Monday – Funday

Yesterday, my daughter had a graduation/going away party (she’s starting college at summer session in a couple of weeks) here with her friends. She insisted on a 1970s theme. The kids went all out. Their outfits were amazing. So was my husband’s. He got all decked out as John McEnroe. Unfortunately though, most of the kids didn’t get his costume. Most of the kids didn’t know who John McEnroe was – not even the tennis team kids. John McEnroe is 63 years old. Sigh.

One of my daughter’s friends bought her a compass bracelet. It was wrapped around a card that said this:

The Adventure Begins

Behind you, all of your memories.

Before you, all of your dreams.

Around you, all who love you.

Within you, all you need.

Friends, we are starting new adventures all of the time, whether we are 18 or we are 63. Stay in tuned with your compass. It will never steer you wrong.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Be Patient With Us

This is graduation time in America. Our nephew just graduated from high school. This year, out of our group of eight best friends from college, three of our children have graduated from high school, one has graduated from college, and one has joined the Coast Guard. Our daughter has been attending graduation parties more often than she practices tennis, these last few weeks.

No one told us how hard these transition times would tug at our hearts, when we started having these children, did they? Or perhaps the older people did tell us these things, but most likely, we weren’t really listening. We were busy being busy. And when the children were little, it often felt like those “raising the children” days would go on and on, forever. (in a good sense and in a bad sense)

I was watching a video of the author Kelly Corrigan, giving a recent commencement speech. Kelly Corrigan is an amazing writer and an engaging, sincere speaker. She gave excellent, funny, yet heartfelt advice to the graduates, but the part of her speech that got me beyond misty-eyed, and reaching for the tissues, was this part:

“Speaking of deep connection and great rewards, before I go, I want say something about the people who raised you. I have identified a fundamental difference between parent and child that I think helps explain all the crying and staring and weirdly-long hugs.

So… you were little and then, at some point you came into consciousness and looked over and there we were: the tall people cutting apples the way you liked them. You have never known a world where we were not.

But for us, we were just regular people and then you came and changed the whole thing. We could win the $19 million-dollar California Super Lotto tonight and you would still be the biggest thing that ever happened to us. We love you more than you have yet loved anything.

So yeah, maybe we want to stare at that face a little longer, hang on to that body that we once carried, take one more family photo. Be patient with us. This is hard.”

I have told my children often that they will have no idea how much I love them, until they have children themselves. Yet, it has also been of the highest, most deliberately practiced importance to me, that my children never feel like my love is a cage. It is my own greatest privilege, to feel and experience, the love that I have for them. As a mother, I have made an earnest effort to embody Khalil Kibran’s poignant reminder to us parents: “Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.”

I see too many parents living through their kids these days, and that’s sad. We are all meant to add a unique, authentic footprint on this world, which we have all co-created. When we are focused on living through someone else, we have stifled their footprint with a heavy load, and we have robbed the world of our own developed, distinctive mark. When we take “ownership and possession” of our kids, and try to make them conform to the “image” we wish to portray, we all lose.

That being said, it’s not easy to let go. We keep our most precious material things in safes, with encrypted passcodes, hidden away under lock and key. We do this because we dread losing these things, right? At the same time, any of us parents, would empty our safes, our bank and investment accounts, our jewelry boxes, etc., if it meant keeping our children, alive and well and happy and thriving. That’s the big Catch-22 of parenting, right? In order to healthfully fulfill our parental duties, we must let go of what is the absolute most precious to us. It is our job to send our babies out into the world, in order for them to fulfill their lives’ purposes, lessons and adventures to the fullest. We spend eighteen years making sure that our children are safe and protected, and yet at the same time stimulated to go after their own dreams. We best give our children permission to go create their own lives, when we show them that we are living our own personal purposes, lessons, adventures and dreams. Most importantly, we let our children know that we will love them until the end of time, but with an unconditional, freeing, cageless love, an unfathomably bottomless love, which also comes through us (just as they did) from our Creator.

I love this quote, which I saw the other day on Twitter, directed to the writer’s mother: “You’ll always be a shareholder in all of my successes in life.” (Wisdom Amplifier) That’s the right word, isn’t it? Shareholder. We all have shareholders in our own lives, who have helped spear us on, to our own successes. Parents, siblings, lovers, family members, friends, teachers, ministers, counselors, mentors, employers, even detractors, are all shareholders, in whom we have become. Shareholders are invested. If we take this idea to the macro-level, we are all shareholders of this life on Earth. Are we invested? It’s easy to be invested in our own children, our own best friend’s children, but are we invested in the children of the world? Are we invested in co-creating a world that is safe and secure and nourishing and empowering for all of us? As my children have grown and started leaving the nest, considering these things at this higher level, has been helpful to me, as I work on letting my own children go. I’ve been reminded to become reinvested in my own life’s experience (as an example to them), and to make sure that I am also invested in doing my own little part, to make this world a better place for all of us. Still, it isn’t easy. As Kelly Corrigan says at the end of her address, “Be patient with us. This is hard.” It is perhaps one of the hardest tasks which we will ever do, as parents – letting our little birdies fly from the nest, with the secure feeling of being confident and blessed to do so, freely and uninhibited, with excited anticipation for all that lies ahead.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

M. and B.

The other night we attended a large graduation party for one of my daughter’s tennis team members. The party was held in a big banquet hall, and it was the size of a medium wedding reception. We knew the graduate, my daughter, a few of my daughter’s friends, the graduate’s parents and one other mother attending. That’s it. In a hall of at least a hundred people, we knew about eight of them, and four of those people who we knew were kids who, understandably, had no interest whatsoever, in hanging out with parents. We had been having work done on our house that day, so in waiting for the workers to finish up for the day, my husband and I ended up arriving to the party, a little later than most. Our daughter was already ensconced in some corner tables with a bunch of her friends, and was fully engaged with talking and laughing with them. The graduate and her parents were being excellent hosts, going from table to table, talking to everyone. I nodded “hello” to the one other mother who I knew at the party, who was sitting at a table, with all of the seats already taken. I could feel a little social anxiety creeping into my gut, especially with being so out of practice, from dealing with the pandemic shutdown, for over a year.

But then, my eyes glommed on to the buffet tables, which were overflowing with incredible delicacies (all handmade by the graduate’s mother). The graduate’s mom is Italian, and so it naturally follows that she is an amazing cook. It’s just in their genes. I have never had an Italian friend who wasn’t an incredible chef. I don’t mean to stereotype, but this has been my divine experience, and I have my fair share of Italian friends. Seeing the delightful spread, I got over my sinking feeling of not knowing anybody, and I got right to the task of filling up my plate, as high as it could go. My husband followed suit.

With my mountainous, overfilled plate, I started scanning my seating options. What appeared was several full tables of people laughing, and enjoying each other’s familiar company. There were also two empty tables, which I started to make a beeline towards, but then the table with M. and B. appeared. M. and B. (keeping their names private), were two older ladies sitting by themselves at a table, quietly eating their food. To get to the empty tables, I would have had to walk right past M. and B.’s table, but my arm was getting heavy with my food (and my husband was at the buffet, still filling up his plate), and plus, my mama taught me good manners. “Are these seats taken?” I asked M. and B politely, with a frozen smile on my face. “Oh no, please take a seat!” they both exclaimed.

Okay, this is the part of the story in which I admit that I am an ASS. As the saying goes, “When you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME.” I had already made a bunch of assumptions. I assumed M. and B. were elderly family members. (wrong, they were neighbors of the graduate and her family) I then assumed M. and B. were a lesbian couple. (wrong again, they lived on either side of the graduate’s family and they were both widows. They did get a charge out of the question, though. M. looked at B. with her eyebrow raised and said, “Well, I never considered that before . . . ” B. just laughed) The biggest assumption which I had made is that I was going to be bored to tears, making polite, careful conversation with two senior citizens. Ha! M. and B. were a blast! They were interesting, inspiring, witty, edgy, and funny as hell. They teased and flirted with my husband, who teased and flirted right back. Before long, we had become “the raucous table”. I wasn’t even getting to gorging on my delicious food, because I was having so much fun. We were creating so much merriment, that the other mother, who we knew, noticed, grabbed her purse, and excused herself from her own table (full of boring, dull people of our own age, according to her) and joined and added to the merriment. I was sick when M. and B. said it was time for them to leave. We were having such a good time.

It turns out that M. was 83 and B. was 79. We were all shocked. Besides the teens, M. and B. were the most lively, fun-loving, vivacious people at the party. (on an aside, shocked to learn their ages, my friend asked them what creams they used on their faces. “Oh you know, that stuff in a red jar,” M. said, which I assume is Olay and I am not surprised.)

Whenever I start into a new decade (I turned fifty last December), I find myself looking at the generations older than me. I am goal oriented. I like to look ahead to be inspired to be who and what I want to be, when I become of the next age subset. When I am in my eighties, I want to be young. I want to be lighthearted. I want to get a kick out of living, no matter what I am doing. I want to be M. and B. I want to pleasantly surprise the hell out of a fifty-year-old woman, who almost walked right past me, full of her dumb assumptions. And I want to have good skin, so I am going to run out to Walgreens, after I post this, and get some Olay.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Drag Queens

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

My family has a lot going on this week, and all of it is colored with intensity, and excitement, and a whirling mix of emotion and nostalgia, and also with a smidge of worry and concern. I am feeling a little bit overwhelmed. So, what I do on times like these? I lean on my friends to indulge my idiosyncrasies. I lean on my friends. My friends know me and they get me. Last night, right at dinner time, I texted some of my closest friends this meme:

Your Drag Queen name is your Grandmother’s first name and the last dessert/sweet you ate. Go.”

Answers:

Dorothy Cookie. Marietta Glazed Popcorn. Mariam Coconut Macadamia Cookie. Lessie Krispie Treat. Florence Jellybean. Mary Kisses. (suddenly interspersed with, “Honey, are you okay?”) Brigitte Pistachio Frozen Yogurt. (“Honey, when’s the graduation?”) Ethel Brownie. Mildred Milkyway. (“Wow friend, this is way too much at once.’) Cecilia Carrot Cake. Anna Rainbow Cookie. (“Good luck, friend, enjoy. One day at a time.”) Martha Strawberry Cake. (“Hang in there, girl.”) Jessie Chocolate Chips. Nina Fruit Snacks. Sarah Super Sour Scandinavian Swimmers. (“Best wishes, friend, I know that you will handle it all with grace.”) Geraldine Cheesecake.

I love my friends. When I try to play everything off as easy, and funny, and silly, because I am always trying to prove that I am just so damn “upbeat, clever and chill”, my friends play along, and yet at the same time, they hold me, and they love me, and they know me, and they hug me from afar. And they are with me. And then, I suddenly know that everything is going to be okay, mostly because I’ve got all of my girls in my back pocket. I know that the next time a “crisis” comes along, and I end up adeptly choosing to handle the situation, by astutely asking my dearest friends some off-the-wall, stupid, meaningless questions, they will answer me, as if it is a major priority in their lives. And they will laugh at my responses. And I will laugh at, and I will appreciate their responses. And all at the same time, my friends will shroud me in their love. And they will comfort me, and they will make me feel like I can handle anything. Treasure your truest friends, ladies, because they are your treasure. They’ll get you through it all, like no others can. I love you, my friends. You know who you are. Thank you for indulging me. Thank you for making me feel important enough to answer my “drag queen name request” at the most inconvenient of times, and at the same time, being so intuitively able to read between the lines. That’s love, my friends, and I feel it.

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Healthy Pause

I am in a phew, exhale, big sigh, totally deflate like a balloon, and rest like a puddle on the ground, mindset today. So many “biggies” that we had been anticipating: our eldest son’s big move to a new state, the completion of our renovations, our youngest son’s high school graduation and the celebrations that followed, the safe extraction of his monster-sized wisdom teeth, etc. etc. are mainly finished and completed quite satisfactorily. It’s like my extra-big, neon signed and shined, mambo to-do list has been checked off and completed. Phew. Sigh. Deflate. Rest. . . . . and reflect. It all went well. It’s all over. I am going to rest a little bit before starting a new big load list. Big load lists always happen, especially in big load families. I try my best to stay in the present moment when I am in the midst of the planning, experiencing and executing the big load lists, but there is always that little part of me that repeats, “This will feel so good when it’s over. I can’t wait until the end of all of this.” I know that we are not supposed to anticipate the future. I know that we are not supposed to wish our lives away, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. And guess what? It does feel good to be at a completion point, right now. It does feel good to press “Pause” before loading up the play list and hitting “Play” again. I’m not ready to press “Stop” any time soon and I honestly wouldn’t want to hit “Reverse”, as good as a lot of my life has been, but healthy pauses, well, healthy pauses feel really good sometimes. Phew. Sigh. Deflate. Rest. Reflect.

“Sometimes you need to press pause to let everything sink in.” – Sebastian Vettel

“He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.” – Albert Einstein

Horizons

“A ship in the harbor is safe, but that is not what a ship is built for . . . .”

Tonight, my youngest son graduates from high school. This is the third time that we will experience this event. In some ways, having been through it before, makes it easier. We know what to expect. In some ways, having been through it before, makes it harder. We know what to expect.

When I had my first child, I experienced a depth of feelings that I didn’t know existed. Like many women, when I got pregnant subsequent times after that, I got nervous. I got doubtful. I questioned why we chose to “rock the boat.” When I got pregnant with our second son, I read something that now makes all of the sense in the world to me: “Your first child teaches you about the depth of your love, your subsequent children teach you about the breadth of your love.” Like most children, my four children have always tried to “trip me up” and they have tried to figure out whom I love best. I’ve always reminded them that they are all smart and they are all good at math. You can’t divide or measure “infinite.” It is an impossible task. Infinite love is so overwhelming, vulnerable, awe-inspiring, miraculous, solid and most decidedly, immeasurable.

We’re having another ship leave the shipyard in the next couple of months. His first journey to college won’t be so far away. But journeys beget journeys and tonight signals to me that the anchor is pulled up. He will come back to our little safe harbor from time to time, to fuel up and to share stories of journeys that I won’t be a part of, but I will thrill in, vicariously. He is ready for the journeys. He is a solid ship. The horizon awaits . . . . .

A Phone Call

My friend told me the other day that my blog reminds her of a morning call with a friend. I love that! So today, I am going to write my blog with a phone call dialog:

Me: Hello! Good Morning!

You (my friends): Oh wow, you called me kind of early on a Sunday morning. But hey, how goes it?

Me: My daughter and I went to Costco yesterday, but before that, we went to PetSmart and bought a couple of little fish for my pond and then we realized we couldn’t keep them in the car safely. I didn’t want to find some boiled fish when we got back to the car, so we had to walk around Costco with a bag of fish.

You: You walked around Costco with a bag of fish? What did people say?

Me: It was actually pretty funny. You would think that only dogs, or maybe carrying around a baby kitten or a bunny, would get you some attention, but we got a fair amount of comments about the fish.

You: I bet you did.

Me: Yeah, we started calling them our “emotional support fish.” Can you imagine fish with little vests on?

You: They’d be more like lifejackets.

Me: Hahahaha! I told people that the fish had separation anxiety, so we couldn’t leave them at home.

You: Speaking of pets, how are the pups?

Me: Oh, they’re great! Today is their birthday. Our dogs have the same birthday. Do you believe it? Ralphie, our lab, is two today and Josie, the collie, is one. My daughter made sure that we put “birthday bandannas” on them. They seemed pretty excited, but they’re excited every day. Dogs act like every day is their birthday. I want to be like that . . . .

You: Yeah, for sure. Are you psyched for the final episode of Game of Thrones??

Me: Is grass green? It’s going to be bittersweet though. GOT was always so much fun to look forward to and I haven’t found a series that I have liked nearly as much as I like it. I think all of the fuss about changing the ending, is more about people grieving that the show is actually over now.

You: Oh, so you like this last season? Do you think it is good?

Me: I feel kind of neutral about it. I don’t think it is the best season of GOT, but it isn’t terrible. I think with the long break, everyone’s anticipation was just on over-drive. Nothing could ever measure up to the expectations, I think.

You: So true.

Me: I have this sign in our powder room that says “happiness is a journey, not a destination”. I think everyone is just sad that the journey with GOT is over, you know? By trying to get a new ending, they are just trying to keep the journey going. Like my son is graduating from high school this week, and the graduation ceremony, and the celebrations and dinners and parties will all be fun, but the real story, the real adventure, the real meaning, was all of the years of his primary schooling. . . . all of those years of transformation from being a little boy, to becoming a capable young man. Do you know what I mean?

You: Absolutely! You know what? This conversation reminds me of your blog.

Me: Yeah, you’re right, there is something there, to write about it. It’s like we are always racing towards the finish line in everything we do. “I can’t wait for school to be over or to be done raising kids or to win some kind of award or medal”, but the finish line is sometimes a “mwah-mwah” because it is usually at that end moment, that you realize, you were actually really enjoying “the process” of whatever you were doing. You are not sure you are ready to let go of that journey just yet. It is usually at those final moments that a light bulb goes off and you think, it was never about the ending/finish line/gold medal, after all. It was really about everything that it took to get to the end. “Happiness is a journey, not a destination.”

You: Okay, you’re getting deep. I gotta go. Go write your blog.

Me: Thank you. I love you! Bye for now.