Safe + Strong

There are a few undeniable things that I know to be true of myself.

Since the age of 12, I have loved coffee.  Not a little bit.  More than you can imagine.

I am obsessed with books and newspapers.  Not the ones you read on a phone or an iPad or a laptop.  The physical ones that you hold in your hands, spread on your lap, and because you cannot help yourself, mark up with copious marginal notes to go-back to, when you need a reminder.

I like stories and I don't mind if they're made up.  Being in the presence of an engaging story teller is orgasmic.  And I love both a good character and a twisty plot.

I was born to be a mother.  And to that end, I am grateful (even with and especially because of the chaos) to God for the gift of Sam, Kate and Claire.

I mean it.  When I was little, I walked around carrying babies.  I thought about what I would name them and what I wanted for them (a real, tangible relationship with God, a strong, rooted family that they could always go home to, a rigorous liberal arts education coupled with a study abroad experience, true friends to share in the fun and the heartache, a partner who really gets them and wants to build a life of love, and a passion that if they're lucky, they can call a livelihood.)

And I knew from the moment that they came that I wanted to be the primary influence in their lives.  I wanted to read and share my love of language.  I wanted them to paint and create and grow and test and triumph all within a safe container.  I wanted to know them...deeply.

And to that end, I have always, always sought to protect them.  Not a little bit.  A lot.  I have taken the role of advocate for their physical, social, emotional and spiritual being very seriously. It matters to me who they spend their time with, how we talk to each other at home, that their opinions are validated and that their interests are cultivated.

I suppose it was fine while they were young to prescribe such a life.  But in six months, Sam will be a teenager.  And the concept of crafting a bubble of defined experience is no longer exclusively helpful.

The dichotomy of parenting is that we want two things simultaneously: safety and strength for our children.  And we all know that the only way to earn stripes of grit is to weather storms of uncertainty...the ones where no one is guiding the boat, except for you--no matter how much your mother wants to throw herself at the tidal waves and tell them to back the fuck up or she'll cut em. 

No, in order to ensure that we're raising independent, self-sufficient, capable young people is to give them room to fall.  And pray that they fall within a recoverable zone.  Or, that if they hit rock bottom, that they know we will be there as they claw their way back out.

And, if I'm being honest, that makes me want to vomit. 

I understand the theory of tough love, the reasoning behind letting your kid suffer the consequences and letting your little ones make their own mistakes...but it is definitively not an easy one for me to stomach. 

And yet, I must.  If I don't, my children will either rebel and go on a heroin binge or die in the wildnerness or live with me for the rest of my life...none of which seem appealing to me.

So, the question becomes...how do we keep them safe and make them strong, so that they can go into the world prepared for joy and heartache and not die a million deaths, while they fuck up and try to figure it out?

This is the work that I'm struggling with as I try to stop doing things for my son, so that he can grow into the man that God intends him to be.

If you have an extra prayer in your back pocket, shoot me one while you're drinking coffee and reading the paper and tell me a story of how it will all work out. This mama is slowly, but surely, learning the value of letting go.

Ode to Kate on Your 10th Birthday

My Dearest Kate,

How can it be?

We woke up this morning and all of a sudden, you were double digits.  The most beautiful, generous, brilliant 10-year old in the world.

A decade ago yesterday, I quit my full-time job to stay home and be a full-time mother to you and your brother.  I didn't know how to parent a newborn and a toddler, but I was hell bent to try.

From the beginning and still to this day, you make it easy. 

You, the middle child, the peacemaker...the kind one.  The not-so-little girl with Pippi Longstocking braids who finds the little girl that no one is playing with at the park, the roller skating rink, the book store, the pool and you say, "Hello, my name is Katherine.  Everyone calls me Kate, even though I want them to call me Katherine.  That's a pretty shirt.  What can I call you?"  And instantly, you have a new friend.  Within minutes, you know how old they are, what school they go to, and what they want to be when they grow up. 

Smack dab in the present, wholly available to the moment, you are alive with creativity, curiosity and full-fledged love.  When someone talks to you, you listen.  When someone offers you something that you're not interested in, you profusely say,  "no thank you--but thank you so much for asking," give them a full-bodied smile and ask them how their day's going.

A stunning ballerina, a dedicated piano player, wrapped up in a voracious reader, carved into a re-purposer of every imaginable object...you embody the arts and imagination at its finest.  Your room is teeming with sculptures, sewing projects, canvases, Lego creations, chalk renderings, and bottles of homemade lip balm and slime.  And, if it were available, you would fill a studio with color, design, and love.

I've really never met anyone like you and while many say that we are quite alike, I am certain that you are the one that I seek to emulate.  Always stopping to say a "Hail Mary" when an ambulance passes, filling your belly with veggies before meat, meticulously brushing your teeth and folding your jammies just so, praying for those in need and offering a compliment when no one else seems to remember...you are rare.

At the end of the summer, you will embark upon fifth grade.  Soon, you will have a lot more homework, ballet will fill up several hours a week, time with friends will take priority and my teaching load will get heavier.  Inevitably, we will spend less time together.  But as I watch you flourish from afar, know that I am your fiercest advocate.  I want the world for you. 

But, when I stop to think about it, I'm mindful that really and truly, the world is in love with you.

Here's to a new decade, a new year, new memories and new adventures.

I love you to the moon and back, always,

Mama

Ode to My Mother-In-Law

I have watched you my entire married life.

You are quiet, humble, patient, and the farthest thing from pretentious.

For all of your life, you have embodied what it means to be a survivor.

To rise up.

To not be mired in what is fair or unfair.

But to gracefully take life on it's terms and to make lemonade out of every hardship that has come your way.

You are not afraid to work.  To roll up your sleeves.  To get into the mud and the muck and to get the job the done.

And all of your hard work shows...in so many ways...but in two, in particular.

Your daughter and your son.

You have to be so proud.  For you have single-handedly raised two people who are changing the world, one smile, one kind act, one moment at a time.  And that is because of the foundation that you gave to them and the values that you imparted.

These past seven days have meant a great deal to me.  We shared coffee, meals, laughter, tears, my children, your grandchildren, memories, stories, hopes, disappointments, lessons, doubts, and ultimately, forged a deeper bond that says:  I know what you're going through.  I've been there.  I love you.  And you're not alone.

When the love of your life passed away this summer, I thought that the world would end.  But in true form, you quietly picked up the pieces, wiped away the tears and began to live life...because you knew deep in your heart that he would want you to.

And once again, I stood in admiration seeing a woman who is strong, who is brave, who chooses to embrace love instead of fear and who come what may, keeps putting one foot in front of the other with a smile on her face.

I love you.  I am grateful for you. And my children are extraordinarily blessed to have you as their Grandma Bonnie.