Daughters and Sons

Yesterday, as I was walking Rooney (cue obligatory cute dog photo):

I was listening to music and the song Daughters by John Mayer came on. The playlist I generally listen to when I'm walking the dog is long and varied so I hadn't heard this song come up in awhile.

There's something very sweet and plaintive about this song. This poor lovestruck guy who is apparently suffering the effects of being in love with a girl who had an absentee father and therefore has trust and commitment issues, is making a musical plea for fathers everywhere to love their daughters well.

I'm with you there, John. 

In addition to his advocating for all future grown-up girls who might one day date someone like him who'd rather not have a girlfriend with "issues",  John apparently would also like a time machine in which he could reverse the time-space continuum (probably something that resembles a DeLorean) and somehow convince his beloved's father to stop being such a schmuck.

It's really all very noble and romantic (and a teeny bit self-serving, but I'm willing to forgive him that).

Where John loses me is with this throwaway stanza in the middle of the song that pretty much says you can dump on your sons all you want, but you better be gosh darn sure to take care of those girls.

Boys, you can break. 

You'll find out how much they can take.

Boys will be strong

And boys soldier on

But boys would be gone without the warmth from

A woman's good, good heart

Never mind that there is again a bit of a self-serving message here. Basically, that he would like the benefit of a woman's good, good heart and never mind that he's a broken mess himself because he's a boy and he'll just pull up his boot straps and soldier on. But as a mother of two sons I can tell you (and I'd tell John, too, but he hasn't been taking my calls) that it's just so completely and utterly false.

I have two pretty soldier-like boys myself. They keep their tougher emotions close to the vest and eschew any big discussions of "feelings". Ask a teenage boy to "use their words" to describe what's going on with them and mine would come up with words like, nothing, fine, I don't care, and whatever. We have tried giving them a Thesaurus and Word-a-Day calendars as birthday gifts but it hasn't seemed to help (nor have those gifts been particularly popular-go figure?)

That said though, I don't imagine for a minute that they don't wrestle with tough emotions all the time. And if you learn to watch carefully, as a mom, you can always see the signs.

It's in the eyes. It's in the way they suddenly get snappish and grouchy over things that would normally never bother them. They can't focus and procrastination reaches even greater pinnacles than you ever thought possible. Their words start carrying an air of futility or ambivalence; things like, What does it matter?, I didn't really care anyway, It's stupid, or even better they will string them all together in one big long statement of angst, Who cares? It's all just stupid and doesn't matter and I didn't care anyway. That pretty much sums it up, huh?

All of the snarls, the closed bedroom doors, the half-done homework, it's all their masculine way of saying:

I'm disappointed.

I'm worried.

I'm scared.

I'm not sure of what to do next.

And while so far my boys have been able to bounce back from all of the setbacks they've faced, I don't think for a minute that they couldn't be broken, that they aren't vulnerable, that nothing life throws at them could ever take them down. Just because they're boys?

Boys fill our prisons.

Boys commit the overwhelming majority of the violent crimes in this country.

Boys commit the majority of the non-violent crimes in this country.

Applications for college is lower for boys than girls.

Girls outnumber boys in successful completion of college.

Sorry, John, we are going to have to agree to disagree on this one (and I might have a few bones to pick with you on some of your other songs. I'll let you know after I walk Rooney today and have a chance to mull over Say and Your Body is a Wonderland. I'm feeling like there is some subtext there that I'm not getting...)

How about we all agree, Fathers and Mothers, to be good to both our daughters and our sons? 

Let's try not to break anybody and find out how much they can take. Life will usually do enough of that all on its own.

I'm done over-analyzing the lyrics to pop songs for today. I can't promise what might spring up in my brain tomorrow though. I've got a lot of time to think when I'm walking my youthful, energetic, fluffy buddy. One of these days, I'll come up with the answers to all of the world's problems. 

I'll keep you posted.

R U there yet

Jack's acceptance to college and our recent "field trip" to see the campus have all been undeniable clues that as insane as it seems right now, our eldest child will be leaving home sometime later this year.

"Impossible!" my heart says.

But my mind keeps annoyingly interjecting, "Yup, it's happening, Lady, so you better just get on board."

The problem is that at this point there isn't a lot a parent can do to "get on board". We don't officially know yet which school he will be attending in the fall (other yes/no letters will be arriving mid-March) so there are still a multitude of unknowns. Start date. Location. Will we be driving or flying him to school? Will his northwest wardrobe suffice, or is he headed to sunnier skies and will be needing a bigger repertoire of shorts and flip flops?

(Actually, Jack never wears flip flops and I highly doubt any geographic location would change that. He wears some version of tennis shoes or boat shoes everywhere. School, pool, beach, casual dining, fancy restaurant, reception for the Queen...wherever...)

The thing is, I'm not a big fan of ambiguity. Or uncertainty. Or the unknown. This might explain why we have lived in the same house for 20+ years and have no plans to change that anytime soon. Adventurers and trailblazers we are not.

So, what I like to do to give myself the illusion of some semblance of control or certainty, when there is nothing that I really can control or be certain of, is to seek, gather and acquire as much knowledge as possible about any piece of the puzzle that I can put my finger on.

That desire has lead me to this book:

I haven't finished it yet but so far I would say that a lot of the information would be equally relevant to parents of children in their junior or senior year in high school. Not only does some of it relate to that age group as well, but I am finding it good timing to start thinking about the issues it raises before our first child leaves the nest.

Essentially, the point of the book is to look at how much technology has changed the way parents and their college-age kids communicate. Not surprisingly, with the advent of cell phones, email, texting, facebook etc...college kids and their parents communicate much more frequently and easily than they did even 10-15 years ago when cell phones were not so universally commonplace and instant communication like texting was still in its infancy. 

One of the things I like so far about the book is that the authors do not automatically point to the increased contact between young adults and their parents as being all bad. They demonstrate that their research and data shows that not only is communication greater between college students and their parents these days because it's convenient and simple, but also because the students and parents have genuinely close relationships and want to continue to share in one another's lives. Interestingly too, the contact is not primarily initiated by the parents as you might think, but in fact was found to be initiated almost equally between students and parents.

But as with any new advancement or shift in the cultural landscape, the question always becomes, how much is too much?

I don't really anticipate Jack being the sort of kid that is going to call me in between classes "just to chat" but when Ben got a text from him this evening when we were at a friend's surprise party reporting that his debit card wasn't working, it did make me think about how easily kids can cry out for help these days before having to even attempt to solve the problem on their own.

Reading this book is giving me a chance to think ahead, before we have had that last good-bye hug, about which things are appropriate for us to continue to offer guidance and help and which things we need to turn back to him to try and work out for himself. It's hard not to look back on that time in our own lives and think of all the myriad of troublesome situations we found ourselves in and remember that most of the time we were on our own to figure it out. Beyond the education you receive at a 4-year university, it's also as much about having the time to mature and grow and learn to navigate life a little on your own- while still in a relatively safe place with numerous grown adults you can go to for help (besides your parents).

I'll be the first to admit, I like the technology of today. I like the feeling of security, false or not, you get from being able to get in touch with your kids quickly and knowing they can get in touch with you. I like knowing that when they are driving across the city at night they have that cell phone (tucked away and certainly not in use while driving...ahem)- just in case. 

But reading this book has given me a new awareness of yet another job we have as parents. As our kids get older and approach young-adulthood, we have to be the ones to place limits on that easy access. We might need to make ourselves a little less available in the interests of pushing our kids out of the nest and encouraging them to fly on their own. We need to let them, or if necessary make them, grow up.

But I know...believe me, I know... it's easier said than done.

Holding on is easy...it's letting go that takes real muscle.

Walking the tightrope

These days, I've noticed that Superdad and I are fond of finishing any and all conversations centered around our teenage sons with the succinct, reassuring affirmation:

He's a good kid.

We say this in part because we certainly do believe that both of our sons are "good kids", but I suspect there is more lying underneath those simple words. It is a statement of both past behavior and hope for future behavior. It conveys a faith in their growing character even as we know their inner life is mostly hidden to us. It is sometimes more an expression of relief of all that they have not done than an expression of pride over things they have done. It's a reminder to ourselves to be calm in the face of immature choices and actions that are otherwise harmless in the grand scheme of things.

It is hope.

It is faith.

It is a prayer.

Because the reality is that for every parent of a teenage "good kid" there is an ever-present awareness of how tenuous it all is. That in the hands, heads and hearts of these impulsive, impressionable, headstrong individuals standing in that shaky ground between childhood and adulthood...mistakes can and will be made.

Good kids will make bad choices.

Lest anyone should have the impression that I am crossing a line and betraying more about my own two sons than I should- this post has not been prompted by any action taken by my boys. I would never share anything about them without their permission and certainly nothing that would ever cause them any shame.

No, these thoughts are coming out of hearing about two other boys we know. Boys we consider "good kids". Boys we have known for years. Boys who have made a bad choice.

And I am left shaking my head tonight, feeling sad for them and for their parents and hoping that somehow this will be a turning point for them that yields growth in the right direction and not the beginning of a downward spiral. Wondering how you respond when your "good kid" has made that leap outside of the very wide parameters of normal-dumb-teenage-stuff into the arena of oh-dear-God-you-are-in-real-trouble.

And I realize that a big part of what we are feeling when we look at one another and say hopefully...

He's a good kid

...is simply that we are grateful. Grateful that in spite of all of the ways our boys have made us gnash our teeth, wring our hands in worry and bellow in frustration (only Superdad bellows...I'm a model of patience and propriety) they have never given us any real trouble.

(Please excuse me while I pause to knock on wood, spit over my shoulder, avoid stepping on cracks and say ten Hail Mary's)

We are grateful but not naive. Because the truth is that on any given day, in the wrong place or at the wrong time- any "good kid" can be lead astray.

Which, I suppose, is why we pray.

Because most of the time, it's just about all you can do.

And just like that

With the arrival of the telltale large, white envelope from "The Office of Admissions"...

....and this letter containing the most glorious greeting we could have asked for....

...suddenly we have a child bound for college in the Fall of 2013.

We are still 9 months out from our official launch, but I'm happy to say...I think he'll be ready.

I hope I am.

A prayer for the New Year

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, 

as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning, that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

The Prayer of Saint Francis

Every rose has its thorns

Do you know this girl?

If you do, then you are lucky. If you don't, then I can promise you that you wish you did.

Why?

Because this girl is a delight.

This girl can tell you more about dogs than you ever needed to know. Aren't sure which breed is right for you? Ask Annie. She will ask you some questions about your home, lifestyle and personality and instantly come up with the right dog for you based on size, temperament and energy level. Wondering about a mixed breed? Annie can look at any mutt and accurately assess which breeds came together to form that charming little pup.

And if she should ever ask you, "Do you want to know how it works today?" Say yes. Because you won't believe what spills out of the imagination of this small girl on a daily basis. Every day is a fairy tale in Annie's world and one day we might all be flying dogs, superheroes with a particular power, or half-human/half-animal (of your choosing). Oh, and word to the wise, you better have a darn good reason why you chose the animal you did because without a decent explanation for being half-elephant she will promptly veto your plans and assign you an animal much better suited to your needs.

It's not that she is without her faults. Who isn't?

She worries too much.

She is wounded too easily.

She can be stubborn and forgetful and does not care for vegetables all that much.

But none of those things are the things that make me look toward her future with trepidation.

As much as I fear her heart being broken and her propensity for drama and anxiety... no, those are not the things that put me on my knees.

The thing is... this girl could be anything. And she has many ideas for what she might be. On any given day she'd like to be a veterinarian, a dog walker, a doggy-spa owner, a doggy day-care owner (are you detecting a theme?) and then sometimes for variety, she opts for being a gymnast, a teacher or an actress.

And I have no doubt that if she puts her mind to it, she could be any one of those things.

But in addition to being a dog walking-tumbling-veterinarian, I'm afraid my daughter is going to be something else.

A hoarder.

It's not that she likes to save lots of little trinkets and mementos. It's that she likes to save ALL little trinkets and mementos... and packaging and special notes and items from occasions that she didn't even enjoy.

For example, the purple nose-breather-thingy from the dentist office when she had a cavity filled. Do you think she enjoyed having a cavity filled? Do you think that is a special memory?

Neither do I.

How about the empty box pictured there? Nope, there is nothing in that box. But it has pictures of dogs on it so therefore it is meaningful and of great value. That dalmatian tail was part of a costume that Jack wore to his high school TOLO dance. I could have killed him when he offered it to his sister. Now, it is a permanent part of her ever-growing shelf display that only multiplies and never subtracts.

Last Christmas, Santa gave Annie one of those Dog-A-Day tear off calendars with 365 days of dogs. How perfect for our little dog lover, right?

Yes...and no.

Because every day is a new dog just as precious and adorable as the day before, none of which can be parted with.

I tried putting the torn off days into a folder hoping that eventually they would mysteriously find their way to the recycling. But Annie has a high need for visual displays of her most favored possessions.

What to do...what to do...(my plans all involved cutting the collection down to her Top 10 favorite dogs).

She solved the problem herself. All it took was a roll of scotch tape (which you'll notice is now permanently housed on her shelf, see picture #1) and her unique vision for interior design.

The door to her bedroom.

The cute flower fairy alphabet cards used to be her only wall display.

Not anymore.






This barely even scratches the surface as there are dog-calendar pages taped to virtually every surface in her room now.

She recently told me that she hopes Santa will bring her a new 2013 Dog-a-Day calendar.

Not likely.

It's all enough to make her minimalist-mother break out in hives.

I can only hope that whatever slow-growing "cleanliness gene" that I must carry, which allowed me to grow from a messy child into a tidy adult, is lying dormant somewhere in my sweet girl just waiting to flourish in adulthood when she will look back on these pictures and wonder aloud, How on earth did you stand this, Mother?

To which I will simply smile and pray that she will be blessed with her very own adorable, creative, tender-hearted, cart-wheeling, dog-loving, dreamy little hoarder.

And I'll be sure Santa leaves her a Dog-a Day Calendar under the tree.

Newer skies

Kneeling in Bethlehem

by Ann Weems

It is not over,

this birthing.

There are always newer skies

into which God can throw stars.

When we begin to think

that we can predict the Advent of God,

that we can box the Christ,

in a stable in Bethlehem,

that's just the time that God will be born

in a place we can't imagine and won't believe.

Those who wait for God

watch with their hearts and not with their eyes,

listening

always listening

for angel words.

This has long been my favorite Advent poem. I love the way it challenges us to imagine the possibility that the miracle of Christmas was not merely a one-time event in history, but evidence of God's ongoing, persistent, tireless, devoted and dogged determination to be known, to be felt, and to be present in our lives. If only we will listen.

This year, as I read this poem anew I was struck by the first lines and how much of motherhood is an endless process of birthing. That newborn whom we labored to bring into the world bears almost no resemblance to the toddler we must teach to walk and talk; nor he to the grade-school boy who must be taught self-control and compassion; and then we turn around and we are staring into the chest of a man-child, a head taller than ourselves, who is poised to take his first steps out into the world alone, possessing little more than youthful self-confidence and optimism- but anxious to leave nonetheless.

It is not over...this birthing.

And right now I am praying with all my might that there are newer skies ahead- skies that are star-filled and exploding with wonder and hope.

For him.

And for all of us.

Blessings to all this First Sunday of Advent.