Low-drama Mama

The other night Annie and I were having one of our many, many, many chats about school and friendships and the trials and tribulations of navigating both. Inevitably the conversation drifted toward a discussion about "friend drama" and we ended up talking about what it means to be "dramatic" versus what it means to just express your feelings.

It's a fine line, don't you think?

Anyway, it was a lighthearted conversation and not particularly angst-filled so at one point I leaned in close to Annie and teasingly said, "Do you know who my most dramatic child is?"

Without blinking or missing a beat, Annie looked me straight in the eye and said flatly...

"Tim."

She's catching on, that girl. I think she's gonna be okay.

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The last time I felt really sad about one of my kids taking the next inevitable step in life was when Timothy was graduating from pre-K. He was my baby then and we had been trying for over a year to have another baby so I had a lot of emotions about seeing my littlest taking the next big leap forward. But considering that was 10 years ago now, and given the fairly significant extenuating circumstances, that should give you some indication of my approach to seeing my kids moving upward and onward.

I have never cried a single tear when one of my kids started preschool, Kindergarten or any other grade.

Even when we forced Jack and Tim to change schools in the 8th and 5th grade respectively, and they were upset and nervous and sad about the change, I sent them off to their new school that first day with nary a tear.

When we had our baby, little Annie, change schools a month into her Kindergarten year I dropped her off with butterflies in my stomach but dry eyes.

Now, lest you think I'm cold-hearted, it's not that I didn't have heartfelt, conflicted emotions around all of those events. I prayed mightily for my boys that our decision to change schools would prove wise in the long run. I watched my little girl walk into that new, big school and part of me wanted to run after her and whisk her right back home with me.

But, at the end of the day, as much as there is always part of me that wishes I could slow the hands of time, there is a bigger part of me that sees how ready they are to take that next step. Sometimes more than ready. And life has taught me that holding them back would not only be futile but potentially disastrous. Because my experience is that when a kid is ready for more, leaving him in a place that is stifling him is only asking for trouble.

Anyone who knows me well knows I have many sad feelings about our first child leaving the nest. I don't think anyone can blame me for feeling nostalgic and wistful about such a major life event. But when people talk about tears at graduation or when we drop him off at college, I honestly cannot predict what will happen. I keep telling Superdad to be prepared for anything. I could sail through his graduation with smiles and cheers and nothing more than tremendous pride (and relief), or I could be a torrent of embarrassing, ugly, snot-filled sobbing.

I wish I knew.

I do know though that he is ready. Not ready for every single thing that is going to come his way from this point forward. None of us are ever wholly ready for every eventuality life can throw at us. But he is ready to be done with high school. He is ready to test those wings out in bigger skies, with a smaller safety net. He's starting to chafe against the restraints that are a necessary part of keeping high schoolers in line and teachers sane. And he's ready to trade those restraints for the responsibility that comes with owning your own decisions and your mistakes.

I have seen a lot of kids making some questionable choices as they approach the finish line and as an adult it is so hard not to want to scream at them and ask, "Why are you doing this? You are almost done! Can't you just get through a few more weeks??"

They are acting like children because they are dying not to be anymore.

They remind me of race horses penned into the starting gate. The agitation is palpable. They are straining at the bit and the reins attempting to keep them contained. They prance in place, knowing they can't move forward yet but all of their pent up energy won't allow them to be still. All of their attention and focus is centered on the freedom that they know is coming but is not here yet.

Which is why I don't know that there will be any tears at my son's graduation.

I will be proud and exuberant and yes, a little relieved...but I don't know that I will be sad.

He's so ready.

And as much as I love that boy and will miss a thousand things about having him in our home on a daily basis.

I really am excited for him.

P.S. So, just hold on a few more weeks, son... You are almost there. Just coast to the finish line, Buddy. We are rooting for you all the way.

Kindergarten

The rocky road

I have mixed feelings about Mother's Day.

Don't get me wrong, I certainly enjoy being served my favorite latte along with some sort of purchased baked good while still rubbing the sleep from my eyes and wondering what happened to "sleeping in"(I requested a long time ago that my mother's day breakfast come from Starbucks and not our kitchen). And I always get a kick out of my boy's yearly efforts at putting into writing how much they appreciate the clean laundry, food, shelter and general happiness they receive as members of this household. And, of course, there is sweet Annie who would turn the day into an all-out morning-until-night-snuggle-fest if I would let her (and I probably would if we didn't have to get to church). Then there's Superdad who is always thoughtful and in spite of my efforts to keep the bar low he never fails to make it a lovely day (well, there was that one year early in our marriage when I spent the day doing several loads of laundry... but he never let that happen again).

So, it's not that it isn't a nice day. And it's not that I don't enjoy receiving gifts, treats and a little appreciation as much as the next gal.

I just know that as hard as it is to be a mom, sometimes....it can be even harder to become a mother at all. And that is something that is never far from my mind on Mother's Day.

I've tried to be very open about the fact that all of our children were conceived with the help of various forms of fertility therapy. It wasn't always easy to be so transparent about such a personal endeavor, and certainly when we were first going through our struggles to have a baby it wasn't something I advertised to the world. But one of the reasons I believe Jack is here today is because someone else, a virtual stranger, a friend of a friend, chose to be vocal about her fertility struggles and gently offered me some advice and guidance that I am convinced (because I was there), changed everything.

Once I had made it to the other side and had become an infertility success story, I made every effort to be that person for others. I didn't put a big yard sign out with 'Got Questions?' on it in big letters, but I also didn't shy away from being honest about my story. Sure enough, there would be the occasional phone call, or the acquaintance who pulled me aside at a social gathering, or the friend who would want to know how they could be of help to their friend, or sister, or cousin...Other women quietly struggling, feeling alone and wondering how to cope with the grief that keeps mounting month after month after month.

So, there is that. One reason Mother's Day resonates with me in a way that is both happy and sad.

Little did I know then that there would be more twists and turns in my path of motherhood. New sorrows and new lessons learned. Two precious babies, born too small and gone too soon. Again though, as I emerged from the fog of grief (which took awhile) I made a decision not to hide our family's loss in the hopes that by making our babies known, others with their own angel babies would feel less alone.

So, there is that, too.

But, nowadays, my ambivalence has far less to do with my own rocky road of motherhood than it does with my deep sadness for all of the other rocky roads out there.

Motherhood is not for everyone and some women choose to remain childless. That is a choice to be respected and honored. But there are so many for whom motherhood is something they long for, have strived for and yet for countless reasons, remains beyond their grasp.

It breaks my heart.

Which is all part of why I have always created an atmosphere of low expectations surrounding Mother's Day in my household. I want my family to know that while I appreciate all of their love and thoughtful gestures, they really aren't necessary.

I am the lucky one.

The road not taken

When Jack was a toddler he decided he'd like to wear glasses. It might have had something to do with a certain aardvark named Arthur but, regardless, he was determined his life would be infinitely more wonderful if he were wearing glasses. When I told him that his eyes were just fine and he didn't need glasses... he took matters into his own hands.

When Jack was five years old he wore a sport coat and tie to pre-K for three months straight. He would play on the playground in full coat and tie. He would ride his bike in his little suit. He would go to friend's houses in full dress.

Even once he lost the daily coat and tie he still spent most of his 5th year in some form of semi-formal attire even if it was just a snappy plaid shirt with a bow tie. All because he liked it.

In grade school, when all of his friends were getting buzz cuts and dreaming of becoming major league ball players, Jack grew his hair long and took up skateboarding with a passion.

We had visions of broken bones, concussions and a slippery slope to a life of crime but...none of those fears came to pass. Skateboarding proved to be a great outlet for our athletic but non-competitive boy. It gave him a unique, diverse social circle that taught us all something about acceptance and being slow to judge based on appearances. That, and he knows every parking lot, sketchy alley and set of concrete stairs in the greater Seattle area. I'm sure that knowledge will come in handy at some point.

Last year, his American History teacher had this to say about Jack:

Jack marches comfortably to the beat of his own drummer. Always upbeat, always smiling. I appreciate his positive attitude and unique outlook on life.

Not many words about Jack's study habits or scholarship but I still read those words with a smile and a nod. Thinking to myself, Yep, that's my boy.

All of this is to say that I really shouldn't have been surprised when his college decision ended up being the one I absolutely least expected. 

Completely, totally...did. not. see. this. coming.

I really should know by now though that if there is one thing you can count in with Jack, it is for him to take his own path, in his own time, in his own way.

But because of that I guess I always thought he'd be one to want to go away, to go somewhere different and experience a new place, new people,  a new climate perhaps (our maritime climate has frequently interfered with his skateboarding). I always thought he'd be itching to GO.

Nope.

He's staying as close to home as he could get without participating in some sort of online university from his bedroom. He will, in fact, not be living at home (no way, no how) but if he were feeling particularly energetic he could walk home if he wanted to. It's that close.

I won't lie, at first I was disappointed. Concerned. I worried what this would mean for his "college experience." But with further thought, I realized my concerns had little to do with whether this school was the right fit for Jack and more to do with the fact that he was making a college choice that was very different from the choice I had made.

Yeah, the kid was daring to blaze his own trail and choose his own path.

Huh.

And then I knew this was my opportunity to start learning how to parent an adult child. Don't get me wrong, I don't think of Jack as an adult yet. I don't think Jack thinks of Jack as an adult yet. But he's headed that direction and if there is one thing I have observed in watching some tricky adult child-parent relationships, it is that it is very, very dangerous to start creating expectations in your mind as to who your adult child should or shouldn't be. And you definitely need to be careful that you don't take personally any decision your child makes that might differ from your own life's journey.

I chose to go two states away for college. Jack has chosen to go two miles away.

Good for me. Good for him.

Truth be told, my experience had its pluses and minuses. His probably will too.

And in the end, his "college experience" will largely depend on what he makes of it.

And if I know Jack, it will truly be his own.

He will find his own way to fly, probably in the way we least expect.

And it will be awesome to watch.

I'm sure of that.

The waiting game

When Jack received his first college acceptance letter there was unbridled elation in this household. I was giddy. Even my normally emotionally contained son cracked a big smile, gave a little fist pump, and declared, I'm going to college!

It's not that any of us were ever really worried that he wouldn't be accepted to college. But with your first child the whole process is such a great big, hairy, scary, overwhelming, bigger-than-life process and so even as you look at the numbers and statistics and console yourself that everything should be fine, you just don't know until you know.

Then, he received a few more college acceptances and it got kind of fun there for awhile.

Wow! He has choices! Awesome!

And being the information-seeking person that I am, I poured over all of the material that started spilling into our mailbox from these various schools that had deemed Jack worthy of admittance. I like the process of gathering knowledge, so I had fun with my stacks of college brochures, pamphlets and publications, even if I was, for the most part, a Party of One.

It came as no surprise to me that my son had a different way of going about this process. However, from the outside looking in it wasn't always easy to tell what exactly "his way" was (because it mostly involved a lot of ignoring all of the copious amounts of mail coming from these schools and saying, I don't know, when asked what he was thinking so far) but having known the kid for 18 years, I kept the faith that the wheels were indeed spinning.

And then, he let it be known that he had narrowed his pool down to two schools. Both fine schools where I have every confidence he could be successful but geographically, very different. One is approximately 2 miles from our front door, and the other is in Northern California.

Okay, but regardless, we are making progress! He's got it down to two schools and now he just has to wrestle with the pros and cons of each a little longer and then....

And then...we wait and we wait and we wait.

That was almost 6 weeks ago that he announced he had narrowed the field down to two finalists. And now...he just seems stuck.

If you catch him in the right mood, he will talk openly and willingly about his thoughts and struggles in making this decision. He is wrestling with all the right things but as he said to me only last night,

Mom... It's just a really big decision.

And it is. Probably the biggest he's ever had to make at this point in his life.

So, I'm trying to be patient. I'm trying not to hound him and press him and make every single conversation about this one topic.

But it's hard. I told my sister that I bite my tongue constantly from turning every request he makes these days into an opportunity to blackmail him into a decision.

Oh, you'd like to know what's for dinner? Sure, make a decision on college and I'll tell you.

You're wondering if you could get a new pair of shoes to replace the ones that are now threadbare and have holes in them? Of course! Just as soon as you make a college decision.

Did you just ask if your girlfriend can come over? Of course she can! Tell her that she can come over right after you announce where you are going to college.

But something tells me such hostage-taking tactics might backfire on me.

Fortunately, there is an actual deadline he has to meet and it is rapidly approaching. I know he feels the clock ticking and as anxious as I am for him to make a decision, I also feel deeply for him and know the pain of indecision.

He's a big boy on the brink of making a big decision and taking his first steps out into this big, crazy, beautiful, scary world.

And yet, lately, all I see when I look at him...is this little guy.

Sacrificial love

If you have ever been woken up by a crying infant for the fourth time in a single night, you understand the concept of sacrificial love.

A friend of mine once offered some sage words about those sleep deprived nights of early motherhood; Those are the times when you have to dig deep. You almost have to go to a different place in your mind and heart. You have to find that place of stillness that will help you carry on knowing this will not last forever and that this is what love looks like right now.

She was so right and I remember conjuring up her words more than once during some long, dark nights when I found myself back in that unique chapter of motherhood with my youngest. I was older than I had been the first two times around and now had two other kids sapping my energy during the day...those nights were hard. Probably some of the hardest I've ever had. There were tears, there were negotiations with God and futile attempts at begging my tiny infant girl to let her mama rest.

And yet, somehow we both made it through. And as much as my flesh was weak I did manage to find the strength to give my baby girl the core truth I wanted to give her in those early weeks and months of her time on earth: That her world is a friendly place with people who will always take care of her. That mommy and daddy can be trusted. That she is loved deeply and unconditionally.

It's what I tried to give all my babies, hoping that somehow those early seeds of love and trust would take root and keep growing through the years, finally bearing fruit just when they need it most.

There have been events swirling around the periphery of our family* lately that have brought my friend's words back to me with a different twist. I've been thinking about how when our children are tiny, so much of the sacrifice we make for love's sake is physical. We overcome our own physical need for sleep, quiet, personal space and independence for the love of this utterly dependent being that has been placed in our care. As they grow we still sacrifice some of those same physical desires but increasingly it becomes a sacrifice of mind and heart.

Because only the most deeply committed heart can be shattered in a million pieces by the child you love and still gather itself back together in order to go to battle on behalf of that very same child.

Only a love prepared to sacrifice itself can look into the eyes of its beloved and say, You have broken my heart and disappointed me more than I thought possible but I am still right here. I will stand with you and fight for you with my very last breath. I love you just because you are you, and you are my child. Nothing you could ever do could change that. I'm still right here.

And I thought of my friend's words and realized that even when you have a kid who towers over you and shaves and drives a car and take girls to dances...it's still the same.

There are times you have to dig deep.

You have to go that place of stillness and calm, however you get there, in order to carry on.

You have to believe this won't last forever.

And you have to know that this is what love looks like right now.




*None of this is a reference to something my own boys have done. But it could be any of us...

Push and Pull

We didn't set out to have 10 years between our oldest and youngest child. If we'd been able to magically produce children based on our own plans we probably would have had four children perfectly spaced at 3 year intervals. Granted that still would have put our oldest child at 9 when our youngest child arrived but somehow having the two in the middle would have made that gap look a bit smaller.

Or, at least I think it would.

How would I know?

What I do know is that when Annie was a baby the boys were not all that big themselves. At only 7 and 10 years old they were still losing teeth and a certain someone (I won't say who, but it might have been the younger one) was still occasionally stumbling down the hallway and climbing into our bed in the middle of the night.

They were little boys, and the age gap didn't really look all that big.

These days the gap has become a canyon and the realities of raising children on two such completely different ends of the spectrum feels increasingly schizophrenic.

It is, on occasion, mildly brain twisting to engage in simultaneous conversations that involve a debate over which My Little Pony figure has the prettiest color combination and the pros and cons of Jack's respective college choices. I find myself telling Jack that perhaps he should choose the school with the rainbow colored mane and that Annie should spend some time researching which business school offers the most hands-on internship opportunities.

Never mind when Timothy enters the picture, invariably turns on ESPN, and then we can add to the fray Skip Bayless and Stephen A. Smith shouting at one another and me asking Tim if this isn't the exact same argument these two had yesterday?!?

But in spite of those moments when I feel as though I'm straddling the divide between the worlds of Cars-Girls-Sports-College and Puppies-Ponies-Cartwheels-Fairies; I do feel very grateful for the way it all worked out. For better or worse, this is the family we have and I can't really imagine it any other way.

As Jack moves closer and closer to his D-day though (Departure Day), my parenting instincts have never been in such stark opposition between my oldest and youngest.

As much as I'd like to do otherwise, I know that my job with Jack is to spend these last 5 months or so continuing to gently nudge him out of the nest. I carefully consider any intervention in his life at this point knowing that for the most part he needs to be making his own decisions, bearing the brunt of those decisions and reaping either the rewards or consequences for himself. Of course we continue to be his parents and recognize that at 18 he hardly has all the life experience he needs to navigate every single major life choice by himself, but the goal is for him to gain that life experience-not shelter him from it.

In short, we want him to grow up.

Annie is 8 years old and in the 2nd grade. She is still very much a little girl with a little girl's view of the world. She comes home from school and immediately runs to her "Dog Academy" set that is perpetually set up on the window seat in our living room. She kneels down, greets her beloved dog figurines and within minutes is immersed in a world of her own creation.

Annie sleeps at night surrounded by her favorite stuffed animals who all have names and a history. I suspect, because I was a little girl once myself, those animals are still very real in her mind.

At recess, Annie likes to play with the girls who still like to pretend. They create elaborate scenarios in which they are paired up as dog owners and dogs and, of course, Annie always wants to be a dog. The happiest days for Annie are when the recess game goes off without a hitch and all is peaceful in the imaginary land of dogs.

She is a little girl and I'm doing everything I can to keep her that way.

There are ways in which she needs to continue to grow up. She needs to be responsible for those duties that are hers. She needs to continue to grow in empathy and patience for others. She needs to learn how to find her strength and her voice in order to stand up for herself and others when necessary.

And, it would be great if she could outgrow her fear of the dark.

But she's doing all those things, or working on those things. She's a responsible student, a loyal friend and deeply compassionate for the suffering of others. So, I'm not worried she isn't growing up in the ways she should.

What I want is to prevent her from growing up too soon in the ways she doesn't need to. I want her to be a little girl for as long as she can. But I have to say, sometimes it feels as though the world is working against me on that one.

So, lately I have felt this tug of war going on in my heart.

I'm fighting against my own true heart's desire by pushing one child out into the world while at the same time trying to hold the world at arm's length and keeping another child safely tucked within the nest.

The voice in my head is looking at one child saying, "Hurry! Grow up! You need to be ready!" While at the same time saying to another child, "Slow down! Stay little! There's no rush!"

And then there's that guy in the middle...Who is going to be standing on the edge of the nest, ready to leap, in the blink of an eye.

It's no wonder moms are always tired...These kids give our hearts a work out even when we are sitting still (and how often does that happen?)

Hitting the highlights

Today is Ash Wednesday which signals the beginning of the Lenten season for those of the Christian faith.

For those who choose to observe Lent (which many Christians do not, or at least not in any significant fashion) this often means giving stuff up. The purpose of giving stuff up is ostensibly to practice self-denial and in theory return to a greater reliance on God. Not sure that's always how it works out for people...and I'm including myself there.

Last year, I gave up reading the news for Lent. This included, but was not limited to, newspapers, online political news sources, political blogs etc... It was really, really hard. Few people know this about me but I'm a closet news/politics junkie. On days when I'm not working, I easily spend at least an hour or more of my morning surfing various news/political sites while alternating between growling at the computer, sighing, shaking my fists at the sky and gnashing my teeth.

Yeah, it's not great for my mental stability. Or my blood pressure.

So, while it was probably a great exercise in self-control and redirecting my energies, I'm not sure how much it did for my soul (other than the obvious fact that politics is by definition a soul-crushing enterprise so avoiding it altogether can only be good for your mind, body and spirit).

Anywhoooo... So, this year I decided to try something different. In fact, I started on Monday, two days early, because I decided I needed a test run to see if I thought I had it in me to see this through. That's how scary it is...

Well, I have survived three days so far and have now committed to my 2013 Lenten Journey in earnest. My family has every reason to be very afraid...

This Lenten season, I am committing to getting up one hour early (that's 5:30 for me) Mon-Fri and will spend half of that extra hour exercising my spirit and the other half exercising my body. Yep, that's right. 30 minutes of prayer/Bible study and 30 minutes on the treadmill. On weekends, I will allow myself to recharge a little by sleeping until 7:00am but will then follow the same routine on those days as well.

Now, I realize this should not be THAT big of a deal. I realize there are tons of people out there who already get up at 5:30 in the morning (or earlier) just to start their day on time. I'm not proud of the fact that this is such a challenge for me, but the reality is that it is a challenge. Me likey my sleep.

But more importantly, it's a challenge that I believe could yield some incredibly positive growth. Already I have seen the benefits of starting my day in this way. Okay, truthfully, the first day I was mostly just really, really tired the rest of the day. But today, on Day 3, I'm feeling myself get into this new rhythm and continue to be hopeful that it might actually spark a little mini-revolution in my mind, body and soul.

How about you? Are you doing anything for Lent?

If you want to be inspired by another Lenten challenge, check out my friend Mindee's plan. I really gave her method a lot of thought but I decided I was too chicken. I told her I was pretty sure I'd end up making a list of things I didn't really care about giving up anyway like:

1. ironing (I don't even own an iron)
2. watching Cspan (I'm not that crazy)
3. doing algebra
4. eating brussel sprouts
5. running a marathon

You get the idea... I think my commitment to a pre-dawn routine that focuses on God and exercise is about all I can tackle.

And now... just because it is so incredibly sweet and also put me in just the right place to start this season of Lent...

Move over Eugene Peterson, because Annie has decided to write her own version of the Bible!

Looking at the Table of Contents it doesn't appear to be a chronological interpretation. More thematic it seems...

When I asked her how she settled on those particular highlights she told me,

Well, you can't have a Bible without Jesus. He's kind of the most important, you know. And I love animals. So, you gotta have Noah.

Alrighty then. Good enough for me.