Learning to Let Go: A Mother's Story

“The best way to keep children at home is to make the home atmosphere pleasant, and let the air out of the tires.”
― Dorothy Parker

This morning, I dropped Thing 1 off at the high school so he could go with his marching band to a competition a few towns over.  He got out of the car, gathered his things, and then looked me in the eye and, with his deep manly voice, said, "OK, then.  I'll see you later."

Thing 1 walks off into the sunrise

I drove away a little teary-eyed.  I'm often not sentimental about traditional milestones that I'm SUPPOSED to be weepy over.  I didn't cry when he went to kindergarten.  It didn't bother me when he went to middle school.  But, now...these days he's needing me less and less.  He's out there doing his own thing.  His world is his own.  And it hits me every so often that my Big Job as a mom is almost done.  He's almost baked.

This morning, he got up before I even thought to go and rouse him.  He came downstairs and proceeded to pack his lunch with nary a reminder from me.  He consulted his list and gathered all the items he needed for the day.  As he stood eye-to-eye with me, we discussed how best to pack and where he could put his spending money so he could have access to it (and not, as I always fear, lose it and have no money to eat!). 

He's growing up.  All those motherly worries come back to me.  Does he have faith?  Can he withstand the storms of life on his own?  What if someone hurts him?  Have we taught him well? What if he fails?

I worry because the child's head is quite often in the clouds.  He missed the bus just a couple of weeks ago not because he was late to the stop, but because he was daydreaming when the bus pulled up.  He stood there, lost in his own world, while the GIANT YELLOW SCHOOL BUS picked up his classmates and moved along.  He's not prepared to go out on his own!  This child NEEDS a mother.

He's been mine from day one.  We learned about life together.  I had no idea how to be a mother and he was new to the world.  I was fortunate to be able to stay home with him as an infant.  I cried when he cried.  I tried to sleep in the few minutes when he would sleep.  We left the house every morning together in pursuit of the day's Great Adventure and I talked and talked and talked.  Knowing who he is now, I must have driven him bat-shit crazy as a child.  I'm almost positive he cried so much because he simply couldn't take so much interaction--touching, holding and talking. 

He's out on his own today.  He's building his own life and dreaming his own dreams.  And I, as I should, am standing on the sidelines cheering him on, quietly.  His life is not mine.  And my role now is to become more and more passive as the years go by until the only role I have is that of quiet cheerleader. 

My best friend's daughter went to college this year.  I thought she handled it very well as a mother.  I know she struggles still...but she's doing better than I thought she would.  I know that, when my time comes and my chickens fly the nest, I'll be fine.  But, until then, I will probably have more of these teary reminders that Thing 1 will be Out On His Own in a blink of an eye.

The days are very, very long.  But the years?  They're so very, very short.

It's good to be back in the Rockin' Chair...if only for a moment.  Ya'll take care.

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I DID Learn a Lot in Kindergarten!

“Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw some and paint some and sing and dance and play and work everyday some.”
― Robert Fulghum

I begin my days early.  There is always something wonderful and magic about the pre-dawn hours.  I often stroll the streets of my neighborhood with my earbuds in and my Pandora station tuned to something I can sing along to while I walk.  In those hours just before dawn I am new.  I haven't screwed anything up yet and life is always full of possibilities.

It's always then (well, NOW) when ideas strike.  

This morning I didn't take a stroll.  I somehow injured myself on Saturday night when the boys and I went bowling with my Significant Other and his daughter.  Who knew you should stretch before bowling?  HE claims I wrenched my knee during my goofy (public) victory dance after nabbing that spare.  I think that bowling may just be more strenuous than we imagine. But I digress.

This morning, I sat down at my computer to do some work.  And then found myself searching for Robert Fulghum quotes.  

In the moment with Things 1 and 2

For those of you who don't know Robert Fulghum, he was the author of the 1989 besteller, "All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten."  It was probably the first "positive thinking/self-help/let's all feel good" book I ever read.  My copy is dog-earred and worn because I have a tendency to bring it out year after year.  I still cry for many reasons when I read it.  Mostly I cry because he puts into words the hope, the joy and the absolute certainty I have that the world is not made up of hate but of love.  If you haven't read it, you should.  Today.  Here's a link.  And here's a spoiler alert:  the Crayola bomb is my absolute favorite essay.

I stopped watching the news a long time ago.  Well, I catch snippets of The Today Show in the morning as I get ready for work. But mostly, I cruise along in blissful ignorance of the "news."  I choose to believe that the REAL news in our lives is more positive.  So, in celebration of the positive, I'm sharing the REAL NEWS this morning:

1. You're alive.  You made it through the night.  You're still here so you have yet another chance to offer that apology or to find that new job or to clean your dirty kitchen floor.  Today starts NOW and you're still here to enjoy it.  Yes, I know that your boss is a jerk and your spouse is neglectful and your kids are out of control.  But, yet, here you are.  That's good news.
2. Right now, someone is doing something good.  It could even be happening in your own house!  The truth is this:  at every second on this planet there are many, many wonderful things going on.  Someone is singing a song.  Someone is listening to an elderly parent tell a story (for the thousandth time). Someone is smiling.  Someone is holding a door for a stranger.  Everywhere.  All the time.  Good things are happening. 
3. This, too, shall pass.  Every moment is fleeting.  Even if you're having the best worst day of your LIFE, it will be over tomorrow.  No matter how you're feeling in this moment, it will pass.  The joy will be gone (but it will come again!), the sorrow will be fleeting, the pain will disappear.  Trust me.  It will pass.  So, why not take this opportunity to be here?  Take a minute to fully appreciate where you are IN THIS MOMENT.  And then move along.  
4. Life is happening.  I am channeling my inner Dr. Seuss here:  don't get stuck in the waiting place!  Take action, no matter how small.  Even if you're just getting up out of your chair to walk around the block or putting down your cell phone to notice that flowers are blooming or the rain is falling.  Life is happening all around you.  Be a part of it.

Over the past couple of years, I have found my own joy.  I work hard to be fully present in the moment and, by simply focusing on the four things above mixed in with a little prayer and an attitude of thankfulness for the grace in my life, I am more joyful and more mindful than ever before.  Circumstances change but my heart stays the same.

What's your news?

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How to Be a Mother (or, Things I Learned the Hard Way)

"Mothers are all slightly insane." -JD Salinger

Mothers are not born.  Instead, they are carved in flesh from late nights, worries, struggles with discipline, and fretting every. single. day. over whether they are making the right choices.  Being a mother is the toughest thing I've ever done and, while I won't detail all of that here, I've climbed some pretty high mountains.

I didn't want to be a mother.  Fortunately, my Ex Husband was fairly insistent that he carry on the family name and, since I happened to be married to him, he figured I was the one to do the job. WHAT?

OK, fine.

I became a mother.  And I learned how to breastfeed and change diapers and how to try to soothe a fussy (screaming) baby while not losing my own mind.  He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  I didn't sleep much and I was scared out of my mind most of the time.

I didn't want to screw up this tiny amazing gift.  I didn't want him to ever feel a moment's pain or fear.  I became INTENTIONAL in my treatment of him...the first time I had ever behaved so with another human being.  When I approached him, I never swooped him up without first saying, gently, "I'm going to pick you up now."  Before he could talk, I talked him through our days together.  "In ten minutes, we'll leave the house and I'll take you to the park." I cherished the idea that he was a tiny human being and only in my care for a short time.  I'm sure I probably appeared nuts to strangers but it was so important to me that I honor his SEPARATENESS from me.

I became a mother again.  And I realized that THIS beautiful tiny amazing gift was completely different from the first.  He slept (I didn't realize babies DO THAT!).  He cried and, more important, STOPPED CRYING when he was attended to.  I was distracted by my busy toddler but I contentedly snuggled up with this one and put the housework aside as I PURPOSEFULLY enjoyed each moment of his growth.

Nurturing doesn't come naturally to me.  I'm selfish and irritable and all the things that mothers aren't supposed to be.  But I work hard at it every day.  Really hard.  And I think women should be real with other women.  We should be more courageous in explaining that mothering is tough and that it's not all sunshine and roses and beatific appreciation.

1. There are days when you want to quit.  Those days, for me, came early on.  The days of crying, snot and fevers were tough ones for me.  I have never been a baby person.  They're cute and all but I am never one to volunteer to hold them.  There were so many days when I literally had to breathe deep and not run screaming out the door.  Dealing with beings who communicate through sobs, snuffles and grunts was not my specialty.  But even now that they are getting more fun for me all the time, there are days when I have to grit my teeth to get through dinner.  Some days, I truly just want to be left alone.  When you're a mom, "alone" is the toughest thing to come by.  
2. It's OK to be real in front of your kids.  As moms, we need to show our children our emotions.  If we protect them from the bad stuff we're feeling, then they may be confused about their OWN emotions and question whether or not they're normal if they're mad/sad/confused/hurt.  I intentionally show my children my emotions and then I discuss what I'm going through (not in the "on the therapist's couch" kind of way but in the "I'm having a problem and this is what I'm going to do about it" way).  It's important for kids to watch you work through your own stuff.  I still protect them from some of the nasty, nitty-gritty I've experienced but I let them see the day-to-day struggles and the subsequent strength that comes from them.
3. Understand that they are not tiny versions of you.  Oh, don't get me wrong; I see a LOT of my flaws in my children.  One or the other has my procrastination, my sloppiness, my temper, my drama, and on and on.  And I realize that I've taught them to eat dessert before dinner (hey, life is SHORT!) and I've encouraged them to be still (lazy?) and enjoy the small things in life.  I know that my parenting impacts them in good and bad ways.  But they each need different things from me.  And they don't need the same things I need.  They are not me. 
4. It never gets easier.  Oh, they no longer cry.  But now I deal with different things like the lack of attention to homework.  I get calls from the vice principal at school because one of my kids feels like violence is the answer (when, in reality, it NEVER IS...why won't he get that?).  I struggle with whether or not my introvert feels isolated or if my extrovert is happy.  I wonder if I have ruined them because their father and I divorced.  I worry that they will be sitting on my couch eating Cheetos and playing video games when they're forty.  I want to be sure that they feel happy, safe and secure in the knowledge that they are loved.  
5. Loving them is the best part.  I still look at them in amazement that they came from me.  I would die for them.  I know now what it is to understand beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would take a bullet for someone.  I would..without hesitation.  They're funny, kind and smart young men.  I watch admiringly as they hold doors for people at church.  I was thrilled to come home yesterday and find that they REALLY HAD cleaned the house for me while I was out for a couple of hours.  I adore these kids.  And I'm really glad their dad talked me into having them.  Good call, Ex Husband.  

I am by no means a "wonderful" mother.  Phew, this job is TOUGH.  I read books and magazine articles and I beg other parents to tell me their secrets.  I Google things like "what to do when your kid won't turn in homework." I am rarely patient and I am completely self-absorbed at times.  But I wake up every day vowing to try harder than I did the day before to give these boys what they need to grow to be strong, caring men...the kind of people the world needs more of.   And, so far?  Wonder of wonders, I think it may be working...

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Missed Connections

“Death ends a life, not a relationship.”
― Mitch Albom

“We often forget our human connectedness. Throughout my life, I have felt the greatest beauty lies in this connection. It has been in the deepest connections with others that I have experienced the greatest degree of learning, healing and transformation. This connection is a powerful thing, with the ability to transform lives, and ultimately transform human experience.”
― Kristi Bowman 

Photo courtesy of photostock/freedigitalphotos.net

Last night, I dreamed of an old friend.  She is a friend I haven't seen since I was a teenager.  We have no current connections.  She isn't a "Facebook friend" nor have I searched for her name on Google.  Many, many years ago, we shared a table in a classroom and, while she was an important piece of my world then, she is simply a memory to me now.

But last night, there she was!  She hadn't aged at all.  Her skin was still perfect.  And she was inviting me to a party.  How lovely!  It didn't seem unusual in my dream and, as I eyed the invitation list,  I spied a variety of friends, past and present, and wondered aloud at the connections.

We spend our lives weaving in and out of memories.  We share pieces of our day with veritable strangers who become part of the background noise of our lives.  We wave at neighbors and exchange pleasantries at the grocery store with the parents of our kids' friends whose names we can never quite remember.   We recognize the faces of people we see across the aisles at church.  In and out.  They come and go. 

But what happens when one of them disappears?

Today, I received some terrible news about a colleague I worked with not too long ago.  He died last night after a car accident.  Unforeseen.  Unexplained.  Here yesterday.  Gone today.

I don't have the audacity to say he was my friend, although I liked him very much.  His true friends, I am sure, are missing him terribly already.  He was a handsome guy with a quick, broad smile.  He often had positive things to say even when things around him were gloomy. I saw him almost daily for many years as we drudged through our workdays. 

I liked him.  And now he is gone. 

This news has hit me very hard, even though I wasn't close to him.  He was a part of my world.  And I am sad that I will never get the chance to know him better.  That was my loss.  Because of my faith, I believe that he is now in a wonderful place...but my heart breaks for his wife and for the children he has left behind.

I saw him last Thursday.  He smiled at me and we exchanged hellos but I didn't stop to speak with him.  You see, I was on my way to something else.  I was Busy With Important Things.  There were too many people that day that I didn't pause to speak to.

We go through our days, often hurried and harried.  We complain about our partners, our children, and our jobs.  We bend over our smart phones, inhaling social media without pausing to be a part of our own lives.  We nod and smile and wave.  Or we grimace and frown and avoid.  But we don't connect.

Life is precious.  And it is fragile.  And we are only here for a short time.  We have this one life and this one opportunity to connect.

Jayan, you and your smile will be missed...by everyone you touched.


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An Open Letter to My Sons, Ages 13 and 11

  “Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the make upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness.
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He also loves the bow that is stable.”
― Kahlil Gibran

Dear Things 1 and 2,

I've been thinking a lot about my parenting lately and I've come to some tough conclusions.  See, no one gave me a user manual when either of you were born.  And no one told me that Thing 2 would not be simply the updated beta version of Thing 1...but an entirely new being altogether.  One would think that, sharing the same genetic coding, you would be FAIRLY similar but, alas, I have had to adapt as a parent to two completely different personalities.

Here's the deal, kiddos:  my vision of your lives is not reality.  

Let me explain.  See, I thought that maybe you would be like me...except BETTER VERSIONS of me.  I thought you would have my excellent grades with none of my weirdness and personality flaws.  OR, I thought you would be like your dad.  Maybe like who he is NOW.  I thought you would be even-tempered and funny with the smarts to ace tests when you felt like it and charm rooms when you didn't.

Smaller versions of Things 1 and 2

But the thing that I've come to grips with is this:  you are completely different people.  You have your own paths to follow and the paths that you are choosing are probably not going to be the paths I would have chosen for you.  I would have picked straight A's with plenty of wholesome and fun-filled activities.  I would have picked Kookie Kutter Kids of the TV sitcom variety.  The reason I've harped about grades and responsibility and Doing What's Right is because I was expecting you to stand tall on that conveyor belt and make your way through the factory to the end. To the Diploma.  To the College Degree.  To be like Everyone Else.

I have been wrong.  Damnation, it stings to admit it.  But I have been wrong. 

Who both of you are is so much more amazing than I could have ever conjured up.  Man, you're funny.  And kind (most of the time, if not to each other).  You're quick-witted and lively.  Sometimes, you flash a bit of anger.  But you stand up for what's right.  And you don't seem to care about what the crowd is doing...each of you carves your own way.  You're so smart it's scary sometimes.  I don't know if your teachers see it because I don't know that you care to show them.  You regularly miss assignments.  One of you gets suspended more often than I care to think about.  You bump and grind through the machinery.  And somehow...you're getting polished.  You're getting through it.  Not the way I would have liked and not the easy way...but you're getting through it.

I've been scared for you, I'll admit it.  The world is not always kind to people who are different...to people who make their own way.  But you're handling it. As you tell me, Thing 1, you've got this under control.

I'm sorry for "monologuing" as you put it just the other day, Thing 2.  I'll try not to do that anymore.  It must suck to sit there and listen to a parent go through all the reasons why you should be doing something differently.  My excuse would have been that I want what's best for you.  But maybe I don't know what that is. 

Heck, I'm just getting my OWN life figured out...I don't know how I ever thought I could be a parent and be responsible for molding OTHER people.  This is YOUR life.  The mistakes you make are yours.  I can offer guidance...but I cannot shape you to be that vision of the kids I THOUGHT I wanted.  (Besides, those kids would bore me to TEARS!)

I think you're the bees' knees.  You're the bomb diggity.  You are both easily far and away the best thing I've done with my life.  And I am so honored to get to be a part of your lives. Thank you for not allowing me to bend you into people you are not.  Thank you for being strong in the face of parental stupidity.

I'll try to do better.  Now, please...finish your homework.

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The Mind is a Terrible Thing (Or How I Waste Mine)

"You would run much slower if you were dragging something behind you, like a knapsack or a sheriff." - Lemony Snicket

I get SO CAUGHT UP in stuff sometimes. There was a point in my life (in the, admittedly, not-too-distant past), when I had to stop playing computer Solitaire. It wasn't that I LOVED Solitaire so much that I was addicted to it. It was more that every time I played I got lost in my own world. 

Yes, she is absolutely nuts...

I would create this whole storyline in my head where someone (usually a king or a Jack...but every now and again it would be a queen) would turn against the kingdom and would exact painful torture methods against the other cards. Or sometimes, it would be a war they were plotting (clubs and spades vs. hearts and diamonds). There were villains and heroes. There were innocent bystanders and ne'er-do-wells. The weird part is that I would do it completely unknowingly and would basically "come to" an hour or so later after some emotionally wrenching scene I concocted on the screen and in my head. (I have no idea what's wrong with me...so just don't ask.) 

Anyway, I had to stop playing Solitaire because I would not only lose time but I really started CARING about all those weird little people I was fantasizing about in my head. I figured if I stopped playing Solitaire the creativity in my brain would seep out into my life. No such luck.

No worries, though: I have a NEW OBJECT OF FASCINATION. He doesn't know it. But I think about him ALL THE TIME.

So, about 4 or 5 years ago, this guy started running from my neighborhood. Literally. He ran away from my neighborhood daily.  And this guy is not your typical runner guy. He wears a baseball cap. And camo shorts. And, over the years, his red hair has gotten longer. He is my own personal Forest Gump because, and here's the kicker: I imagine that he runs all the time.

I see him at different stages of his run. Sometimes he's on this road. Sometimes, he's on that road. His speed never seems to vary and his outfit never changes. But his hair grows longer. He wears it in a pony tail now.

So, I pass him. In my car. And I fight (truly, I FIGHT IT) the urge to pull over and start talking to him. 

"Hey, Running Guy," I imagine myself saying. "Why do you wear camo shorts? Are you hiding from the law? What are you running from? What do you think about on all these long miles logged in your Nikes? Running Guy, do you hold the secret to life?"

I have several different life-scenarios for Running Guy. In one, he's lost his entire family in the Plague of 2008 and he runs to escape the pain and to connect with his young son whose only joy had been to run like the wind blows. In another, he's running because if he stops he is sure to pick up the crack pipe again...the addiction that cost him his shot in the FBI...

I could go on, but you get the picture.

Some people have over active bladders. I have an overactive imagination. I don't think Pfizer makes enough drugs to help me. All I can do is sit...and think...and hope that the Running Guy stops running before I become a verified stalker. 

Do you get all caught up in weird things that you (seemingly) have no control over? How do YOU handle yourself? 

Confessions of a Divorced Mom

“Divorce isn't such a tragedy. A tragedy's staying in an unhappy marriage, teaching your children the wrong things about love. Nobody ever died of divorce.”
― Jennifer Weiner

Things 1 and 2 on a Great NYC Adventure...WITH mom

After work today, I headed out into the world to run a few errands.  I perused the fancy dogwear aisle at PetsMart.  (No, I did NOT purchase anything for either hound but I did see someone who HAD to be a stripper with a tiny purse dog with a zebra-print-pink-tulle-fringe tutu.  The dog had the tutu, not the stripper.  Although I could totally visualize the tutu on the stripper.  But I digress.)  Then I hit up Costco and stood there for at LEAST 5 minutes trying to determine if the backpack lounge chair was a Nice or Necessary purchase (I opted for Nice and left without it).

Then I came home to a childless house, said hello to the mongrels and headed upstairs to take a long, hot shower at the end of a long day.

As I sit here, the only sound I hear is the dishwasher running in the kitchen and the sound of paws on the hardwood floor.

I have a secret.  It's a secret that sometimes we divorced parents talk about in giggles and whispers. We know that married (never divorced) parents have NO IDEA about this secret.  We know that those parents often feel really sorry for US.  And we know they feel sorry for our kids.  It's a BIG secret.  And I MAY be kicked out of the Happy Divorced Parents Club for telling it.  But I feel like it's something that should get out:   

sometimes, being a divorced parent is a FABULOUS THING.  

(In fairness, I have to add a caveat:  being a divorced parent can be a truly wonderful thing IF you have an Ex Spouse, as I do, who actively participates in your children's lives.  I do know several [too many] divorced parents who are the ONLY parent.  THAT kind of divorced parenting truly SUCKS. It sucks on a variety of levels...not the least of which is watching the heartbreak in your children on a daily basis.  But, again, I digress.  Let's get back to the FUN of it.)

OK, I realize I can't tell my kids about how awesome it can be to have the house ALL TO MYSELF.  I don't want them to know that sometimes I spend entire Saturdays in my jammies eating guacamole with rice crackers while binging on episodes of The Walking Dead.  I don't think they need to find out that I dance (really dance) in my living room to old Brittany Spears jams (OK, no one needs to know that.  Fortunately, only, like, four people read my blog.  Hi Mom!).

When the kids are with their other Very Involved Parent, I get to just be...me.  I get to be the person that I am when all my guards are down and I don't have to put on a happy face or a serious face or a grown-up face or an "I'm listening" face for anyone.  I can wear my Ho Ho Ho fleece pajamas in March (like I would do that) and I can drink too much wine before bed because I don't have anyone to answer to or anyone to supervise.

I adore my kids.  I do.  I love them with every breath in my body and would lay down my life for them in a burning pit of flaming lizards every day if I had to.  But, I have to tell you, I don't always love being a parent.  It's a welcome respite to not have to play referee, understanding listener, stern disciplinarian, knowledgeable teacher or to just hear the word, "Mom."  Sometimes, I cringe when I hear that word.  I really do.  And I know that I am blessed in this life to have these amazing kids.  And I know that sometimes people don't get this chance.  I know all that. 

But, good golly, sometimes I truly do love the break.  Is it selfish?  Wildly.  Do I care?  Not so much right this moment.  I am not, by any stretch, a nurturing person.  Being a parent takes a lot of focus, extraordinary effort and a willingness to devour parenting books and articles by the truckload.  I'm not a natural.  And I get tired.  And my kids are EASY, for the most part.

Sometimes, not ALWAYS, but SOMETIMES...it's just nice to be left alone.  To be alone.  It's just...nice.  (Don't ever tell my kids I said that...I'll tell them you are LYING.)

My life is good.  I realized tonight when I was putting away the groceries that I have made it.  I am living in the NOW.  I am happy.  I am...complete.  I don't know how I got here but I know the road was long. Happy to be back in the rockin' chair...if only for a moment.  I hope you're well and happy and emotionally adjusted in your own right.

Now, where is that wine??

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.