yes, before you know it...

My last goal for 2013 was to keep my eyes open until midnight. Keep...my...eyes..ooooooooo...pen. Accomplished- but barely. We were all knit together on the couch- the kids, the dogs. Us.  We counted down from ten, the ball dropped and Princess Commando gave me a celebratory squeeze. It’s not that it was a bad year, it was just good to let go of 2013. 2014 feels more than ever like a year for embracing the opportunity for opportunities.

A few days before Christmas, a large envelope arrived in the mail for First Born Son from Buffalo State College (his first choice and my Alma mater).  I don’t know what I expected it to be- but, I did not expect it to be the affirmation of 17 years of planning, guidance, accomplishment. 

I unfolded the glossy tri-fold and pulled out the letter tucked neatly inside the pocket:

Dear Max,

On behalf of our faculty, staff and students, I congratulate you on your admission to the Pre-Business Administration program at Buffalo State College…

Hot damn! It's a Major Award! Happy Christmas to us!

This is one of those moments seasoned parents caution new, googly-eyed parents about.  Before you know it, he’ll be in college. Yes, before you know it....

When we were beginners standing at the starting line of long and winding path dotted with milestone markers, we sighed at the sprawling stretch of time billowing ahead-confident that there would, in fact, be time ahead of us. Through the bliss and through the battles, we developed a recurrent verse- We just have to get him to college. We imagined what the world would look like- what type of person our son would be- who we would be in the context of it all. I imagined myself to feel much wiser when the acceptance letters landed in our mailbox. But now that we have arrived at Before you know it, he’ll be in college, I don't feel all that more enlightened.  

There are three others for whom in times of achievement and times of agony, we mumble- We've just got to get them to college. I'm still contemplating the rise and fall in the path ahead but with less confidence that time will, in fact, keep surging onward-forever-for us. The difference now is that I now have the authority to exhale sentiments which will drift carelessly about the tender heads of new mothers- ‘Relish these moments.Take it all in and don’t blink. These moments will be gone before you know it.’ 

When you have doubts in your abilities to fix things, raise someone who can do it for you

It's not only children who grow.  Parents do too.  As much as we watch to see what our children do with their lives, they are watching us to see what we do with ours.  I can't tell my children to reach for the sun.  All I can do is reach for it, myself.  ~Joyce Maynard

Princess Commando had saved  two months allowance and miscellaneous gift money to purchase a 'rare' Pokemon plush toy direct from China. I counseled that it would be wise to be frugal- to save for something more useful like a new bicycle or a kayak. But she insisted on relinquishing her funds to a magic factory which fabricated a most coveted  morsel to add to her collection. When it finally arrived after three weeks of stalking the mailbox, she stood before me sheepishly. The cotton candy creature she protected from my killjoy frown had a visible tear in its muzzle where stuffing seeped through- the material was akin to the itchy fabric of Midway prizes. I tried with all of my might not to set  my I told you so expression on her; but, the way she slunk out of the room let me know I didn't do a very good job.

Later that evening, after The Baby was finally settled for the night and I could feel the energy draining from the tap in my spine, I stood at my bed deconstructing a pyramid of laundry. Princess Commando faced me on the other side. She held up my sewing kit and her damaged merchandise pushing them toward me. "You can fix it. I have faith in you!" Her exaggerated smile was endearing but my shoulders involuntarily slumped and an audible sigh escaped my chest. It was getting late. I was so close to bed.

I hadn't any confidence left in my abilities to 'fix' things. The Baby's upcoming surgery for ear tubes and an adenoidectomy weighed heavily on my mind. The fact that my kisses could not steal away her pain made me feel helpless. And then, I had been having a difficult time with my exquisitely introverted and shy 13 year old. Henry had been suffering for two years with a mounting school related anxiety which paralyzed him.  His pain was already etched on my heart as I, too, had suffered throughout my school years with a crippling anxiety which landed me in the hospital and kept me out of school for 2 years. I did not want this for my child. The raw empathy I felt for him was a searing pain compounded by the fact that my own experience with this same challenge made me an unreliable guide. And then there was First Born Son- I hardly ever saw him. He had become so passionately involved in soccer- travelling to various tournaments on the weekends with his father, developing a crucial bond- a connection I was not privy to. I felt irrelevant.

I stood, unmoved, beside my bed. Princess Commando cocked her head to the side and pleaded with her anime eyes. Henry had been watching us from the hallway.

"Let me sew it," he offered.

"You don't know how to sew," Princess Commando answered doubtfully.

Henry left the room to return 60 seconds later with a primitive looking Scottish terrier. He pressed the toy into his sister's face.

"What is that?" I took the toy and ran my fingers along the seams. It was a crude representation of a jaunty dog in black fleece with a tartan bow tied expertly around its neck. It was so simple and yet so inspiring.

"I made it in Home and Careers," a glint of pride lit his eyes. "Mrs. P showed us photographs of Scottish terriers and told us to come up with a pattern to sew." He went on to talk about a double back ninja stitch that he wanted to learn so that he could make extra money reinforcing men's shirts.

Princess Commando marveled at his handiwork and confidently handed over her damaged Pokemon for repair. Henry's precise stitches far surpassed the factory machine work on the rest of the creature.

"Henry is so nice! I love him so much!" Princess Commando gushed as she threw her arms around him.

Henry's compassion and willingness to help his sister was the indication I needed that I might have done something right along the rough hewn path of parenting. We have steadfastly tried to instill in our children to think of others before themselves- to act with sympathy; to keep their ears open so that they my catch a quiet S.O.S. floating in the air; to lead with patience- especially in moments where love might feel muddled. That Henry interpreted my sigh- sucked into the piles of laundry- as a moment to step in, to help me carry out my will to nurture, to fix things made my heart swell with pride and it humbled me. 

I may not be able to fully reconcile Henry's daily apprehension but I will keep walking along side him- helping him to find the resources he needs to feel safe and strong in the world. I may not be able to cure The Baby's chronic ear infections with a kiss; but I know that while she is recovering, my hands and heart will work overtime to comfort her in the way that only her mother can. First Born Son may be developing out of my sight; but he does still come to me to express his unexpected growing appreciation for jazz; admit to me his fears of failure; and to share his off beat, sometimes dirty humor which he knows I will appreciate and not admonish him for. Princess Commando will continue to make decisions independent of my best guidance, but she still holds onto the belief that I can fix the pieces that need mending. She returns to me- despite my disapproving eye, in spite of my doubtful spirit-for me to embrace her with all of my heart. 

I have learned that motherhood is a process of continuous evolution and accommodation, of learning and growth with hefty purpose, of giving one's self up to the ebb and flow of life. I am fortunate to have had sage teachers- my mother, my grandmother, my aunts, my dear friends. But the most competent teachers on the subject of flourishing within the realm of the human experience, whose reciprocation of faith has helped me to continue to place one foot before the other, are my children. As parents, we do our best to ‘fix’ things. When we don’t get it right the first time, we keep trying because we must and also because we desire to do so. But, sometimes in order to fix things it means that we may have to hand over the needle and thread to more capable hands. Sometimes we need to accept that our quiet S.O.S. has been answered by a tender bloom on the family tree reaching along side us for the sun.

pick on apples not on people

We are our children's greatest teachers. Our children are sponges- absorbing our beliefs, our values and our perspectives. Their ears hear the thinly guarded meaning behind the tones of our voices. They drink in the words which are spun with either courtesy or laced with ill will toward others. They are open and impressionable; and, that which sticks sometimes stays forever- whether or not we intended for it to be there, and whether or not they truly understand.  This is why I must always remind myself to speak kindly of others, to others,  so that my children may in turn regard others with kindness. This is why I must continually try to paint a world of acceptance for all people- a world where my children will celebrate the uniqueness of each person- a  world where they can thrive on the diversity and differences of their fellow human beings. It is my province to always remind them the of the power of their words- that those spoken with malice, with intent to harm- will nettle and leave scars. But, those words spoken in tones of empathy, compassion, and consideration  may have the power to heal a hurting heart and bring one back from the brink of hopelessness. I must teach them to be just and fair and give them the strength to stand up for those who suffer from the injustices and prejudice of those who choose to live in the shadows of hatred and ignorance. It is a daunting task, especially when your child has been the target of a bully.

The tragic story of Jamey Rodemeyer incites me to lay blame on the young people who tormented him. It saddens me that they will not be held accountable for their actions, their words which drove a young man ( a child the age of my oldest son) to suicide. But, I suspect the lines of blame are tangled and reach back much further than this young generation. I cannot help but wonder what words the children who bullied Jamey Rodemeyer had absorbed at home, what misguided lessons stuck in their tender minds. If their greatest teachers had been more careful with their words might this tragedy have been averted?

Please click here to learn more about the petition asking Senate to Enact an Anti-Bullying Law (Jamey's Law).

Old Musings #3: Sacred Language

Since my last post painted First Born Son in an unflattering, teenager-y light, I felt the need to review my old writings about him- from a time when there were only the two boys in the house and the only homework was to cut and paste words with their corresponding pictures. The Baby is helping to stir up old memories of when the older three were much younger- filled with wonder and imagination-where each small milestone warranted a huge celebration. I will have those moments with The Baby. I will cherish them. But, I can not help but pine for the sweeter, less stressful times our family was allowed to revel in for so many years. Anyway, this passage is from June 2, 2002. First Born Son (referred to in the piece as "M") was only 5 years old.

As it often goes, my children have taught me so many things. Most unexpectedly, the depth of mothering evolves from a sacred language with one’s children.

One night when I was doing my goodnight rounds I found M lying in his bed with a wooden stick thoughtfully pressed into his chin. He looked pensive.

“What’s up Buddy?” I asked.

“ I want to go back to where it all began,” he answered forlornly.

Such a profound statement from my five year old made me smile. But, he was serious.

“ What does that mean, M? Where did you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear it anywhere. It just came into my brain,” he answered eyes widening. “ I want to be a kid again, not a grown up, not do work in school.  I just want to play.”

It was all making sense. He was tired. It was the end of a very busy school year. Kindergarten was approaching its grand finale and the teachers were preparing the children for the rigors of first grade. One of the most important lessons was learning how to sit still for a longer stretch, without wiggling and with concerted effort to complete written work in record time.
          He loves school. When given the opportunity to stay home complaining of vague ailments, he protests. He would rather be with his friends; he might miss out on valuable fun.  If we force him to stay home when he is truly ill, he reluctantly rests, anxious to join his crowd, those comrades who are so separate from us. There are precious secrets and encoded languages there. Teachers are privy to all of this, but even they respect the sensitivity of keeping these things sacrosanct.

I was pregnant. M was soon to be a big brother again- not his choice. He accepted more responsibility like feeding the dogs and letting them outside, getting his own juice and snacks, keeping his room clean, etc. For him, it was sometimes too much. “I’m sick of doing work!” he’d grumble. “ I don’t want dogs anymore.”

It’s not often that he complains about such things. He is by his own nature exquisitely amiable. He has developed an amazing empathy for others. He’s curious and mischievous and often wild, but above all, he loves. And when he lies on his bed at night- awake when he should have been asleep an hour earlier- thinking, thinking, thinking because it is the first moment of the day that quiet has entered his body- pondering the whys and the hows of the way the world around him works and more than that pondering his own feelings about the things he knows to be true, I must just let him feel. I must let him know he is wonderful and amazing. He’ll answer, “I know.” I let him know that I don’t want him to grow up too fast. He doesn’t need to be a grown up yet, but the things he does for us are helpful and they make this family run more smoothly.  I tell him that he is doing just fine and I don’t want much more from him than to continue to follow his heart to help other people out.

He’ll ask me to rub his back, and even though I am tired I will do it because he is still so fragile in these moments, so tender as he was when he was a babe. I know there will be a day or a thousand days when he won’t want me to touch him at all and he won’t even speak those truthful worries of his brain. I’ll be left to wonder if he is really okay. For now, I savor the sacred language we have that allows me to speak simply and make him all better.

Old Musings #3: Hard Candy

This is from January 18, 2003. H was 3 1/2 years old.

Yesterday I was feeding Princess Commando her morning bottle at the computer desk while surfing the internet. H came to me sheepishly, "Can I  have one of the hard candies Nana gave me yesterday?" He had already eaten a hearty breakfast, so I didn't think one would hurt. "Sure. You may have one." H was so proud of his candy- 4 pieces of banana hard candy. He had already eaten one the night that my mother brought them over. He had each designated for a special moment over the next 3 days. "This one is for after I play with my Rescue Heroes in the morning time. This one is for after lunch on Thursday. This one is for when M comes home on Friday."

I was distracted by an online article I was reading when he came back into the living room. But, I could hear the crisp crinkle of candy wrappers. He was singing in the background, "I'm a big kid, yeah. I can eat hard candy. Hmmm, hmmm."
 
"Yes, you are a big kid," I absently agreed.

Not 10 minutes had passed and he peeked his head up over the side of my desk. " By accident I ate all of the candies."

"What?"

"I ate four candy." I thought for a moment. But, there were only 3 banana candies left.

"What candy are you talking about?" I now noticed the blue sugary specks flecked on his lips. What did he get into? I put Princess Commando down and pulled him closer to me. "What do you mean you ate four candy?"

"I had a blue one, and a green one, and the orange one and the red one." Lollipops! Old lollipops that had been tucked away in the cupboard since Halloween.

"You ate four lollipops?"

"Yes," he lowered his eyes in shame. His lower lip stuck out awaiting my reaction.

"Well, do you still have the sticks?" I wanted to make sure that he really ate lollipops.

"Yes, they're on the couch." Sure enough, all in a row, four lollipop sticks gleefully sucked bare lay beside their wrappers.

"Do you have a tummy ache?"

"Yeah, kind of,"  he paused, "But, you're not mad."

"No, I'm not mad. How were they?"

" Good! I tried the blue one and the red one and the orange one and the green one! Cause I'm a big kid and I can eat hard candy."

"Yes, you are a big kid. But, you know that you are not having any more lollipops for a long, long time."

"Yes," he agreed with a mock pout. "But you're not mad."