s me, perhaps in a truer image, nice to meet you. 

Because “my precious” is my “Control.”  Or, to be more accurate, my desire for control.  In fact my pursuit of my precious and my need to hang onto it makes me bug eyed and screeching all too often.  It makes me angry and resentful, often times of things that haven’t even happened yet.  It makes me snarl in even mere anticipation of somebody or something snatching that control, my precious, away from me.

Even if that thief is a small kiddo with big brown eyes and sticky hands.
Even if that thief is a cute guy with a beard who is a good kisser.
Even if that thief is a hurt kid with a megawatt smile but from hard places.
Perhaps more so, then, because with that one, my precious was wrenched from me long ago….I just didn’t really know or admit it yet.

Sigh.
Sometimes, I think it’s true what Gollum said, “Once it takes hold of us, it never lets go.”
And then I am left to weep and wonder how to proceed, to move on and I know that there is no other way than through that stomach hurting dark and the fear that comes with losing that precious, that control.
I have to let go.

But my Gollum just can’t seem to.
And I snarl and I snap at anyone, sorry Tom, who suggests the same.
No, it’s not pretty.

But the crazy thing is, as all you other moms know, especially those who are parenting hurt kids, you lost that “precious” when you first stepped out to try to parent.
Really.
I lost that tarnished ring so long ago I must be crafting my own lame paper mache ring of precious, every day.  So, why do I hold on?
Fear.
It always comes back to fear:
…fear of being taken places we don’t want to go.
tired fear of being taken places we don’t want to go.

Therein lies the trap of course.
Because when we snarl and grasp and gasp so tightly, trying to hold onto our paper mache ‘precious”… ok, when I gasp and grasp so tightly, trying to avoid being taken back or through another hard place….well, I’m already there.  Too late.

So, this one’s for you honey….I’m gonna try and pitch my my paper mache dented soggy smudgy ripped useless “precious.”
And let go.
Again.
But with hope for being able to keep my hands open so that instead of holding onto the poison ring, I can hold, instead, onto the small hand that slips quietly into mine.