Now that you mention it…

Today we moved our 20-year-old daughter into a new dorm room. This is the fourth move since she left for college two years ago. She’s never come back for any extended period of time since that first move, and she’ll probably never live with us again. I still cry every time I have to say good bye to her, which this year has included goodbyes to Brazil and Taiwan in addition to Pittsburgh. You’d think I’d be getting used to it. Me too. I’m not.

On a detour through a familiar neighborhood on our way out of town, we got to visit briefly with two of the most darling women ever to grace the universe. As the lovely mom and I commiserated the whole kids growing up business, she pointed to my 7-year-old and said, “You’re so lucky to have this little one.” I know. Thank you. Right? Wow.

I’ve thought a lot of stuff since getting pregnant unexpectedly 8 1/2 years ago such as: There goes grad school. There goes my body. I’m too old for this. My poor boobs. This baby is gonna kill me. My big kids hate me. How can I be a good mom to all of them? But I never really thought until Chloe went to college that I was really lucky to get this little bonus baby.

From the time she was born, my oldest daughter has been my constant companion, soul mate and best friend. She filled a Chloe-shaped space in my heart, and I felt as if I was made to be her mom. When Peyton joined, answering my prayers and completing our perfectly symmetrical little family, I felt lucky. I have never been so in love with two people. So six years later, when it became apparent that our family wasn’t quite complete, I felt different levels of resistant, afraid, angry, and resentful … but I didn’t feel lucky.

However, in her nearly 8 years, this little chick has challenged me in ways I can’t even begin to explain. She has taught me more about myself than the library of self-help books I’ve read. She can be jarringly direct and achingly compassionate. She strolled out of my womb and wrapped her dad right around her tiny finger. She carries his heart around in a Hello Kitty purse. It’s impressive, really, because he is not that guy.

She can be bossy and whiny and smart-mouthed. And she can be cuddly and dreamy and precious. She’s a little bit like my clone, and I’m a better person for getting to watch and learn from a mini version of myself. She’s growing into a pretty cool person, and it’s interesting to watch her free from the pressure of signing her up for every sport and making sure she’s involved in a million activities.

I’m grateful for another round of prom dresses. I’m grateful for more shoe shopping and hair appointments and manicures and pedicures and even more stupid Ugg boots. I’m lucky to have more opportunities to say the right thing to ease the pain of a broken heart and remind her that other people’s opinions of her are meaningless. I’m lucky that I can remind her that pain builds strength and character. I’m lucky that she has the most amazing role models in her sister and brother. I’m lucky that I get another opportunity to raise a strong, empowered woman who will make a difference in the world.

So thank you for the reminder, my friend. I am so lucky.

Losing my mind in 4,3,2,1…

I rarely take things for granted. Kindness, goodness, blessings, and the people attached to those sentiments overwhelm me with gratitude. You know that picture circulating on social media, “What if you woke up tomorrow with only what you thanked God for last night”? I’d be solid. I thank Him constantly for the wonderful miracles in my life.

As you’ve probably guessed, that intro is leading up to what I do take for granted. Well, it’s not a what. It’s a who. Ugh…I hate admitting this, but I take my husband for granted sometimes.

Usually when I realize I am doing or have done so, I apologize immediately, write him long, appreciative letters, and make him feel extra loved. And honestly, he’s stereotypically guyish and not super in touch with his emotions, so he doesn’t sitting around whining that he’s not appreciated.

And, he asks for very little. Mostly. Last week, he started a new job and text me 37 million times as I’m the keeper of all important personal information–even his. But as far as emotional support, the scale is definitely shifted in my favor.

I’m a basket case 25-95% of the time depending on what’s going on in our life. A messy house, squabbling kids, writer’s block, or any variety of issues might send me spiraling into a panic. He talks me off proverbial ledges. Unless the ledges are work related, then my boss/friend talks me down–she is my work husband. Also, occasionally, he puts me on the ledge, and for those instances I am fortunate to have the most amazing girlfriends who pull me back in. I don’t spend as much of my life on the edge of sanity as this implies, but there are moments…or weeks.

This is of one of those weeks. I’m very excited for our daughter who will be leaving for an adventure in Brazil on Friday. I’m also a little nervous that our daughter will be leaving for an adventure in Brazil on Friday because I won’t be able to talk to her for two weeks. I have immense faith and am beyond thrilled that she will have this amazing experience, but I’m also her mama. To outsiders, a beautiful, accomplished, bright and eager 20-year-old will be boarding a plane with her professor and classmates, but in my eyes, that person is a tiny blonde baby who was sleeping on my shoulder with my hair twisted around her finger…just a minute ago.

Consequently, I’m a little anxious and when I’m anxious, my person is always next to me, holding my hand, rubbing his thumb along my thumb, twirling my hair, patting my back, and catching me (figuratively and literally on occasion). When we put this same child on the bus to kindergarten 15 years ago, he stood behind me waving and whispering into my hair, “Don’t cry, baby,” until this bus was down the road and our baby girl was out of sight and then caught me up in his arms laughing, “Okay, you can cry now.”

When I put her on this plane, he will be in another state, so I can’t fall apart. He’ll listen to me cry the whole way home, but it won’t be the same as depositing mascara all over the front of his shirt.

So, I’m anxious, and I would appreciate if you guys could (as my dear friend said one time,) “say a prayer or light a candle or do whatever it is you do” for us on Friday as my heart is scattered all over the world.

Heart Hiccups

So, I’ve had a whole bunch of time on my hands the last few weeks fasting Facebook and being unemployed. I’ve spent a great deal of it writing, reading and doing yoga, so I’ll be smarter and more flexible by the time I “see” most of you again.

Well, I may not be smarter, but I can hold crow for about 5 breaths, and I have an increased sense calmness and peace. Evidently, just reading other people’s drama profoundly affected my peace of mind.

And I am still not an intellectual, but I’ve learned that I can dust, sweep, mop, clean toilets, the whole housecleaning shebang in about two hours when I don’t stop to read notifications every five minutes.

I have watched some really good moves. You know, actually watched them–not the whole listen as you scroll and occasionally look up, and:
“Hahaha, did you see that?”
“No, I missed it.”
“Wait…rewind!”
Is that just our house?

Although it all ready annoyed me, it’s been reinforced how irritating it is to hang out with someone who looks at their phone constantly. At Christmas, I took a picture of my family seated around the kitchen table talking while everyone stared at their phones (Lily was looking at an ipod) and then had a big-time tantrum about it. IS EYE CONTACT TOO MUCH TO HOPE FOR? I think they put their phones down for about 30 seconds.

While, all of this is pretty minor and stuff I mostly knew (except crow, I couldn’t do that before without falling on my head) and I’m sorry for missed opportunities to share love, prayer, and encouraging words–I do pray for my FB people every day. Here’s my main lesson: Sometimes by sharing, we divide our blessings. There have been so many cute things Lily said or did. So many funny P’isms. Chloe accomplishments. Witty Brad comments. So many missed tweets and Facebook posts. But every one I didn’t share stayed in my heart much longer.

Sunday, I was talking to one of my little mamas-to-be at church and sharing how I felt a little sense of sadness when my kids were born that I had to share them with the world. Their little kicks and movements were no longer mine alone. Everyone got to hold them and love them and feel their stretches and hiccups, and yes that is wonderful and amazing. But for nine months that had been just mine.

That’s kind of how I’ve felt about all the cute pictures, funny sayings, and sweet comments the past few weeks. Because I haven’t shared them, they’ve blessed me so much more–they’re just hiccuping in my heart.

I haven’t become some incredibly self-absorbed person. Not at all. I feel like I went to the eye doctor and when the lens flipped my life came into sharper focus. I’ve missed a lot by being so plugged in, and I don’t intend to miss any more. I’ll be happy to see my FB friends again, since most of them I don’t get to see in every day life, but I will cherish the parts of my life that are just mine.

Just Because Your Name is Mary

Sometimes things shake you to your core and make you question everything you think you know. I have had a few of those instances: my brothers dying and getting pregnant with my girls–both were unexpected blessings with unexpected being the key word (I may or may not have extreme control issues) are a couple.

Recently my daughter wrote an amazing blog, and I realized that in trying to raise her differently than I was raised, I managed to instill in her a whole host of different issues. She was born at a crazy tumultuous time in my life. Imagine your life at 21. Drunk? Partying? Well, I was crazy in love with a tiny baby while finishing college, getting an amazing job, never weighing more than 100 pounds, and planning a wedding to man I never saw. At least those were the idealistic balls I was trying to keep in the air.

I approached motherhood pretty much like this: I’m not gonna be like my mom. Period. Yesterday, my mom mentioned that her doctor had gained a few pounds and that she hopes “he doesn’t get fat as a pig.” That should clear up any residual questions about my weight issues. Fat is the worst thing you can be in my mom’s eyes.

I had a lot of self-esteem issues that took/are taking a good part of my life to sort out. I wanted acceptance and people to like me. My mom’s acceptance came the skinnier and blonder I was–the more I was like her. But, I like to eat, y’all. So, 100 pounds wasn’t in the cards for me. Although, this Fast Metabolism Diet might just help me get close.

Now, I love my mom, know that she loves me and was the very best mom she knew how to be. She was tremendously awesome in many ways, but she didn’t exactly excel in the body image department, and body image is a big deal to girls. I accept her for who she is; good grief, she lives with me. This isn’t about bashing my mom, that was context. 

I didn’t want my kids to have self-esteem issues. I wanted them always to know how beautiful, smart, talented, precious, special and so forth they are. So, if they didn’t hear it from the world, you better believe they would hear it from their mama. I am not that mom who thinks my kids are perfect and puts them on a pedestal; trust me if you came out of my womb, I’ll put you in check. BUT, I am pretty sure that they all know I am always their biggest fan, cheering the loudest, and willing to do and be ANYTHING they need.

So that brings me to this earth-shattering revelation: Shouldn’t I have that same attitude about God? Shouldn’t I start asking what He wants from me? My sister gave me a book, Anything, by Jennie Allen, and more than any book I’ve ever read other than the Bible, it is changing my life. The premise: Be willing to do anything God asks of you. Do it when He asks.

Many times I’ve asked God what He wants me to do, but I don’t think I’ve been listening well enough. Instead, I look at the gifts He gave me and try to figure out how He wants me to use them. But I don’t have to figure it out. I just have to listen. The beginning of the week, God put two people on my heart. I said, “What do I do for them?” The answer was so simple: Pray. Last night, one of them sent me a message saying how much they loved coming to our church and thanks for inviting them.

Here’s the shake-you-to-your-core part: I’ve been waiting for Gabriel to swoop down in all his angel splendor with a harp and a shield (maybe because my name is Mary?) and announce some great calling for my life, and I have been missing millions of little whispers.