I have children who will not go upstairs alone. Nope. Won’t do it. And I would like to thank the recent clown rampage across our oh-so-mature nation for making this even more of an issue in my household. If you don’t know about the clown problem, google South Carolina/Georgia clown sightings and prepare to meet your deepest horrors when you go to bed tonight. Enough said.
But this has been a “since-we-moved-to-Georgia” problem in this house. There are a few of those kinds of problems to be addressed at a later date. Today is about The Ghost Man- we take our days as they come around here. The littles (the youngest two) are scared to go upstairs alone. Now to be fair, it was a minor issue back home in California but since moving here, the ante has been raised and we are now at I-will-pee-my-pants-if-you-make-me-go-up-there-alone level. Kai can be upstairs in his room doing homework or more than likely playing a computer game, Zoey can be lying up there listening to her tunes and trying to solve the dilemmas of middle school (oh sweet, Z, just keep running), and still neither of my littles will go up those stairs, without a hand to hold, for any reason whatsoever. I have opened every window shade, turned on every light, checked the storage spaces, looked under beds, purposefully made their sleeping quarters neat and tidy with the cutest stuffies to greet them-joyful, bauble eyes and all, scoured corners, read only happy, perfectly-funny bedtime stories to make them feel calm, but no, the fear is too real to them, too dark and impenetrable to possibly walk those stairs and down that hallway alone.
Every second of my day is filled with something. This is every mother’s day, every mother’s day in the entire universe, full, full, full. I try to take the recommended few moments to be still, fill my heart with gratitude and focus on my breathing. Occasionally (never) I make it through without interruption and sometimes I’m only mildly distracted by the pitter patter of puppy paws and 4-year-old feet but more often than not it’s the problem of The Ghost Man pulling me from my moments and screwing up any bit of calmness and grace.
Little Kid: “Mommy, I need my iPad.” (PS No kid ever actually NEEDS their iPad).
Me: “Go get it then.”
Little Kid: “It’s upstairs.”
“Upstairs” where some ambiguous “thing” lives and awaits my tiny child so it can swallow them whole, belch up their bones and leave them in a pile to show the next kid that dare come up there what is about to happen. They can’t really tell me what they are scared of, they can’t put it into words, but in my mind, he is The Ghost Man. And he’s starting to piss me off. I have now spent so many of my days here thinking about what is actually upstairs and what might be causing them fear, I have created my own persona known as The Ghost Man. He is some tall, lanky dude completely harmless with a serious case of the munchies and a beer in one hand, up there in ripped jeans and a Grateful Dead t-shirt laughing his ghostly-ass off to his friends. “Dude, I’m totally freaking these kids out and it’s hilarious, man, you gotta see it, oh wait, here comes one right now, Boo!” (insert stoned laughter)
When asked repeatedly throughout the day by one of my scared, innocent children, “can you please go upstairs with me”, I start to lose it, just a little bit. “Ok fine, no problem, let me stop EVERYTHING and give one more piece of my soul to you as I go up and get your completely non-essential, brain-wasting electronic device and bring it down safely from the clutches of “upstairs” and you know what, in fact, forget it, I’m going to go up there and get everything: pillows, tweezers, tampons, area rugs, underwear, canned goods, pajamas, photo albums, teddy bears, the other three kids, that stash of candy we both know is behind your bed, the tv (and remote), bottled water, a box of wine and 6 tubes of mascara (so I don’t have to look completely awful) and we are going to build a giant Anti-Monster fort in the kitchen DOWNSTAIRS and never come out and never, ever in the future of ever-dom will I have to “take you upstairs” again while dinner burns in Georgia!”
Instead, I hold their clammy hand and say “yes, my love, let’s go.”
Because I’m starting to see as enviably-adaptable as kids are, it takes them a minute, too, to feel like they are completely home. I remember the dark and spooky as a kid, and I lived in the same house, where my parents still reside to this day, for eighteen years of my life. As a child, I never had to discover a new home, a new terrain or sort out any new ghost men. And while I believe in the beauty of change and the character-building efforts of finding one’s way in new territory, it can be daunting. So, even when we may not want to keep running, up the stairs and through the woods filled with fear and monsters, up we go, because that’s what we do, baby, run through the scary stuff.
Hey, Ghost Man, I got your number, and I’m coming for you.
One day, over a decade from now, one the the littles is going them find themselves in a situation that got a little out of hand. That was supposed to be one thing, and turned into something else entirely. Something scary. And the bulletproof teenager will, in an instant, be reduced to the child that they still half are. And in that moment, these kids in particular, are going to know that it’s ok to call Mom. They’ll know that while it may be uncomfortable and there may be consequences, ultimately, Mom will get them out of this jam and it will be ok. And Mom will be so, so grateful that they called her. And they’ll know that instinctually because when it was inconvenient and made no sense and it produced flares and tension….up the stairs they went, step be step, with Mom. Is there any other way to build that kind of foundation that later saves ones ass in almost-adult world? I don’t know of one. Cause in the moments where decisions really matter, folks go on gut instinct. And that foundation is built on thousands of little moments that individually don’t seem like much, but strung together, are absolutely everything. I think you’re doing it right ❤️
Oh man, I hope I’m doing it right or at least well enough to keep us all going. Thank you for always having my back. xoxoxoxo
So great Cecily. Xo
My 13 year old is still terrified of thunder storms. My 10 year old won’t take a shower upstairs if no one else is up there. My almost 8 year old has a fear of being left…at school, at soccer practice, at home…all because of that ONE time I forgot to pick him up at preschool…
Yup, I, too live in a world of irrational fears. Then again, my irrational fear of eight legged creatures is a bit sad for this 40 year old mom, but what the hell, I’m still running with you.
Indeed, let’s keep running. xoxoxo
Love this (and absolutely love the identity you gave the ghost man, lol). I’m reasonably sure you might probably remember my “ghost man,” as a kid–but mine was a ghost lady :). I had a dream that she died right after I graduated from high school–and she only played a supporting role in the few dreams she visited from then on. After high school, upon entering “real life” she just turned into plain old, garden variety “anxiety.” Not nearly as much fun for party games and story telling–but maybe a little bit more manageable in a way. I don’t not believe in the supernatural, and can’t seem to shake my entertainment of its part in her existence. However–I’m pretty sure I know who Mrs. French Fry was–and I still deal with her every day. Wouldn’t be who I am without her, though, and even kind of celebrate her existence (or “existence”). I sort of miss having that being for the anxiety and fear to funnel into–she sort of made life livable for a very nervous kid, I think. It’s weird, but sometimes I think of her as an old ally, though I didn’t see it that way at the time. I think a lot of people look back at their “ghost men” fondly, actually–wishing “he” was still the scariest thing they could encounter.
You are amazing and a rock star forever and always.
For some reason my comments crossed paths with your facebook comment…..but you ARE a rock star and oh my goodness, I remember all of the sleepovers and ghosts. I loved being at your house as a kid. Yep- they all kind of still hang on don’t they? They are still with us in one form or another. xo