Mama's faith

Today I was interviewing a private school, no they were interviewing Jack, Fiona and I. How will this work out? Will they accept her? Will they disappoint her? How is all this going to fit into our life? Fear!

The thought of her heart breaking is a challenge to my Mama's heart. She might not know it but my heart still beats with hers, even though she cuts the cord deeper everyday. Allowing her to feel the real life experience of disappointment and all that goes with it, allowing her to grow up a little more- is barely tolerable. Looking at my daughter's sweet face across the Dean of Admissions desk I saw her deep beauty as if time were frozen for a fraction of a second. I had a glimpse into her soul. Oh my God, she is amazing, incredible, her humanity and that which is more, so much much more. There is so much she doesn't know, but there is so much more of her than I give her credit for on any given manic, insane, frustrating, exhausting day. She blushed crimson while answering questions. Her eyes sparkled with innocence. The softness of her cheeks, was tactility understood from the distance of the three feet away- my world away, the other end of the table. Her enthusiasm for this school didn't surprise me. The view of her was however almost shocking. Warm, sensitive, intelligent, beautiful, caring. These things I did know. I did. But there was so much more communicated in that fraction of a second that words were not made for.

I am so screwed. Now that I have this new view of her, How shall I survive motherhood? I am so pathetic! I love my children too much. I want to protect them from.....everything. But in doing so I do them a disservice. Experiencing things within the parameters of my shelter is part of my job. I must be brave. I must have faith. One more growth opportunity huh? #*^@ that! Parenting is so much harder than I thought. I think my kids will survive pretty well. I, and I think it's safe to speak for Jack, are basket cases. Hopefully we raise the kids well enough to take care of us when we're also nutcases. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. For the millennium parents have loved their kids and survived. I guess if I need a reality check, I can go look at all the clean laundry under her bed. Yeah, that outta do it.

Life as Momto.

Favorite quote of the Day

While watching 40 year old Popeye cartoons, I hear my son say to my daughter, "He's good at jump roping sausage!"

Of course he is!

Life as Mama (and thank God for it)

I've always said.....

"When you have a second baby instead of sending you home with the baby blanket they should cloth you in a black and white stripped referee shirt." I think a whistle would be a great addition. It might break through the arguing over who's book that really is! And why someone haaaassss to go into someone else's room.

In the sixties we just hit each other. We knew nothing of 'validating feelings' or 'communication skills'. Goodness to have feelings validated you definitely need communication skills and that just wasn't something the Pope prescribed before adding one more sibling to my Mid Western Catholic family. Emotional bandwidth, financial resources, new shoes or a master plan were also not required and these unmentioned goals were indeed met.

I love my parents. I have to admit, it's easier to love my mother now that she's dead. She's more predictable and that's nice. The longer I'm a parent the more I understand them. My God, seven kids, mostly at home at the same time, "Calgon-Send-A-Trailer-And-Pick-Up-The-Pieces-That-Were-Me-And-Take-Me-Away!" I can't even imagine. I remember some of the madness, some of the magic.

I know I too will weather this time. And in turn it will weather me. They will continue to connect as I have done. Even today I email my sister as she quilts in Nebraska, my sister as she grandparents in New York, my brother as he grieves his son's passing, my sister as she sits with my father, my brother as he leaves a meeting in Ohio and my sister as she cleans her neighbors garage in a small German village and know that we made it, through the fighting I mean. Scarred, scrappy and loving each other even though my mother didn't have a referee shirt or a whistle.