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.

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.