2.26.20 The Hardest Part is Loving You

Dear Little Girl:

I think it’s time I tell you that being a mom isn’t always easy … there are many difficult parts of parenting – but the hardest part is loving you.

I don’t mean precious, that you are hard to love. The opposite in fact. Just to know you is to love you. Who couldn’t fall for that smile? I have been proud of every step, jump, and twirl of your life. I have applauded each role, whether minor or lead. I am excited about every new concept you master and every new idea you form. You are a wonder in my world. And that is why loving you is hard. Because love hurts … and I love you fierce and full.

When you are hurting dolly, I hurt – and when you are the age you are, and life is what it is, and society does what it does, I wish, for you, that I could change it. I wish I could erase every confusion that twists your perfect smile into a worried frown. I wish I could wipe every concern from your furrowed brow at trying to understand things that make no sense. But I can’t, and that is unbearable – to know it is my job to protect you against shadows I can’t catch.

Sometimes I look at you, and I see me. I see a little girl who is afraid of a world she can’t explain and worries she can’t clear her mind of. I travel back in time and feel the too fast beat of my heart and fluttery nerves that come with anxious thoughts. And in those moments, it’s like I am no longer the woman whose outgrown her adolescent fears, but am instead walking through them again … only it’s worse … because it’s you – and I love you more.

There is no solution to this problem of growing up … there is only a promise I can make you that it’ll all make sense someday. There will continue to be personal mistakes, world problems, and difficult issues to learn about. There will never be a day when everything you do or say is just right. You will disappoint and be disappointed. Sometimes you will feel pain and sometimes you will cause it. There are things you cannot change, even when you want to. This beautiful, messy life is not easy … but living through the bumps and bruises gets you to the other side. The side I’m on now – the side that gets to love you.

Someday you will have your own little you. You will marvel at every baby sigh, and spoken word, and made-up song. Your heart will ache at a small hand that finds yours through the first steps, and millionth dances, and bad dreams. You will catch glimpses of yourself and wish against wish that you could pave every path smooth and cast every obstacle to the depths of the sea you’d swim clear across just to keep her from tripping. You will love beyond bearing it … and it will hurt terribly … because you will love with a mother’s knowing.

Hold on little one. I can’t move the mountains you might have to climb, but I promise to walk them with you one step at a time. Because dear girl, I love you … and it’s a pain worth every moment I get to spend at your side.

Mommy

2.19.20 Not Enough

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” ― Mae West

I’m not sure I entirely agree with this quote from Mae West. I love the impact of her delivery, but sometimes I’m acutely aware that the immensity of my dreams and ambitions far outlast the promotion of time one human is allowed on this earth. I don’t believe in reincarnation, but the idea of it is such a romantic thought to me. To come back … to do it all again but better. Differently. Hindsight is a really amazing gift, but it seems somewhat ironically unfair to gain wisdom after and then not be able to fix the parts and pieces of your story you’d love to edit.

I am of the opinion that life is much too brief to harbor regrets and hold on too long to wishes that can’t carry you forward, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I would make a few changes … or a few more than a few. In any case … I thought I’d invite you to share a piece of my mind with me – it goes great with coffee and a snuggly blanket. I’m happy to think I’m not thinking alone.

Not Enough

To think that we can measure time

is futile

to think we can stretch it

is madder still

For Time is an untamable beast

prowling and haunting

those like me

who would do anything to claim

just a little bit more of it

 

 

 

2.11.20 Damsel in a Ditch

“I’m a damsel, I’m in distress, I can handle this. Have a nice day!”

– Meg, from Disney’s Hercules 

So I very, very rarely post twice in one week let alone two days in a row, but today warranted a post my friends! Trust me.

I love the picture above because it is the story of my life. No … there’s nothing wrong with your eyes, it is a blur, because that is the speed of life, and in my experience, trying to focus for even a second doesn’t really seem plausible. Today was no different. Maybe someday my memories will be in focus, and when they are, I hope I remember today.

So I dashed home from work to get home on time for my son’s personal tutor (he wanted to learn Japanese … GO HIM! So we hired someone wonderful to come once a week). She was pulling in as I was pulling in. He had lesson, and as soon as she left, we needed to get to soccer – but my daughter wasn’t done with her shower on time (she never is). Then, she was ready but he was “getting his socks.” That took another five minutes and so we were running behind.

Fast forward to thirty minutes later … we are nearly to the soccer field (new place, far, far away) and Google Maps tells me to do a U-turn. No. I did not miss my turn, this state I live in just has the absolute WORST road infrastructure and U-turns are as common as turning right or left. Let me back up and tell you now, most practices were canceled today because of the EXTREME rain we’ve been having. There was no track, no after school sports, no girls’ soccer … but oh yes. We still had boys soccer. Back to the road. I take my U-turn, knowing that my wheel will dip a smidge past the asphalt to the grass, but I see a few tire tracks and assume (yes, I know what assuming does) that it’ll be fine. So I get a bit of grass in my wheel.

Nope.

I got stuck. BIG TIME! My left-front wheel immediately sinks in about three inches below the lip of the asphalt. I try. And try. And try some more, furthering my predicament at every acceleration. My son, at this point says, “Oh no. Mom. Don’t worry. Are we stuck? Should I text my coach?” I told him sure, not knowing until later that he texted the entire team, “We are in a ditch.” Awesome. I’m that parent. The “ditch” parent. The “we-were-already-going-to-be-late-and-now-we-are-late-from-being-stuck- in-a-ditch,” parent! Here comes the damsel!

While I don’t like playing this role in the least … sometimes it is just true. Everyone needs help sometimes. This was my time. And you know what? God delivered. I wasn’t there more than two minutes when an angel in a Subway t-shirt walked across this suburban street. “Hey there,” he said, “I saw you through the window of my house right there,” he pointed behind him, “and I thought you might need help.”

I told him I wasn’t sure what to do and he said, “You get in and I’ll push.” He tried and tried some more and asked me if I had anything like a book or magazine I could put under the wheel. I gave him the one flimsy magazine I had, but nothing doing. Then he said, “I might have a piece of wood back by my house, I’ll put it under for some traction.” He just wouldn’t leave me alone and I could have cried. At that moment, a truck pulled up and another man jumped out and said, “I have some rope if you want, I think I could pull you out.” Then he signaled another truck filled with guys he worked with.

In a matter of minutes there were six men pushing my car up over that lip. I never wished more that I had something to give in my astonished gratitude. A whole host of angels descended and graced me with smiles and “no problems,” like they saved damsels every day. I promised to pay it forward and this is my first attempt to do so.

Be strong enough to accept when miracles happen – they’re among us, in Subway t-shirts, and muddy work boots. In tired, over-worked faces of men who stopped simply because they knew a damsel when they saw one, and had too much integrity as gentlemen to stand by and watch.

Thank you to my heroes.

Thank you God for miracles.

Thank you life for making me a damsel in a ditch.

 

Go be someone’s miracle today,

Elle

2.10.20 Ten Confessions

Confession #1:  This week my son has lost: his book report book, his reading book, his shin guards, and his right soccer shoe (which was in his soccer bag). I am officially about to lose my patience, more money, and my mind … because of him.

Confession #2:   I had an hour to myself because my angel of a friend asked if she could take my crazy-disorganized son to soccer for me. I decided to workout. Three minutes in, my husband called and told me he’d be two hours late. I did not return to my workout, figuring another two hours without him to help WAS a workout.

Confession #3:   My dinner prayer consisted of, “Thank you God for leftovers,” and “Please help me with everything else.”

Confession #4:   It isn’t a dessert day, but Nutella is sweet. I convinced myself since it has hazelnuts, and nuts are protein, I was doing myself a favor by eating some … especially since I didn’t workout. I needed the extra health benefit. Don’t you agree?

Confession #5:   I might have decided that the slightly-sticky bowl from the dishwasher wasn’t that sticky, and put it away fast before thinking about it too much.

Confession #6:   I have lost the ability to sit down when I am eating dinner. I usually stand and empty the dishwasher. (I know you’ll be mad when you read this mom, but let me remind you – you never sat either, and still don’t! So don’t be mad.) Today, even with my family gone in different directions, I still stood. Is it weird to have to re-train yourself how to sit?

Confession #7:   Sometimes I fold extra laundry just to give myself the opportunity to rewatch episodes of Gilmore Girls. I feel like Rory and Lorelai would be proud of this secret sneaky multitasking. If only I could live in Stars Hollow … oh the delight I’d have staying at the Dragonfly Inn and writing at Luke’s Diner.

Confession #8:   I am planning to offer to put the kids to bed tonight, because then I’ll get to lay down next to them. When, I’ll wake up a few hours later,  it will be “too late” to accomplish anything more. This may or may not be a regular planned occurrence.

Confession #9:  When I find my son’s shin guards, and book, and other book … I am going to charge him three dollars for my time. Maybe five. He recently told me that when he was a little, he once “lost something” on purpose because he knew I’d say, “First one to find the missing item gets a dollar.” Punk! On second thought … make it ten!

Confession #10:   I secretly wish against wish that you’ll share a confession of parenthood, marriage, or just LIFE IN GENERAL, with me because it’ll make me feel less like I’m in confession, and more like I’m chatting with friends who unequivocally “get” me.

Your turn,

Exhausted Elle

2.1.20 Let’s Be Tired Together

So … I came across an unknown quote recently that really resonated with me. It said, “Even though I carry it all so well, doesn’t mean it’s not heavy.” And life is isn’t it? Heavy. Messy. Rough. I am fully aware that not all weeks are created equal, and this week was further vindication. So instead of laying it all out there … this post is an invitation. Let’s be tired together! Let’s rest in knowing that all of us need a little more rest, and maybe too … a lot more encouragement!

Carry on warriors. Breathe in and then out, and then laugh a little because it is good for the soul. I love you. I’m with you. I’m here.

Elle