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.
My car broke down.
My dusty, musty, rusty ole’ van that has seen 10 years of abuse by children.
Her rugs are crusted with smashed applesauce.
Dead bugs lie unreachable on the dashboard but close enough to the windshield that I’ve had the privilege of watching them decay for years.
And let’s not forget that my youngest proudly carved the first four letters of her name into the side of it at the ripe age of four.
When faced with the choice of dumping five grand into a vehicle on her final wheels or starting anew, we felt torn.
Ultimately, finances forced our hand, so to the repair shop our trusty van went, and in our driveway, a brand new loaner car, while we waited.
So. Many. Buttons.
The girls had to push them all. Their eyes twinkled with excitement.
And, I admit. It was fun while it lasted.
The new car smell (similar to the allure of a new puppy!). The magnetic phone charger (game changer).
But I was annoyed when my car told on my speed so that my children called me out. I needed my speedometer back.
And I didn’t need my car to lower my side mirror to see the road when I reversed, thank you very much.
I lived in a city and can parallel park in my sleep.
Days went by and as the newness wore off, I realized I missed the familiarity of my old van.
In the age of “House Hunters” in which we are encouraged to update to keep up with the Joneses, I found myself, instead, revering all that I already have.
I walked into rooms in my house that I’d previously seen through a critical eye and I smiled. Grateful for the memories made in each.
I relaxed.
No need to trade in.
No need to keep up.
Time to maintain.
“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.
It’s been a lifetime of regret
For a crime I never committed.
I was born.
The illegitimate of a love affair.
Forever, a child, apologizing for my existence.
I’m so sorry.
And yet, Here I Am.
You’ve welcomed and accepted me,
Flaws, painful memories and all.
I’m so sorry.
I was born.
It’s been a lifetime.
But, here I am.
Here I am.
Don’t get me wrong.
I definitely have those pangs.
The weird desire to smell just inside the crevice of their neck, cheek-to-cheek.
*Inhale* their sweetness.
Feel their entire fist upon my finger . . .
But miss those days?
Count me out.
With four daughters, all I’ve heard is warnings of teenage days to come.
My oldest is only eleven and I’ve had to put my foot in my parental mouth more times than I care to count so I dare not assume I know better than my foremothers.
But, I admit. . .
I look forward to the future more than I look longingly backward to their baby days.
Perhaps it is because I had the opportunity to experience babyhood four separate times.
My friends with twins remind me that although they were awarded double the experience at the same time, they wished they’d had the opportunity over time.
Lord knows, I got that time- I was pregnant and/or nursing for nine years in a row.
Instead, I revel in witnessing my daughters grow into young women- their passions, insecurities and questions.
I walk alongside, offering assistance as needed and hopping in bed to cuddle when requested.
I have such faith that they will continue to shine
So, forget the mirror.
Hand me my shades.
Here come my suns.
There’s a reason the stewardess instructs you to put on your own oxygen mask before your child’s.
You are no good to anyone when you’re passed out.
So, today, when I told my therapist that my doctor explained I was anemic at my latest physical, she chuckled, “Well, that’s telling, isn’t it?”
As a universal donor, I’ve been donating roughly every 8 weeks until recently, when I was turned away for low iron.
There’s always a shortage and since I have the blood everyone needs, I always say yes.
But the theme of “taking care of myself” has been commonly discussed during therapy so it came as no surprise to my therapist to learn I had once again, run my well dry.
It’s all about setting healthy boundaries.
Pouring into my cup first, before sharing with others.
“I can write a letter, if you need.” My doctor offered.
I laughed, “No, I’m a big girl. I can tell them No.”
A hard word for me to ever say.
There’s always a need.
But I want to be here for the long haul, not just the present emergency.
So, I set boundaries.
I say, “No.”
I take care of myself.
And in the end, that’s my greatest gift to others.
Camille Vaughan Photography
“You’re such a good mom.”
They say to me with awe and pity.
And I wonder,
If you were me, would you do anything differently?
I’d like to think not.
My child, with food allergies, gets invited to a birthday party.
Of course I bring her own cupcake- dairy, egg, peanut and wheat-free.
This is our normal.
And yes, it’s hard.
But if it were you . . .
You’d do it, too.
We’re Moms.
It’s what we do.
Camille Vaughan Photography
New Leaf Parenting 