If it weren’t for the kids …

Posted on October 25, 2011 by FoBaM-Jamie

If it weren’t for the kids …

We could get a full night’s sleep every night.

We wouldn’t catch every sniffle, flu, and sore throat in town.

We wouldn’t be plagued with nightmares about Teletubbies and purple dinosaurs.

We could reduce the laundry by at least fifty percent.

We could go to the bathroom without an audience.

We could do our grocery shopping in under an hour.

We could have adult phone conversations without five hundred interruptions.

We could leave the house without sixty pounds of just-in-case paraphernalia.

We could get through a whole day without saying, “Because I said so.”

We wouldn’t have hours of “child admin” from school, pediatricians, etc.

We could finish reading the book we started six months ago.

We could have those washboard abs … maybe.

We could sleep in.

We could drive a Mini Cooper instead of a minivan.

We would have more time for a social life, exercise, and R&R.

We would have more money for a social life, exercise, and R&R.

We wouldn’t need a contingency plan just to run a few errands.

We could plan our days around our own agendas instead of the kids’ activities.

We could avoid the cliquey circles of moms.

We wouldn’t have to explain why the sky is blue.

We wouldn’t have the chance to dance in the rain.

We might forget to smell the flowers.

We wouldn’t laugh as much.

We wouldn’t take as many naps.

We would take ourselves too seriously.

We would gloss over the wonder that is all around us.

We wouldn’t get to relive our favorite childhood adventures at storytime.

We would forget how to see the magic in a seashell.

We wouldn’t have the courage to sing out loud or somersault down the lawn.

We wouldn’t have the chance to get closer to our neighbors and community.

We wouldn’t get to rediscover the child inside us.

We wouldn’t get to see the world through new eyes in a way that makes us smile.

If it weren’t for the kids, our lives wouldn’t be as rich and full and challenging and rewarding and infuriating and blissful as they are. If it weren’t for the kids, none of it would mean a thing.

Image Credit: Nils L.

To every time there is a season

Posted on October 4, 2011 by FoBaM-Jamie

I sit in my favorite coffee shop, wracking my brains for some inspiration. I don’t know what to write. It’s a Monday morning, and my muse seems to be sleeping in. My mind is a foggy vista dotted with the hazy peaks of ideas, most of which I feel I have already covered in the hundreds of mom-themed blog posts I’ve written over the years. I feel stumped, barren, paralyzed.

And then, a miniature muse-in-the-making toddles into view.

She’s here with her mom and dad who are seated at the next table over, eating ice creams for lunch. My tiny muse is clutching an empty ice cream cone in her pudgy little fingers and doing wobbly laps around the cafe. She wears dark brown leggings, a tot-sized pink polo shirt, and a pink and lavender striped sun hat with a broad brim that extends halfway down her back – making her look ready for a jungle expedition. On her feet are the most darling blue hiking shoes, complete with toe stops, full laces, and orange-gold racing stripes. This child is ready for adventure.

Each time she emerges from the other side of the center product shelf (the inside of her track), she peeks around and waits to catch my eye. When she knows I’ve noticed her, she rewards me with a huge grin and then lurches out from behind the shelf in the teetering gait of someone who has just learned to walk and may temporarily regress to all fours at any moment. Around and around and around she goes – content to do nothing more than practice her upwardly mobile skills and flirt at strangers.

Watching her brings back my daughter’s toddler years as if they were yesterday, (which they weren’t).

I smile at the baby. I wave. She regards me with a look that is focused and clear. She considers me and then smiles back. We are fascinated with each other. I remember those days with my own daughter – long days of doing little more than watching each other – taking in movements, sounds, smells, touch. The world gathered in around the two of us, enfolding us in a warm and comforting haze that shut out the rest of the world … for a little while.

I don’t have many of those moments with my daughter now.

Which isn’t to say we don’t create our own bliss. I treasure my memories of those days, years ago, when whole afternoons were spent enveloped in the enviable pastime of doing nothing at all. I feel so blessed to have experienced that sensation of time standing still, of the world stopping for mother and child. Those moments of respite are few and far between now that my daughter is a rambunctious, active, and adventurous seven year-old. But, that’s okay. We share our experiences in the world in new ways now. We teach each other how to play in the world.

Though we may reminisce about the past and look forward to the future, is it the season of the moment that hopefully captures our imaginations and hearts each day. To every time there is a season. And, if we are wise, we reap the bountiful harvest of each season in turn.

Image  Credit: Me. This is my daughter at the same age as Miss Mini-Muse, wearing the same impish grin, too!

Graduation

Posted on June 1, 2011 by FoBaM-Jamie

The start of summer heralds the end of children-sized eras. Whether they are graduating from preschool or college, this time of year is filled with goodbyes, celebrations, and the beginnings of new adventures.  Children close the doors on small chapters of their lives and move on to the next Big Thing. Driving through the streets of my small town, I see evidence of these transitions all around me – a group of high school seniors posing for prom photos on someone’s front lawn, soon-to-be Kindergartners touring the schools they will attend in the fall, high school graduates discussing college choices with friends over a latte at the local coffee shop, cars decorated in school colors and sporting window paint that says, ‘Class of 2011.’

My daughter is only seven and graduating from the first grade, but I know that her high school graduation is only moments away. I can almost see the years we have not yet lived flashing before my eyes. I have visions of her going to the beach with friends, performing in a school play, maybe getting the winning goal at a lacrosse game. I imagine the glow she will have on her first prom, her first date, after her first kiss. I feel my heart ache over broken friendships, confidence crushing disappointments, and the fallout of young love gone awry. I burst with pride over academic accomplishments, and – more importantly – accomplishments in kindness and empathy. I smile to think of all the small moments of pure silliness that will send her and her friends into hysterical laughter for no reason. I remember wistfully what it felt like to be invincible – ready to take the world by storm.

My daughter is only seven and graduating from the first grade. I don’t know if she will be in the school drama club or join a sports team. I have no idea who her friends will be and she certainly doesn’t have any suitors that I know of. I do not know what kind of student she will be. I cannot truly foretell what elation and heartbreak will befall her over these years. I know nothing of these years to come and yet I literally buzz with the intensity of all the hopes and fears that I have for my little girl. I know the road will not be without its speed bumps, but I feel a fierce hope that it will hold many joys, true love, and much laughter.

I look around me, see all the other journeys winding through these early summer days, and am overwhelmed by the immensity of life. Each child is on a path that is both the same and so different from those of all the other children. From the tiny babe just learning to be away from mom for an afternoon to the young adult heading off to college and a new and independent life, each child is still just a child in mom’s eyes. These kids are graduating every day – learning new things, taking new steps, becoming the people they are meant to be.

And we moms are graduating, too. We are learning how to let go, step back, trust that we’ve done our job, believe that our babies are ready for whatever comes next. We are growing into the moms we hoped we’d be – strong, supportive, loving. We will stumble. We will overstep the bounds of privacy or embarrass our kids in front of their friends or miss the signs of trouble on the horizon. Our children will stumble, too. They will keep things from us, lose their way, or make bad choices that will bring unwanted consequences. It’s okay. When they stumble, we will be there to pick them up.  When we stumble, they will help us dust off and keep going.

So, in this season of tearful endings and exciting new beginnings, take a moment to savor the beauty of inevitable change. It’s true that nothing stays the same, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. We are here to grow and to help our children grow. Change is the catalyst for that growth.  Embrace it with enthusiasm, joy, and hope. That is the best graduation gift you can give.

Image Credit: Steve Schnabel

The Changing Seasons of Motherhood

Posted on October 12, 2010 by FoBaM-Jamie

Where I live, fall is getting into full swing with her shorter days, colder temperatures, and fiery palette. Though I feel as if it was high summer only yesterday – full of sandy afternoons, bare feet, and ice cream – I now have to adapt to a new reality filled with sweaters, sneakers, homework, and pitch black mornings.

Motherhood is like that. The phases of childhood flash before our eyes like the seasons – playing in fast motion so that years last only moments and days go by too quickly to see clearly. One minute, we’re bundling an infant in twelve layers of polar fleece before a walk in the park, the next we’re begging a teenager to please take a coat even though she’s not cold and “no one else is wearing one.”

There is no surprise in summer following spring and fall following summer. We see the changes from far off, but it still seems to come as a shock. It still feels like one day you wake up and all the leaves have fallen … or your baby is suddenly all grown up.

Our day-to-day routine shows me the subtle markers of big change. I no longer have to buckle her into her booster seat in the car.  She can get her own snacks. There are fewer midnight calls to ward off nightmares. The other day, as we were getting ready for her bath, my little girl stood in front of me and put her arms straight up so I could help her off with her shirt. That small gesture nearly brought me to tears. Memories of the thousands of times I’d dressed and undressed her rushed in at me, overshadowed by the knowledge that soon she would not need me to help in this way anymore.

At the end of the summer, we spent one last, languid afternoon at the beach. The unseasonably warm water tempted my daughter and she spent most of the time frolicking in the shallow waves. Not dressed for swimming, I had to stay at the water’s edge. Though I could cheer her successful swimming, laugh at her antics, and wave encouragingly from the shore, I could not join her in the water. And I thought, “This is what it will be like soon.” Soon I will be mostly an observer. I will not be able to follow her through every moment of her life, holding her hand for her sake and mine. I will have stand at the edge of the deep ocean and watch her swim out.

And another season of motherhood will be upon me. There will be tumultuous autumns, icy winters, and merciful springs. We will have the lush, verdant summers and angst-ridden falls. I will watch her grow through these seasons – learning when to plant, when to reach for the sun, and when to let things lie fallow. I will look on proudly as she steps out into the world as her own person – learning to swim in the summer, explore in the fall, contemplate in the winter, and emerge like a butterfly each new spring.

And I will grow, too. I will learn to be her mother in each new season. Sometimes I will stumble, but I will always get back up. I will adapt to the changes while remaining a constant in her life. Because that’s what mothers do.

Image Credit: Pam Ullman

Evolution of a friendship

Posted on September 29, 2009 by FoBaM-Jamie

Make new friends, but keep the old – one is silver and the other is gold.

Last week’s discussions about moms helping moms and the sisterhood of motherhood got me thinking about the way that relationships evolve over time.

Every relationship changes with the passage of time – whether romantic or platonic, familial or professional. Even our relationships with ourselves change – hopefully growing to embody acceptance, respect, and love.

Perhaps our relationships with our children are the ones that change more dramatically than any other. While relationships with lovers may wax and wane, and relationships with friends come and go; our relationships with our children adapt endlessly as we – and they – grow older. My relationship with my parents has reinvented itself so many times that I can’t keep count. As an infant and very young child, I knew no other love; as I grew older, I discovered other loves which unfortunately drove wedges between me and my parents; as I grew older still, I began to appreciate everything my parents had done for me and held them in a new respect – seeing them more as peers than parents; today, now a mother myself, our relationship has deepened once more because of the many shared experiences that now exist between us.

I can’t help but wonder how my relationship with my own daughter will evolve. I imagine that we will have rough spots, but hope that we will eventually have a relationship that goes beyond the mother/daughter dynamic into the realm of best friends.

What about you?

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