You prepare for the pregnancy, the birth, even the baby.
Then, the child is revealed.
She graduates towards adulthood as you wonder,
Who was I before this and who am I still becoming?
Yes, I am a mother.
But above and beyond that I am an intellect.
Worthy of deep conversation and consideration.
How do we procreate the next generation and still remain relevant?
“Sit down, it’s Sunday.” My husband encouraged.
“But if I do,” I explained “things won’t get done.”
“There’s always something to do.”
I looked around at the smudges on the walls I’d been meaning to scrub, the tiny toys under the living room furniture and that dead moth that’s been trapped inside our family picture frame for literal years.
I’d changed five sets of sheets, scrubbed two bathrooms and vacuumed but the list never ends.
One of my friends shared a photo of her rewriting worn recipe cards and I remarked, “How do you find the time?” She suggested that perhaps it was the two less kids.
Maybe so.
Or maybe I just need to slow down.
Life in perpetual motion is never dull but also exhausting.
Where’s the time to appreciate the exquisiteness of nothingness?
So I sat and ate my new box of girl scout cookies wondering all-the-while if that moth would fully decompose before I took the time to remove it.
Maybe so.
Clearly, I have more important nothingness to do.
12.
Here you are, baby girl.
On the precipice of teenage-hood and totally not looking forward to it.
I get it.
You were 11 days overdue and never wanting to leave has been your MO.
I have a recording of you crying about going to college when you were just 6 so it’s nothing new.
You are a creature of comfort.
Your bed, your hair, your charisma, the softest.
In addition to a slew of Taylor Swift themed gifts, I also presented you with a copy of articles I’ve written in your honor over the last eight years.
You wept in my arms over the article I wrote about my own mom, What I Want You to Know
Because you felt the same about me.
And it dawned on me.
Mothers and Daughters are forever.
You may be 12,
But we are forever.
Everyone warned me of teenage daughters.
Maybe they forgot that I used to be one.
I’m not afraid of the road I’ve already traveled,
Even if it looks different, these days.
It’s hard,
But our needs are the same.
Recognition, empathy and encouragement.
I love that my tweenage daughter appreciates music and novels.
I love that my tweenage daughter cares about matters outside of herself.
I love my tweenage daughter’s courage and fearlessness.
And yes, I love knowing I fostered that.
She’s a badass.
It’s been five months since I started meeting my students for 15-30 min daily.
Piece-by-piece I unravel their stories.
Sleeping in cars, hotels or disappearing one day.
Sometimes for a month, sometimes for . . . .
That is their life.
Unknown.
And I meet them where they are.
Together, we read.
Piece-by-piece.
At first a sound, then a syllable and next, a word.
Piece-by-piece we make sentences.
“We spend just xx minutes together. The rest is up to you. Do you want to read? People like me will come and go, but you’ll always have you.”
I look them in the face and remind them that ultimately,
It’s their story.
I’m just a chapter.
“Do we need a holiday to celebrate motherhood and friendship?” she asked.
Our friendship group had spent weeks back and forth, trying to find a date to connect.
“Not at all,” I explained “just a good excuse to force us to make plans!”
And here I am tonight.
Six months since my last date with my husband.
It seems silly to leave the house when we spend the majority of each day with one other.
Why pay a sitter and restaurant when we can cook at home for less?
But tonight, when we passed the new Wave Park development at the oceanfront, I gasped at the change.
Then, we guffawed at a palm tree clearly reaching for the sunlight.
I settled and exhaled.
So this is what it was like to fall in love.
17 years this May we bonded over beach volleyball and fish tacos at this very dive bar.
I remembered.
And I felt alive.
No, we don’t need a holiday.
But it sure is a good excuse to make plans.
I wish this story had a happy ending.
Halfway through the day, it did.
And then reality set in and instead of my nicely wrapped package with a bow, I got the messy masterpiece that is parenting.
You see, before Christmas I grappled with whether to get my children a Nintendo.
I never had one as a child and was always jealous of other families.
I imagined our family playing Mario Cart and Sports. Modern bonding.
And while that has happened, my concern over screen addiction has also come true.
So yesterday, I put it away.
The Nintendo, the iPads, all of the screen games took a little vacation.
And while they moaned first thing this morning, they also quickly launched into building a fishing boat made out of giant magnatiles, complete with wooden blocks taped to refrigerator magnetic gears, used as the fish they caught. This boat even had a toilet made out of a cardboard box, so it was legit.
We played Hungry, Hungry Hippo, they painted rocks and even reenacted “ski school”.
All was well until just before dinner time when the Hanger (hungry anger) set in and they lost. Their. Shit.
Without screens to distract from their impending starvation, they melted down exclaiming, “THERE’S NOTHING TO DO!”
“Well, then. I’ll just burn the house down.”
“That seems a little extreme, mom.”
Yea? So does your so-called starvation.
But I digress.
Parenting is hard, y’all.
I’m 12 years into this business and many days I just don’t feel like doing it anymore.
I keep stumbling and getting back up. It’s thankless and sacrificial and consuming.
It has taken so much out of me, out of us parents, as individuals.
And yet, still I know that it has given us more.
Our children have humbled, inspired and taught us.
And I suppose in place of a happy ending, I instead recognize that the falls, missteps and exhaustion are all part of the journey.
And what a wild ride it is.
New Leaf Parenting 