Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Parking Space 604



I open the envelope and gently pull out parking sticker 604. My mind races and my heart beat quickens. That space is in the senior lot—the lot that is designated for the “old” kids, the kids who are in their last year of high school, are applying to colleges, getting to close to graduation, and then they are…leaving. Parking space 604 is for someone else’s daughter, not mine. Because my daughter couldn’t be that old, she couldn’t be getting ready to leave. They must have sent us the wrong parking sticker. But they didn’t. It was hers. And all that applies to those older kids, now apply to her. But what does that make me? Kind of a mess. 

She was gone most of the summer. She has been gone for a portion of the summer since she was eight when she let me know that she didn’t want to go to a camp that only had a one week session for her age group, she wanted to go to one that had a two week session. “I don’t care if I don’t know anyone there mom. I’m fine with that.” So she went, and she kept going, and going. And now, she is plotting yet another, more permanent exit strategy. Out of my house, out of her room, out from her spot at the dinner table, out from parking spot 604, and already starting to leave a big, huge, gaping hole in my heart. 

We visit colleges. She loves them all! Each one is her favorite. Each one would work for her escape plan. She is not afraid. She craves adventure, new experiences, new people and new surroundings. And yet I see her looking at her 8-year-old sister more lovingly lately, and studying her, as if she is realizing that Jo will grow up without her big sister living in the house, and that they will miss each other—a lot. She hugs her little sister for a little longer. She tells her how much she loves her. I even heard her whispering to her, “You have to tell mom and dad to get you and iphone so we can face time.” Jo tells her that she will. And her brothers, she is more affectionate with them too, and is much more accepting of the things they do that used to send her ranting about how completely annoying they both are. She knows…she will be communicating with them from afar. She understands that things will be different.

Sometimes I feel “stuff” welling up inside of me and I not sure what it is. Sometimes I cry at the end of a yoga class when we are resting silently on our mats with our eyes closed and I have the chance to let go of all that I am trying desperately to hold onto.  I realize that the stuff that I am so carefully guarding within my chest cavity is pain, sadness and fear that arises (but needs to be contained) when I try to wrap my brain and my heart around the fact that my oldest child, my first born, my oldest daughter will soon leave the nest that I have spent 18 years trying to make comfortable, warm and safe for her. She was the guinea pig. She turned me into a mom and provided me with my first stab at being a parent. In so many ways, she has been my teacher. And now, even though they say, you are not supposed to be friends with your child, she is my friend. Yes, I am still her mom, I set the limits, the expectations and all that a good parent is supposed to do, but I can’t help that I really, really like her; that I find her to be one of the funniest people I know; that I love going into her room at night, flopping down on her bed and talking with her and listening to her—about anything. I like that she is smart and interesting and fun to be around. I like that she is honest, in a no b.s. kind of way, like when she tells me that my hair looks crazy or it’s time to color the grays, or that my shoes are not right for my outfit.  She tells me that I take too long to edit her papers and that I am taking way too long to write my book. But she also cheers me on and is supportive of my dreams. She is real, she is kind, she is passionate—the best kind of friend any person would want; how could she NOT be my friend?

Her exit strategy is working. She is going to be accepted to some of the colleges she applied to and she will pick one, and then...no matter how many tears I shed, she is going to hit the road. Her parking spot in the senior lot will be taken over next year by another child whose mom cannot quite place where the 18 years have gone. And I will move through this transition…somehow, just like all the courageous moms who have raised wonderful children and then set them free. And for the time being I will try and rejoice that her parking sticker says 604; that she is still parking in the big kid lot at the school where my other kids attend. I will continue to smile and exhale when I hear her car pull in our driveway and when she barrels in through the door usually yelling something that I don’t understand.  

Her presence is big in our house and in my heart and I intend to fully cherish it, even after her “operation exit home” is successful.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

May Madness and the Aftermath




I do understand that the NCAA coined the term March Madness for the flurry of college basketball games played throughout the month, however, I do not think this kind of madness holds a candle to the madness that most mothers feel in May. For one thing, if you have any campers, the stacks of camp forms (which include having up-to- date physicals) are due. Spring sports are in full swing and this year, between my two boys (one of whom was rostered on four baseball teams, yep four) we were at a field, sometimes two, almost every night of the week and on weekends. My youngest daughter plays soccer and because they weren’t going to be able to have a team for her and her buddies if no one stepped up to coach…well, sure, I will figure out how to make it work. And I know so much about soccer! Not…never played a day in my life.  And it is only two nights a week. What?! Not really sure how these logistics are going to work.  And then if you happen to have high-schoolers like I do, it is finals prep time (and in my house, finals freak-out time), and if you happen to have a junior (soon to be a senior) like I do, let’s throw in the SAT or ACT tests this month as well!  

Then there is a sprint for the finish at our kids’ school with events that I had never even heard of until enrolling my kids at this school: portfolio day, field day, staff appreciation day, 4th grade graduation, closing ceremonies for lower school, middle school and upper school (all on different days), baccalaureate (where the first graders—yep, I have one of those too—sing to the outgoing seniors). And, my daughter’s birthday party was also in the month of May, as well as my mother's 70th birthday. And oh, that Mother's Day in May idea...yeah...sure.

In addition to the above-mentioned mayhem, which made my head and heart spin on a very regular basis, this May was especially heart- wrenching for my family. My beloved father-in-law, who fought a courageous battle with pancreatic cancer for 4 ½ years, passed away on May 12th (his 77th birthday). It was a devastating blow to our family and the community who came out in droves and supported us with love and kindness.

The madness of May, however, did not allow much time for the necessary process of grieving.  We took time to honor my father-in-law with a beautiful funeral and a three-day shivah (time of mourning when friends and family gather to support the family of the deceased).  But before any of us were ready, the kids had to take their finals, return to their sports, my husband had to return to work, and we all had to return to the plethora of other events sprawled all over the calendar.  And I had to continue to guide the ship, and keep everyone moving in the right direction, which at this point was getting through the end of the school year, trying to keep their spirits up but also supporting them in their grief. I had to help them study for their finals and finish their final projects. And then I had to be there for my husband, who seemed to be in a state of shock and needed the space and time to digest all of this.  And quite honestly, there were days that I didn't think I could do it all; days that I wanted to run for the hills!

I felt consumed by grief, my own and everyone’s around me, and in making sure that everyone else was okay. This is when I knew I needed to, in addition to taking care of them and their needs, I needed to find a way to take care of myself.  I went back to teaching the high energy yoga sculpt classes that I love and to writing the parenting book that has been my passion for the last two years.  Back in January, I sent a few query letters to agents to see if they would be interested in helping me get the book published but had not heard anything from any of them. Less than a week after my father-in-law died, I vented to one of my girlfriends about my feelings of self-doubt and frustrations with the book and the publishing process.  I hung up from her and opened my email and in my in-box was a letter from one of the agents saying she was interested in my work and would I send her some chapters and a full outline.  My eyes filled with tears and I felt an immediate connection to my father-in-law, who was a real go-getter, and wasn’t much for taking no for an answer. I saw him working some magic from up above.

We all got through the next few weeks and found our way to the end of the school year. My kids did fine on their finals, they contributed on their sports teams, and we managed to find time to talk about Papa and how we will miss him.  The last day full of school was Friday, June 1st   and I felt a certain lightness as May had turned into June--summer was here and we would all have a little break from the madness.  But this lightness did not last long.  Five of my son’s friends came home with him from school that day. They were all playing wiffle ball in the back yard and I asked them if they wanted to go to the pool.  Some said yes, and some said no. They took a vote. Going to the pool won. The boys, my youngest daughter and I all piled in my car and drove over to the country club where each one of my kids learned to swim.  They played basketball and swam. We had been there for about an hour and I was talking to a friend when I heard a whistle blow three times. Kids scurried out of the pool. My heart stopped as I watched a lifeguard pull out, what looked to me like a lifeless little body, from the pool.  A boy, 6 years old, a kindergartener at my kids' school, attending a birthday party. The rest of the details still haunt me, and writing them down is just too painful. But when I settled into my car with my group of kids, we prayed. We prayed for Nicolas. We prayed for a miracle. But not long after we left, we sadly found out  that Nicolas was dead.

Witnessing the two deaths, one of a loved of and the other, a horrible, tragic death of a child, my heart exploded into a zillion pieces and I have been working on putting it back together since. My kids fill me up with so much love and joy, my husband is slowly smiling a bit more, and thank g-d for my amazing family and friends.  Not long after the pool event, we took an Alaskan cruise with my side of the family, during which ironically it was rainy, windy and cold for 90 percent of time.   Then, we sent our teenagers off to their amazing camps, and my sister and I planned and pulled off a surprise 50th wedding anniversary for our parents.  As for the book, I did manage to send the proposal off to the agent for her review. It may take another five months to hear back from her (as it did the first time), but I will keep writing.

It is mid-July now, and I am trying to take it one day at a time. The days and nights are calmer; the pace is slower, and a lot less frantic. I am ever so grateful for this time to think, to write, to teach, to grieve and to let go.  Grateful that I don’t have to rush off to work every day no matter what is going on, as so many moms do. Sometimes in the midst of those ever-so chaotic times when the world is moving faster than you feel like you can grasp, when life seems to throw you curve balls that you are not able to dodge, I would say that as a mother, it can be very tricky.  As you deal with your own pain and fear, you must deal with your children’s as well. And each child processes life’s curve balls differently, and they don't really tell you what their process is, because most likely they don't know. Some like to talk about how they feel, some internalize, some move to anger, and others want to pretend that everything is fine. As a mother, it can be downright excruciating to try to help navigate your child through their process of grief, as we are not even always sure how to direct ourselves. But in the spirit of yoga, my advice would be to stay present, be honest with your feelings, take time to heal, and believe in your heart of hearts, and share with your children, that “this too shall pass.” Life can be complicated, scary and often does not make a whole lot of sense, but hang onto those you love, and somehow, some way, your world will come back into focus even though it may look and feel slightly or significantly different.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

The Days are Long But the Years are Short


There are those pivotal moments when you see your child transform before your eyes. You realize that every ounce of energy that you have put into raising this child--all the time you spent worrying, all the pep talks you've given, all the times you've listened and advised, or just listened...and all the times you've yelled (you didn't mean to be yelling but you had to make sure she could hear you!)--worked. She is grown up, she is 17, she is beautiful, she is her own person. Her own person who has succeeded beyond your expectations and who has fallen flat on her face...and gotten back up, again and again. You have been there, you have guided her, you have loved her, you have mothered her through all of it.

And here she stands, my height, with a maturity beyond anything that I was even close to having at 17...well beyond.  I love her more than words can say. I am in awe of her person--the person who she has become, independent of me. I love what she brings to this world and to my heart.  I love how she makes me laugh, how she lights up a room, how she talks too loud and chomps her food. I even love that she still throws tantrums (I taught her well!) I love it all.

Talk of the upcoming summer that she will spend away at camp, talk of her being a senior, of her LAST year at home, with me, with us, and talk of her going away to college swirls around me. It is all talk right now. Because to internalize it makes my heart ache too much, and creates a lump in my throat. I know how fast a year goes. I know how fast 17 years has gone. She cried a lot when she was a baby. She bit other kids and she was bossy as a toddler.  She drove me insane as an adolescent, and still continues to keep my hair colorist in business with all the grays she has given me as a teenager. But she has always and continues to amaze me with her intelligence, her wit and her zest for life. She has taught me how to live fully and to laugh a whole lot more.

As I work on the book that I am writing for moms about the trials and tribulations of motherhood, I spend hours reading mothers' accounts of what their joys and challenges have been/are with their children, their spouses and within themselves. It causes me to do a tremendous amount of reflecting on my children's lives and of my transformation as a mother. I am not able to fully articulate how quickly the time goes. When you are in the throws of whatever you are in with your children, it seems like time stands still. And in a way it does. You are in a bubble, the child-rearing bubble. I remember wanting those days to go by a little faster and yearned for more time to myself.  But as you start to see your way out of that bubble, it is a little bit scary, and you realize that although there are many challenges within the bubble, it is where you have spent your time with your child. There is comfort there, and popping that bubble is not as easy as it may seem.

I looked over at my daughter's eyes in the kitchen yesterday. She looked different.  She had the seriousness in her eyes that only adults have. But thankfully, her serious, focussed, beautiful blue eyes had a sparkle, not a little girl sparkle but a sparkle that is timeless and ageless--a sparkle that I hope she will never lose. Maybe she has had this look in her eyes for a while and I just didn't notice. Maybe I didn't want to notice. Maybe I don't want her to be grown up...and to leave. But I do. But I don't. But I....It is not up to me. She has grown up. She will leave. But...not quite yet!  Thank goodness we have another year!

Thursday, March 22, 2012

The Toddler Years Revisited – Only Now She Has Her Driver’s License


“Letting go doesn't mean we don't care.  Letting go doesn't mean we shut down. Letting go means we stop trying to force outcomes and make people behave. It means we give up resistance to the way things are, for the moment. It means we stop trying to do the impossible--controlling that which we cannot--and instead, focus on what is possible--which usually means taking care of ourselves.  And we do this in gentleness, kindness,
and love, as much as possible.” Melody Beattie, author and journalist

Loosening the reigns, tightening the reigns; letting go and trying to exert control=the constant struggle with having a teen. You want to have some kind of control over their choices--where they are going, who they are with, and what they are doing.  So many moms I have spoken with about raising a teen seem to have the same kind of post-traumatic stress/fear as I do.  We all concur, “My parents had no clue what I was doing at 16, 17, 18, and even when they tried to figure it out, there were no cell phones, no internet. It was whole lot more difficult to find our exact whereabouts than it is now. And quite frankly, I am not quite sure that they even wanted to know what we were up to.” But it is a whole different ball game today. Parents are expected to know where their kids are at all times, and the thing about teens is that they are moving targets. They start out at a high school hockey game, then they go to Noodles to eat, then they head to Bobby’s house to hang out, but then Judy calls and wants them to come over, so they caravan over there. By the time curfew calls (and hopefully they are honoring that), they could have changed locations five times. Do parents need to know about every location change? Do you need to call Bobby’s mom and then Judy’s mom to make sure the parents are home and that they are expecting a group of teens?

When my 16-year-old got her license. I expected her to text me with every location change, and I was a “caller,” as in I tended to call parents to make sure that they were home and expecting guests. My daughter was absolutely appalled and mortified that I was one of “those moms,” but I was okay with that label.  Now, as she is in her second year of driving, I have loosened the reigns a bit. There have been times when I loosened them too much and needed to pull them tight again. And there have been times when my husband and I realized that she needed more space and that it was important for us to give it to her. But the bottom line is that you don’t really know for sure what that balance is. And furthermore, just when you think you are in a good groove with your teen, you have to keep in mind that even the most brilliant of teenagers, make dumb choices. Their brains are simply not capable of making logical connections between actions and consequences.

In a November 28, 2010, article in the Star Tribune’s Parade section entitled “What’s Really Going on Inside Your Teen’s Head,” the author, Judith Newman reveals “When my friend’s son—a straight-A student and all-around sweetheart—recently ended up in the hospital getting his stomach pumped because he went out drinking with friends for the first time and had now clue how much was too much, that is when I realized: There is just no predicting. Even for the most responsible kids, there is always that combustible combination of youth, opportunity and one bad night.” Newman goes on to explain, “Truth is, the teenage brain is like a Ferrari: It’s sleek, shiny, sexy, fast, and it corners really well. But it also has really crappy brakes.”

I have realized a lot about myself as a person and as a mother as I am now parenting two teens (as well as two school-aged kids). I have a very hard time letting go. I let my oldest go to summer camp when she was 8 and didn’t know a soul there; I let her travel to many out of town destinations with my parents, she has traveled unaccompanied to visit friends in other cities, and has traveled with a teen group to another country. But putting her behind the wheel of a car, where she is in a position to kill herself or others and sending her off into the world as a responsible, adult-like being was excruciating for me.  It was like in the movie Father of the Bride when Steve Martin is looking at his daughter across the table and he sees her as this little girl in pigtails who can barely see over the table and she says in a squeaky voice, “I’m getting married.” That’s how I saw my daughter behind the wheel of the car. How can she drive a car when she can’t even see over the steering wheel?! But I didn't necessary think I would be that way!

When she was 15 and got her driver’s permit, I thought I would be excited for her and excited to take her out driving. I would be the calm and cool mom sitting shotgun as her daughter drives around town. I would be giving her friendly reminders about signaling her turns and how to speed up and merge onto the freeway. But that was not even close to my reality! I could not even get out of the parking lot with her driving! All was fine when we practiced in the empty parking lot at a shopping mall during off hours on a Sunday. But when it was time for her to get out on the road…..NOOOOO!  Stop!!!  I couldn’t do it. Why? Because I was terrified. I was terrified that she was going to make a major driving mistake and that she would kill us both. And that couldn’t happen because I have three other children who need me! When I drive her around, I am in control. But having her drive me around was not going to work. I could not give her that control. No way, no how. Of course I wanted her to drive. It would eventually make my life easier. But that fear of letting go was a HUGE roadblock for me.

Maybe I saw myself in her and that scared me even more. Let’s see, I had three accidents when I was 16. Only one involved another car that I unintentionally cut off and forced the driver to hit me. The woman got out of the car with a very bloody lip and I almost passed out. But as my mother has often told me, “Your daughter is not you, and you have to separate. Her mistakes won't be your mistakes.”  Well, I let go enough to turn the driving coach job over to my husband. She learned how to drive.  She got her license. She is a fine driver. I say a prayer every morning when she gets into the car with my three other children and drives them to school. “Precious cargo!!” I yell out the door as she pulls out of the driveway. It is scary to let go. Really scary-but necessary.