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.
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.
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?
Tonight held one of those moments in life when you recognize it’s special, while it’s happening.
The kind where you know you are making unforgettable memories, real time.
We went to see The Jesse Chong Band playing at Harborfest. Today happens to be June 10, just one month exactly shy of our 13 year wedding anniversary, where Jesse and his band entertained a full dance floor.
This time, we brought along our brood of four. He played my most favorite cover of his: Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes by Paul Simon- a song I requested at our wedding.
Afterwards, as we walked to my dad’s condo, we awed the most incredible sunset- a sun so red and large, you could have plucked it right out of the tree.
Then, we were bedazzled by our first drone show, right alongside my aging dad. He’s lived in that front row seat on his balcony for so long, the fireworks have ceased to surprise him. But tonight, at age 91, he saw something for the first time- and witnessing that experience for him was something I’ll never forget.
It’s never too late.
LIfe continues to amaze.
All the pretty lights.
The teacher asked us to take notes.
I had no idea what she meant by that.
Pauli saw the panic.
She met me where I was.
She calmed me down and step-by-step, taught me how.
I will never, ever forget her kindness.
“Look for the helpers.” Mr. Rogers said.
I did.
And I still am.
In fact, I’ve become one.
“Just pick up fast food!”
My husband was out of town.
Gosh, if only it were that easy.
I feel like I’ve spent adulthood explaining this notion of “privilege” without realizing I’ve even done so.
Fast food?
That’s privilege, at least for my family.
We have a child with severe food allergies so “fast food” is not an option.
Instead, we have to plan painstakingly ahead.
“You were meant to be her mother.”
Was I, really?
What did I do in my past life to deserve this honor?
That’s what I would like to know.
It’s not her fault and it’s not mine either, or maybe it is- I don’t even know anymore.
What I DO know is that giving grace to any and everyone is the very best thing we can ever do.
Because, how otherwise, could we ever truly know their story?
We cannot.
So, we give grace.
Always, we give grace.
New Leaf Parenting 