I'm baking cookies this morning, from my mom's recipe. Chocolate chip.
We make them differently, she and I, but we use the same recipe. She uses Crisco and margarine, I use all butter. I add oats, she doesn't. I freeze half of them to save for later; she freezes them all because Dad likes them that way. We both make them soft and chewy. And both of ours are gobbled up by those we love, almost as soon as they leave the oven.
I don't have a close relationship with my mother - never have. Neither of our faults exclusively, just an amalgam of missed moments. And most days, in this decade, that's just the ways things are, neither good nor bad. But this morning, as I bake cookies from her recipe, I let my mind wander a little into the world of what ifs:
What if we had been close? What if we were still?
Would I have made different choices in high school? Would I have stayed closer to home, when the time came to leave for college? Or perhaps returned "home" afterward? Would she have been my confidant? Would she be the one that I call now, when I need advice, or simply when I'm exhausted from being up all night *again* with the baby? Would our conversations be silly and serious, all wrapped into an effortless ease? Would she have moved closer, so she could hang out with her grandchildren more often? Would she babysit so that we could have that long overdue date? Would I know more of her story, her thoughts, her longings?
Would I call her right now, to tell her that I was thinking of her, and making her cookies?
What ifs can be a real B sometimes.
And yet.
And yet, if we hadn't had the relationship that we did, I don't know if I would have gone to the same college, so many hours away from home. If I hadn't done that, I don't know if I would have actually grown and come into a faith that was real and authentically wrestled with, thought through and my own. Maybe I wouldn't have dated some of the same boys - or maybe I would have been less guarded with others - but if I hadn't had those relationships, those experiences, I'm not sure that I would have had the perspective that I did, when my husband finally rolled into the picture. I certainly wouldn't have had the same wide range of beloved friends and really sweet memories that I did, from my "throwing caution to the wind" and "making my own way" spell.
If we hadn't had the relationship that we do, man, so much of my own journey, through the mountaintop panoramas and darkest of valleys - of work, family, identity, home, adventures, reconciliation, healing, wrestling - so much of it might have looked different. Then again, maybe not. Who knows. Does the butterfly's fragile wing affect everything, or nothing at all?
But what I do know as true is - if we hadn't had the relationship that we did, I would not have understood the fierce beauty that is fighting for something that sometimes you'd rather be fighting against. I wouldn't know, so intimately, the sweetness of each baby step towards a good relationship. And my picture of healthy conflict and holy reconciliation would be shallower and less dear to me.
If our relationship - with all its ups and downs, and conflict and resolution - had been different, I might be a very different person. In good ways, maybe. A close relationship with parents is certainly to be desired. But in some bad ways too. Do not mistake that within every refining fire, dross is burned away, leaving behind gold that might otherwise not have been revealed. I am who I am as a result of the life that I have lived. And while I do not wish to traverse them again, I am grateful for all the mountaintops and valleys that have brought me to where I am presently.
So this afternoon, I'll call my mom. Tell her I made her cookies this morning, and that it made me think of her. We'll talk about baking, the weather, and my kids, and we'll take tentative baby steps into deeper waters. Because this journey is not over until it's over. And we're making our own way, one baby step at a time, and for that I'm grateful.
And tonight, I'll hug my baby girl and tell her how much I love her - and how deeply I pray that she and I will always share this sweet bond that we have now. Man, I want that, and will give my all to make it so.
But I'll remind her, and remind myself again, that even if we don't for a season - there is still gold yet to be revealed.
Friday, April 21, 2017
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
Treasure these moments
Today was a pretty average day, by our standards.
One big meltdown because a train line was delayed and we didn't get to ride it. Another meltdown because mean old mom said that we couldn't "just take" their friend home without his mom knowing about and signing off on it. An hour where baby girl did not in any circumstance want her tush to touch the ground, please and thank you. One bowl of yogurt joining me in the shower. One skipped nap. [Also an awkward encounter with the neighbors when I thought someone was breaking their windows, but it turned out that they were just very congenially smashing a mirror with a hammer. Because, why not.]
With three little kids - 4, 2.5, and 5 months - it is very rare that we make it through a day without a meltdown, fight, temper tantrum, or tumble (sometimes it's even my children). My kids are not bad kids, but they're *kids*, and there are quite a few of them, so the odds are ever in our favor.
If you ever want to get an up close look at what the end of the world looks like, just try telling my two year old that he can't wear socks to bed (when it's 80 degrees in his room). I double dog dare you. Trust me when I say that he is *very* passionate about not having naked feet.
When we go out, we are almost always guaranteed to hear two phrases:
"Oh wow, you have your hands full." And,
"Treasure these moments. They grow up so fast."
Depending on my mood, I respond to those statements with varying degrees of kindness and snarkiness. I find it deeply ironic when the same person says both, especially if we're mid-meltdown. But, because I hear it so often, I've spent a lot of time pondering the second.
It's typically said by an older woman or man, often grandparent age. Their laugh line wrinkles give away their histories, and their calm demeanors makes me wonder if they're on to something [or, depending on our degree of chaos, on something]. It's never said in an accusatory manner - but when I have just lost my temper with my four year old for the third time that hour, and am jiggling an exhausted 5 month old, trying to make it through the check out line before she hits critical mass of meltdown, it can feel accusatory. "Why aren't you treasuring this time?" Two year old wails in, "but mommmmmmmy, I wannnaaaa treaaaaaasureeee."
Truth is - I know that they grow up quickly. They already are. I know that I'll miss these days when they're gone. I already (kinda) miss the tiny days. Kinda. Not really yet. But when I'm in the thick of it, managing discipline and boundaries and attitudes and general chaos, treasuring it is not the first thing on my mind. Surviving is. Especially at this stage in the game. I've heard *parts* of it get easier, as they get older, and I'm holding out hope for that.
I don't want to miss these moments. I don't want to be so blinded by our chaos that I miss the precious minutes and seconds of everyday life with my littles. Babies don't keep, as Ruth Hulburt Hamilton says. But neither do I want to deny (or worse, guilt trip myself or others about disliking) the parts that are just plain sucky. In hindsight, stories like this one or this one or this one are hilarious (which is why I share them to remember them) - but in the moment, they make for really hard days. As they say, the years are short, but the days are long. And man, they can be long. Especially with bedtime stalling. (Anyone else?)
So, I've started modifying that well-meant phrase, for my own sanity. Here's what I'm saying instead:
"Treasure *a* moment today. There is almost always (at least) one."
I'm no Pollyanna. But I have noticed that when I intentionally look for one moment in the day to savor my kids, I almost always find it.
Sometimes that's smelling my baby's head as I nurse her to sleep at night, allowing myself to be in awe of her rosy little lips and 10 tiny fingers and how much she trusts me, as she relaxes into sleep.
Sometimes it's choosing to hug my four year old close as he tantrums, rather than getting exasperated. Choosing to notice his passion and sense of justice, rather than his childishness, and to pray that those would be grown into mature characteristics that would bless others.
Sometimes it's just writing down the silly things my kids said this day, and laughing with Jon about how much toddlers really are like small drunks. "Hey, look mom... trashcan!" ::dissolves into fit of laughter:: ::tips himself over into trashcan:: ::laughs even harder:: ::...then cries::
Some days it's easy. And some days, you make it through and all you can say is, "we survived." If that's been your day today, I'm pouring you a glass of wine, giving you a huge hug and raising the pom poms in my most ridiculous cheer possible to take your mind off your woes. You've got this, Mama. You're doing a good job, Dad. You don't have to treasure every moment, or even every day. Some days are just hard.
But most days, when we take the time to look for it, there is (at least) *a* moment that is sweet or silly or beautiful or just for you, that you grab hold of and truly savor. And sometimes when you look for that one, you'll find another. And sometimes another. And before you know it, it'll snowball into a day that you will remember forever because of how deeply you enjoyed your little people.
Or sometimes that one taste of sweetness, reminding you how much you love these little crazies, is just enough to give you courage for the day (or night) ahead.
One moment at a time.
One big meltdown because a train line was delayed and we didn't get to ride it. Another meltdown because mean old mom said that we couldn't "just take" their friend home without his mom knowing about and signing off on it. An hour where baby girl did not in any circumstance want her tush to touch the ground, please and thank you. One bowl of yogurt joining me in the shower. One skipped nap. [Also an awkward encounter with the neighbors when I thought someone was breaking their windows, but it turned out that they were just very congenially smashing a mirror with a hammer. Because, why not.]
With three little kids - 4, 2.5, and 5 months - it is very rare that we make it through a day without a meltdown, fight, temper tantrum, or tumble (sometimes it's even my children). My kids are not bad kids, but they're *kids*, and there are quite a few of them, so the odds are ever in our favor.
If you ever want to get an up close look at what the end of the world looks like, just try telling my two year old that he can't wear socks to bed (when it's 80 degrees in his room). I double dog dare you. Trust me when I say that he is *very* passionate about not having naked feet.
When we go out, we are almost always guaranteed to hear two phrases:
"Oh wow, you have your hands full." And,
"Treasure these moments. They grow up so fast."
Depending on my mood, I respond to those statements with varying degrees of kindness and snarkiness. I find it deeply ironic when the same person says both, especially if we're mid-meltdown. But, because I hear it so often, I've spent a lot of time pondering the second.
It's typically said by an older woman or man, often grandparent age. Their laugh line wrinkles give away their histories, and their calm demeanors makes me wonder if they're on to something [or, depending on our degree of chaos, on something]. It's never said in an accusatory manner - but when I have just lost my temper with my four year old for the third time that hour, and am jiggling an exhausted 5 month old, trying to make it through the check out line before she hits critical mass of meltdown, it can feel accusatory. "Why aren't you treasuring this time?" Two year old wails in, "but mommmmmmmy, I wannnaaaa treaaaaaasureeee."
Truth is - I know that they grow up quickly. They already are. I know that I'll miss these days when they're gone. I already (kinda) miss the tiny days. Kinda. Not really yet. But when I'm in the thick of it, managing discipline and boundaries and attitudes and general chaos, treasuring it is not the first thing on my mind. Surviving is. Especially at this stage in the game. I've heard *parts* of it get easier, as they get older, and I'm holding out hope for that.
I don't want to miss these moments. I don't want to be so blinded by our chaos that I miss the precious minutes and seconds of everyday life with my littles. Babies don't keep, as Ruth Hulburt Hamilton says. But neither do I want to deny (or worse, guilt trip myself or others about disliking) the parts that are just plain sucky. In hindsight, stories like this one or this one or this one are hilarious (which is why I share them to remember them) - but in the moment, they make for really hard days. As they say, the years are short, but the days are long. And man, they can be long. Especially with bedtime stalling. (Anyone else?)
So, I've started modifying that well-meant phrase, for my own sanity. Here's what I'm saying instead:
"Treasure *a* moment today. There is almost always (at least) one."
I'm no Pollyanna. But I have noticed that when I intentionally look for one moment in the day to savor my kids, I almost always find it.
Sometimes that's smelling my baby's head as I nurse her to sleep at night, allowing myself to be in awe of her rosy little lips and 10 tiny fingers and how much she trusts me, as she relaxes into sleep.
Sometimes it's choosing to hug my four year old close as he tantrums, rather than getting exasperated. Choosing to notice his passion and sense of justice, rather than his childishness, and to pray that those would be grown into mature characteristics that would bless others.
Sometimes it's just writing down the silly things my kids said this day, and laughing with Jon about how much toddlers really are like small drunks. "Hey, look mom... trashcan!" ::dissolves into fit of laughter:: ::tips himself over into trashcan:: ::laughs even harder:: ::...then cries::
Some days it's easy. And some days, you make it through and all you can say is, "we survived." If that's been your day today, I'm pouring you a glass of wine, giving you a huge hug and raising the pom poms in my most ridiculous cheer possible to take your mind off your woes. You've got this, Mama. You're doing a good job, Dad. You don't have to treasure every moment, or even every day. Some days are just hard.
But most days, when we take the time to look for it, there is (at least) *a* moment that is sweet or silly or beautiful or just for you, that you grab hold of and truly savor. And sometimes when you look for that one, you'll find another. And sometimes another. And before you know it, it'll snowball into a day that you will remember forever because of how deeply you enjoyed your little people.
Or sometimes that one taste of sweetness, reminding you how much you love these little crazies, is just enough to give you courage for the day (or night) ahead.
One moment at a time.
Thursday, April 6, 2017
I'm Spider Born, Spider Bred... and intimidated by Spiders?
Ten years is a long time.
Not in the grand scope of things, but for my 32-years-young-life, it feels significant.
Ten years ago, I graduated from University of Richmond. And this year, I will return to the campus again for my ten year reunion. And I have to admit, I'm a little bit intimidated.
You see, Richmond, which oft calls itself the "Princeton of the South" (along with 7-8 other schools), is a climber school. The vast majority of its alums have grandiose goals of the names they will make for themselves, the things they will accomplish and the places they will go.
I was (am?) cut from the same cloth.
I have a double degree in Political Science and Physics (nuclear focus), minored in Russian and Mathematics. I wrote three theses, including participating in the inauguration of an honors thesis program (I did not sleep senior year). I graduated with honors, awards and accolades and had every intention of changing the world by the time I was 35. [So I still technically have 3 years. Tick tock.]
But instead of going on to create a PhD program combining Political Science and Physics to mediate and make international nuclear policy, I left academia and went into campus ministry. Instead of graduating to accept six figure employment, and a title of international prestige, I went on to fund-raise my own salary for five years, where my title was a conversation stopper. And then I left ministry, and after two years of working in higher ed, became a full-time stay-at-home mom to our three young children.
By all measures, I haven't accomplished by I thought I would, or what the university promised that its graduates would, or what many of my fellow alumni have. Most days, my use of my degrees is anecdotal at best - which bowl helps the oatmeal to cool faster, which length string makes for a more dangerous slingshot, "this is not a Zero Sum game, kids!", which path I should take to head off my renegade two year old, etc. Although I do use conflict resolution skills daily, it is not to mete out policy, but rather to keep WWIII from breaking out between my children.
And maybe this is just me, but when I think about returning to the birthplace of my adult life, I feel like I should have accomplished more. I worry that everyone is farther ahead than me. That I have failed to live up to potential, wasted my talents, and rendered myself obsolete in the annuls of university history. I fear the awkward pause, the silent judgment, or the bland "oh that's nice" - and I feel the desire to assert that what I have done has meaning, to "them" not just to me.
Those small talk-y conversations, that are bound to happen at reunion, where we try to define ourselves in five minutes - they scare the bejeezus out of me.
And yet, the reality is, I am not actually embarrassed by my accomplishments (or lack thereof). I'm proud the person that I have become. I wouldn't be where I am, or married to whom I am, or doing what I am, if I hadn't made the career choices that I did. I love my little people and am glad I get to be present for their little days. I enjoy the work that I do in my "free" time and am proud of my accomplishments there, even if it's not a huge business (yet). Some days, my lack of prestige or so called "accomplishment" bothers me, but most days, it doesn't. I am content in my life, until I am try to compare myself to my "peers."
So what do I say when I go back for my reunion?
Do I go with pretentious? "Well, I worked at Harvard Business School for a few years, and then I started my own company." (True, but glorified).
How about self-deprecating? "I'm just a stay-at-home mom. Nothing exciting."
Maybe holier than thou? "I chose to put aside pursuing a prestigious career in order to really care for other people, through ministry, and now I serve people 24-7 in the toughest job in the world."
How about posturing? "My career is on hold for now, but I'm looking to return to graduate school in a few years once the kids are in school. I'm hoping to continue to develop my experience in X in the meantime, so that I will be set-up well."
How about tongue in cheek? "I've been making copious amounts of humans and somehow miraculously keeping them alive. I'm thinking of writing a book about all the silly things they say and all the weird conversations I've had about poop."
I have a hunch that I'm not the only person who is trying to figure out how to present themselves, for respect from their ten-years-ago peers. But I also have a hunch that reunion will be a lot more fun all around (also funnier) if we cut the BS [husband said I should edit what I originally had] and just be unashamedly ourselves, whether or not that's impressive.
What we liked about each other then wasn't our accomplishments or our fame. We were miserable then too, when we tried to compare ourselves to one another, or out-study one another in #ClubBoatwright. Remember?
My best memories, my favorite times, were those hilarious sleep-deprived chair races through Gottwald, or botched water balloon launches, or raw moments of honesty where I got to know a stranger as a friend, laughter that put us in stitches, or dinners that we shared together after the research/homework/class was done.
It never was about accomplishment - I don't know why I'm tempted to make it about that now.
Maybe I'll just be honest: "I'm not where I thought I would be, but I'm happy."
Just me?
Not in the grand scope of things, but for my 32-years-young-life, it feels significant.
Ten years ago, I graduated from University of Richmond. And this year, I will return to the campus again for my ten year reunion. And I have to admit, I'm a little bit intimidated.
You see, Richmond, which oft calls itself the "Princeton of the South" (along with 7-8 other schools), is a climber school. The vast majority of its alums have grandiose goals of the names they will make for themselves, the things they will accomplish and the places they will go.
I was (am?) cut from the same cloth.
I have a double degree in Political Science and Physics (nuclear focus), minored in Russian and Mathematics. I wrote three theses, including participating in the inauguration of an honors thesis program (I did not sleep senior year). I graduated with honors, awards and accolades and had every intention of changing the world by the time I was 35. [So I still technically have 3 years. Tick tock.]
But instead of going on to create a PhD program combining Political Science and Physics to mediate and make international nuclear policy, I left academia and went into campus ministry. Instead of graduating to accept six figure employment, and a title of international prestige, I went on to fund-raise my own salary for five years, where my title was a conversation stopper. And then I left ministry, and after two years of working in higher ed, became a full-time stay-at-home mom to our three young children.
By all measures, I haven't accomplished by I thought I would, or what the university promised that its graduates would, or what many of my fellow alumni have. Most days, my use of my degrees is anecdotal at best - which bowl helps the oatmeal to cool faster, which length string makes for a more dangerous slingshot, "this is not a Zero Sum game, kids!", which path I should take to head off my renegade two year old, etc. Although I do use conflict resolution skills daily, it is not to mete out policy, but rather to keep WWIII from breaking out between my children.
And maybe this is just me, but when I think about returning to the birthplace of my adult life, I feel like I should have accomplished more. I worry that everyone is farther ahead than me. That I have failed to live up to potential, wasted my talents, and rendered myself obsolete in the annuls of university history. I fear the awkward pause, the silent judgment, or the bland "oh that's nice" - and I feel the desire to assert that what I have done has meaning, to "them" not just to me.
Those small talk-y conversations, that are bound to happen at reunion, where we try to define ourselves in five minutes - they scare the bejeezus out of me.
And yet, the reality is, I am not actually embarrassed by my accomplishments (or lack thereof). I'm proud the person that I have become. I wouldn't be where I am, or married to whom I am, or doing what I am, if I hadn't made the career choices that I did. I love my little people and am glad I get to be present for their little days. I enjoy the work that I do in my "free" time and am proud of my accomplishments there, even if it's not a huge business (yet). Some days, my lack of prestige or so called "accomplishment" bothers me, but most days, it doesn't. I am content in my life, until I am try to compare myself to my "peers."
So what do I say when I go back for my reunion?
Do I go with pretentious? "Well, I worked at Harvard Business School for a few years, and then I started my own company." (True, but glorified).
How about self-deprecating? "I'm just a stay-at-home mom. Nothing exciting."
Maybe holier than thou? "I chose to put aside pursuing a prestigious career in order to really care for other people, through ministry, and now I serve people 24-7 in the toughest job in the world."
How about posturing? "My career is on hold for now, but I'm looking to return to graduate school in a few years once the kids are in school. I'm hoping to continue to develop my experience in X in the meantime, so that I will be set-up well."
How about tongue in cheek? "I've been making copious amounts of humans and somehow miraculously keeping them alive. I'm thinking of writing a book about all the silly things they say and all the weird conversations I've had about poop."
I have a hunch that I'm not the only person who is trying to figure out how to present themselves, for respect from their ten-years-ago peers. But I also have a hunch that reunion will be a lot more fun all around (also funnier) if we cut the BS [husband said I should edit what I originally had] and just be unashamedly ourselves, whether or not that's impressive.
What we liked about each other then wasn't our accomplishments or our fame. We were miserable then too, when we tried to compare ourselves to one another, or out-study one another in #ClubBoatwright. Remember?
My best memories, my favorite times, were those hilarious sleep-deprived chair races through Gottwald, or botched water balloon launches, or raw moments of honesty where I got to know a stranger as a friend, laughter that put us in stitches, or dinners that we shared together after the research/homework/class was done.
It never was about accomplishment - I don't know why I'm tempted to make it about that now.
Maybe I'll just be honest: "I'm not where I thought I would be, but I'm happy."
Just me?
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