Dear Mom

Today is my mom's birthday, her eightieth birthday.  In honor of her eight decades, here are eight things she did that had a powerful effect on me as a kid and as a parent:  1) She read to us: in the car, on the couch, in the park, and my favorite--from the floor of the hallway between the girls' room and the boys' room at bedtime. 2) She told us stories from her childhood, stories so vividly remembered and recounted that it made us feel as though we'd been there.  Not only did we get to know her childhood self, but she showed us how important it is to remember and tell the stories of our lives.  3) She taught us to notice and value the natural world.  She pointed out birds and bird calls, identified wild flowers, and helped us catch tadpoles.  Once she sent each of us into the backyard with a muffin tin with instructions to collect twelve different nature samples, one for each muffin cup. 4) She took us to Sunday school, Sunday morning church, Sunday evening church, Tuesday afternoon Bible club, Wednesday night prayer meeting, and summer Vacation Bible School, thus making sure we knew we were "precious in His sight." 5) She made a family dinner every night.  One of my favorite sights was coming home after high school play practice and seeing steamed up kitchen windows because that meant it was spaghetti night!  6) She was cheerful during hard times.  Holidays were kind of tough on my dad, especially Christmas.  One Christmas Eve, he was having a bad time, so my mom told us to bundle up for a walk.  She had the Coleman lantern, and it was snowing.  We were showing her how to do the walk from The Monkees, and her feet went out from under her on the slippery road. Down she went; the lantern flew out of her hand and smashed on the snowy street.  The four of us kids froze, fearing the worst--an angry or hurt Mom to go with our sad Dad.  Then we realized she wasn't crying or mad, she was laughing, and our Christmas Eve was merry again.  7) She made celebrations out of little things: biking to the gas station for banana popsicles, sprinkling salt on sweet red apples while we watched Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella, decorating our paper lunch bags on field trip days, dropping everything to fly a kite on a day when the wind was just right or build a snowman when the snow was just right. And finally, 8) She made sure we knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we were loved. Thanks, Mom, and Happy Birthday!

It's Your Story, Pass It On

My mom will be eighty in September, and my mother-in-law recently turned ninety.  We don't see either one of them nearly as often as we used to, but this summer we've had visits with both of them.  During each visit, I noticed something: our moms were eager to tell stories from the past to their children and grandchildren.  They are both getting a bit forgetful about the bits and pieces of daily life, but their memories of long ago seem crisp and clear.  Last night after dinner, Steve's mom told the group of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren gathered around the table all about having her first child alone while Steve's dad was in the navy during World War II and didn't even know his son had been born.  When my mom was here, she told story after story about her favorite teacher (Mrs. Oliver) and things her parents used to say ("If I had a rope around his neck, if I wouldn't yank it!").  Listening to them talk got me thinking about how important it is for all of us to tell our stories to the people we love, especially our kids; we want them to know who we are, where we came from, and what mattered to us.  So tell your kids the things your parents used to say and do; write down memories from your childhood; and when you look at old photo albums with people, fill in the details behind the pictures.   Your stories matter--pass them on.

Loaves and Fishes

I think one of the things that is hard about an emptying nest is the fact that it’s not really empty.  It’s filled with memories—both good and bad—and regrets.  The good memories warm you and lift your spirits most of the time, but they can also leave an ache inside on a lonely day.   The bad memories make you cringe or cry if you’re not quick enough to brush them away when they creep in at the corners of your mind.  But it’s the regrets that are most dangerous, at least for me.  I worry a lot about the things I got wrong as a parent even though there’s not a thing I can do about them now.  I drive myself crazy thinking about things I didn’t do but should have, things I did but shouldn’t have, and things I should have done differently or better. On a bad day, I can get myself pretty worked up over stuff like this, but here’s what I try to remember in my saner moments: I always did the best I could.  And I remind myself that all my efforts would never have been enough on their own anyway.  It’s like the story of the loaves and fishes from the Bible: on its own, the boy’s lunch was nowhere close to being enough, but in Jesus’s hands, it fed thousands.  The boy gave all he had, and God did the rest.  So I continue to trust and pray that God will take the loaves and fishes of my parenting and use them to work miracles in the lives of my children, despite the mistakes I made and the missteps I took along the way.

Paper Mom

      After tossing and turning half the night as the wind howled and the rain hurled itself against the windows and roof, I was already awake when my old clock radio clicked on suddenly and softly at 5:00 a.m.  I stumbled out of bed, reaching for my glasses, watch, and bathrobe.  When I tapped lightly on the door to Ben's room, I heard his muffled voice say, "I'm awake."

"Dress in layers, and wear your new hiking boots," I suggested. Trying to offer some encouraging words, I added, "It probably can't get much worse than this. If you can make it through this morning with the wind and the cold rain and the heavy Sunday papers, you'll be ready for anything."

A few minutes later, we were sitting side by side on the living room, putting the papers together, rolling them, and stuffing them into the wafer thin plastic bags. I was sipping a mug of tea, and Ben was huddled on the heater while we waited for the house to warm up. About a third of the way through the stack of papers, we both realized he could never fit all the thick Sunday papers into his paper bag at once. 

"How am I going to get all these over there?" Ben wondered aloud.

"I'll drive you," I answered immediately.

A few minutes passed as we continued to roll and stuff. Then Ben said, "Do you think you could stay with me today? I could leave my list in the car and just take a few papers at a time. I wouldn't ask you to normally, but I'm not sure how I can do this myself today."

"Sure, I'd just be sitting here waiting for you to get back anyway." 

Armed with flashlights, raincoats, and two extra bags of papers, we crept out into the dark, cold morning that still felt a lot like nighttime. We discovered the rain had recently been freezing rain, and the sidewalks were icy and slippery. 

As Ben made his way from house to house, picking up speed as the sky lightened and the rain turned to drizzle, I followed in the Subaru, supplying him with papers and house numbers. He was wearing a stocking hat, and because he hasn't worn a hat since he started middle school and began worrying about messing up his carefully gelled hair, he looked like a bigger version of a much younger self to me. I felt my emotions welling up as I watched him carefully navigating the slippery sidewalks and conscientiously putting the papers where his customers had asked him to put them. Every so often he'd look back at me and grin. 

So was it the way I would have chosen to begin my Sunday morning? No. But I realized in the midst of it, there was really nowhere else I wanted to be.  

It’s been eleven years since that cold, wet Sunday morning at the beginning of my son’s year-and-a half-long stint as a paper boy. I think of it every time I walk the streets that were part of his route. I can’t say I was sorry when he gave up his route at the end of the following summer. It was a relentless job that ended up involving our whole family at one point or another. But he learned a lot about working hard, being responsible, and managing money and people. And I learned a lot about what it means to support your kids as they make their way through life.