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Archive for stories – Page 5

letters to my children . 081116

081116

The funny thing about growing is that it’s really hard to see from the inside out. I guess we’re so used to our own skin and the sound of our own thoughts that sometimes we don’t notice when they shift a little.

This morning, my oldest and I were talking on the way to school about the schedules for the next few days, and I was trying to encourage him not to feel too stretched with some weekend activities coming up. His young heart puts on a brave face most of the time, but sometimes I see glimpses of the uncertainty coming out. “Mommy, every day I already feel stretched.” It was a small admission of his feelings about how he’s handling a new school year at a new school, being a 6th grader with seven classes instead of four, and several new weekly activities. There’s a lot of new there, and we all have uncertain feelings about change. The thing is, not three minutes before his comments, I was thinking how proud I was of how he was handling the newness and how well I thought he was doing with these changes. He just couldn’t see it for all the fear and concern in his own heart. I was able to remind him of what I see… that he’s growing. That he’s changing. That last year this time and for several more weeks, his struggles were showing a lot more. They were taking over. But this year, he’s learned to press forward and to take little steps to tackle the change. This year, I see more of his strength shining through. I see him growing.

Stronger, braver, taller, funnier, brighter, more curious and compassionate and confident, joyful, creative, and faithful. I see it so clearly every day. Every day I see him growing — and the other two as well. Sometimes we need that reminder of the growth that’s showing through on the outside.

It’s the same for me. It’s been almost four years since Mike died, and life has been moving. Sometimes I see myself as that same scared, newly single mom, overwhelmed by the responsibility and the emotion of all that’s happened. Sometimes I still am that woman. But, if I look carefully and I step outside my own head, sometimes I can also see glimpses of the woman who’s grown stronger and braver, more curious and compassionate. Joyful. I hope these three souls in my care can see me growing too.

letters to my daughter . 081016

081016

Yeah, carpool. It’s often unpredictable, especially at the beginning of the school year. Plus, it seems to bring out all kinds of stress, frustration and even unkindness in even the most mild-mannered of parents! Our first day of school last week had the typical carpool chaos at Baby Girl’s new school, and even though you know it’s going to be crazy, as a parent, I seem to always underestimate the time needed for those first few days. So, we were late. On the first day. And, Baby Girl got out of the car in tears, which made for a rough first day of school for me as well. Since that day, we’ve been leaving earlier and I’ve been trying my best to keep my attitude light as we navigate the crazy school traffic.

This morning, I couldn’t help but smile as we turned onto School Street for the last crucial lap of Wednesday morning carpool. Baby Girl was practically bouncing, and said, “I wish I was in there right now! I can’t wait to get in there and get started!” School, she meant! [Bravo, Henderson Ward Stewart Elementary staff!] I assured her that we were in “the loop” now and she would be inside in no time. Her response… “It’s really a Rainbow Loop!”

She proceeded to discuss the idiosyncrasies of various circular shapes that resembled the traffic flow on the HWS campus until we made it to her jumping out stop, and determined that “rainbow” was, indeed, the best description of the carpool line.

I love a girl who can see a rainbow in even the most harried of situations. It made me think that maybe seeing rainbows has less to do with light and water, and more to do with joyful hearts and happy attitudes. Thanks for the reminder, Baby Girl. I hope you always see rainbows!

letters to my daughter . 070816

070816

More peace. More justice. More listening. More sorrow where we’ve been silent. More seeing, more protecting, more defending. More breaking walls. More building bridges. More repairing breaches. More standing in gaps. More reaching across. More pulling up. And stepping down. More laying aside. More embracing. More understanding. More giving. More human-being. More peace. More peace.

We better get busy. I better get busy. To my generation: WE BETTER GET BUSY. Friends, neighbors, church: We better get busy. We better get busy identifying with that 99.6% of our DNA God duplicated in every one of us. We better get busy righting these wrongs, putting salve on these scars, loving all these shades of the same color. We better get busy making peace.

Because I want Baby Girl’s generation to live long enough to be peacemakers. I want her to know how to make peace because she’s seen it in OUR TIME. I don’t want her to inherit a scourge that we should have healed today. We better get busy.

letters to my daughter . 062816

062816

It always seems to happen at bedtime. It doesn’t matter whether we’re staying up late or going to bed early, at bedtime, the giggles ensue. And it’s not just a small chuckle. It’s a full-blown, every single thing in the world is funny, giggle-fest. From all three of my little ones. Just as I’m ready for some down time and trying to get everyone settled down. And so, I pull out my “I know it’s summer time, but mommy still has to get some work done tomorrow,” lecture. Followed by a short soliloquy on how “when you guys are sleeping late tomorrow, Mommy will be getting up to do my client projects, so we need to quiet down!” Even I am thinking “blah, blah, blah.”

This morning, as I was thinking about how this scene unfolded last night, it occurred to me… “what am I doing?” Not fifteen minutes before, I had been begging them not to argue with each other. And then, the sounds of uncontrolled giggles coming from my bedroom, each one joined in, and not a cross word in earshot. (until I decided to join the conversation) Maybe it’s time for me to reevaluate this giggle thing. Maybe it’s time to embrace the giggling. To celebrate that unexpected explosion of joy. And to remind Baby Girl and her brothers that the sound of those giggles isn’t an annoyance. It is the precious and priceless sound of joy and love and togetherness. One I hope I can always hear clearly.

I’m closing in on 50 letters! My goal is to get to 100. You can view the whole series here.

letters to my children . 050416

050416

Today’s the big day. My Bug’s state test in writing… two five paragraph essays back to back, 45 minutes each. He’s cried himself to sleep quite a few times with worry about not finishing. He’s had tummy aches, afraid he’ll “fail.” Because he cares and because he doesn’t do anything — ANYTHING — halfway. His school counselor has given all the high achiever test anxiety coping mechanisms. His teacher has given all the practice tests and the time prompts and the encouragement. So, today’s the day. And when I’m not wanting to punch some Legislator or Department of Education appointee in the nose, I just want to say, “YOU GOT THIS.” Because he’s having trouble remembering that.

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