They were my island.
My safe haven from the rushing waters.
In time, the shoreline shrank, leaving me grasping for olive branches.
I had a choice to make.
Do I stay, hoping and praying for the island to return?
Instead, I let go.
Allowing the current to take me.
I built my own boat from the surrounding pieces of my life.
And found myself stronger than ever.
The Captain.
It happened gradually, so quickly.
She changed over time, overnight.
I thought I was prepared, but never saw it coming.
My bedside table is stacked with parenting books, I follow counselors on social media and I listen to podcasts.
But it wasn’t until a counselor with five decades of experience said the word “stop” that I finally listened.
Melissa Trevathan of the Raising Boys and Girls podcast often speaks “words of wisdom” in the last two-to-four minutes of each episode and in the one titled “Building Intentionality and Thoughtfulness as a Family” she explained how parenting is much like skiing.
Sometimes you are traveling along just fine but then you hit obstacles. Our instinct is to keep going- to keep trying to figure it out as we go. Her years of wisdom has taught her to instead, stop and reevaluate. To form a new plan of how to tackle the difficult course ahead.
Children, much like trails, change over time and have different needs. Toddlers are not babies, middle schoolers are no longer elementary age and so on.
And if we seek to parent with intentionality with the end in mind, then we must ask ourselves why did we even agree to start?
Why did we say “yes” to this parenting trail?
And how are we helping our children along the way to grow into the joyful, successful adults we all hope them to become?
As our children grow, so do we.
When I finally took a moment to “stop” and really listen to my tween daughter’s frustrations, I saw her as another young human instead of the child I was in charge of raising.
In my mind’s eye, I moved from standing in front of her, explaining what she needed to do and stood beside her, arms linked.
“We’re in this together.” “I trust you.” “You are amazing.”
Instead of focusing on her missteps, I more audibly recognize her accomplishments.
I am actively giving her what all of us crave: acknowledgement for how far she has come and my belief in her ability to succeed.
My daughter became a tween and although I tip my hat to those who have journeyed before me, I refuse to accept the warnings that “I’m in for it”.
Instead, I stop. I reevaluate my course.
And my daughters and I traverse this mountain together.
He said, “I wasn’t sure you still had it in you. You’ve been inside so much.”
I laughed.
Oh, you think?
You think I’ve been inside a lot the last 12 years of raising our children?
Yes.
I’ve been inside cooking meals and folding laundry.
I’ve been inside doctor’s offices and school buildings.
I’ve been inside the heart of our family.
But please don’t lose sight of me.
My soul has always lived outdoors.
I’m still here.
I’ve been here all along.
I spent the better part of my first forty years desperate for others to understand how far I’ve come from where I started.
Surely, they’d respect and understand me more?
But now I know, we all have stories, untold.
And it’s best to approach all with the grace we’ve always wished upon ourselves.
Hold my hand.
Lean in.
We’ve come so far.
I just experienced the Barbie movie.
And I’m shook.
It moved me to tears.
This movie was masterfully made.
Funny, thought-provoking and meaningful.
The set design was epic.
The cast, impeccable.
The humanity- relatable.
A mother and her “tween” daughter at odds who ultimately work together to help Barbie and her land find their purpose.
America Ferrera’s speech to “wake up” the barbies: “I’m just so tired of watching myself, and every single other woman, tie herself into knots so that people will like us.”
Me too, Barbie.
Me too.
So long,
Farewell.
It’s time to say goodbye.
Goodbye.
I had been in labor for 37 hours when my mom entered the room and walked straight to my husband, with a breakfast sandwich, exclaiming, “You must be so tired.”
My husband was so confused.
She had not acknowledged me or the baby.
And I guess that’s what I want people to know.
Privilege comes in many forms.
Imagine sand.
Some of us build from a deeper hole.
And yet, we’re on the same team.
Friendship break-ups are the worst.
I’ve been having this conversation with one of my daughters on the reg lately.
Listening to podcasts, reading books.
Explaining that I’m thrice her age and still figuring it out myself.
Suddenly, your people aren’t your people anymore.
What’s a girl to do?
Find new people.
My daughter almost drowned today.
She’s a strong swimmer and had spent the past 7.5 hours in and out of the ocean.
It was the last ten minutes of our day on the beach, when she swam out to retrieve her sister.
Her daddy was walking towards the trash cans.
I was 100 yards away, in my chair, recognizing that she was no longer on the sand bar but being pulled by the current.
Only her head was visible when I started to run.
She climbed onto me as I swam parallel to the shore, out of the current and into safety.
Adrenaline coursed through my body as a lifeguard pulled up on his four wheeler.
“Nice rescue.” He offered.
Apparently, as he tossed our trash into the can, my husband heard the guards talking on the stand about a mom running to her child
He turned and saw Emma in my arms.
“My God.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Thank God you were watching. I turned my back for just a second.”
And that’s how long it takes for someone to drown.
It’s only been a few hours, but I can tell my relationship with my third-born has changed.
She looks at me differently.
She has struggled with feeling overshadowed by her big sisters and replaced by her health-demanding youngest.
Today, she felt seen.
She’d been rescued.
And it was by me.
She didn’t want to walk with me.
She wanted to walk with her friends.
It was the last day we would ever walk to school together but she couldn’t possibly understand the magnitude of that.
I’ve read, listened and discussed it all. I’ve even lived these tween years but yet, here I am, still in shock that it’s actually happening.
My first born, off to middle school.
Such a small transition compared to when she crawled, walked and first went to preschool.
And yet, it hits different.
Can we have just one more day?
New Leaf Parenting 