When the world around you rushes,
pushes,
prods.
Take your time...
to grow up
to make friends
to find joy
to find love
to live life.
Completely random musings to clear a cluttered brain.
A week from today, these two smiling cherubs will be graduating from college. Both will hold bachelor's degrees and both will be looking for jobs in their respective fields, essentially signaling to the world that they are indeed adults, they've made it, done it.
My job as their "mommy" is finished. I'll never stop being their mom, of course, but we are equals now, learnéd adults with professional degrees and, for them, new places to call home. In my mind and heart, they are still the little smiling faces in some of these photos. I never want them to go back to that because I'm madly in love with who they've become and who they're going to continue growing to be. But I sometimes wish for a few more moments with them at those stages, just to soak in their giggles and silliness and sweetness and love.
There are a thousand things I wish I could have done with them and for them. A million things I wish I could have taught them. A bazillion times I wish I'd listened better. Still in all, they're awesome human beings. And I praise God (not for the first time!) for allowing me to be their mother.
When I was going into 8th grade, my family stayed with my aunt and uncle for the summer while our house was being built. It was an idyllic time, filled with warm, summery memories: learning to cook pancakes in my aunt’s ancient iron pans; swimming in my aunt’s new pool; and eating Herr’s potato chips with cream-cheese-and-chive dip while playing late-night monopoly games.
In the back of my mind, there was always the faint reminder that we were starting at a new school in the fall. But I tried to push off the thought and live one day at a time. Still, it would creep into my mind and send butterflies fluttering around my stomach. I knew it was inevitable. (Time marches on without any need for permission from us. We can plead with it, beg it to stop or, at the very least, slow down…but it will always ignore us.)
Yet, it was okay. The new school became the old school and, before I knew it, I was graduating.
It’s the same way I’ve felt with my children. They grow at an alarming rate of speed – changing numbers in 365 days, maturing with life’s experiences and stretching towards the sky.
I know that I’ve lamented this for most of the years that I’ve kept this blog (and most of the years that preceded that). But it’s like their childhoods were that same endless summer that would eventually – and inevitably – end up with them growing up and getting jobs and moving into their own places. I tried to push off the thought, like before, but the butterflies always returned.
And Time never blinks…not once. The quick passage doesn’t surprise it. It doesn’t concern it.
All the young moms on social media notice it. They know it will happen since they’ve been told it will happen; yet it still surprises them because it happens so quickly.
I once read something that said to really pay attention to the little things that pass: the last time they reach up to be held; the last time you help them take a bath or wash their hair; the last time you feed them; or rock them; or hold their hand on a walk…
But you know what? You can’t. You’re so busy moving along with them towards all of their new milestones and adventures that you don’t notice the passage of all these little moments.
Like the summer before I started 8th grade. Eventually, it will be time to “start school.”
The older two kids are finishing at university this year...and living on their own...and, before long, looking for jobs.
Yet it still will be okay.
Something to think about today…and I hope this goes viral.
Yes, it’s a job. But the pay is paltry – not unlike wait staff in restaurant and hair stylists – and it still takes time, especially if that person tries their very hardest to do their best. Ten percent is a good starting point. Reward more for exceptionality.
I get it. I was a terrible tipper. I assumed that they made a decent wage (Google will tell you they do, but the pay formula is built on the assumption that they get tipped), and that they didn’t really need a tip unless they did an exceptional job.
Like everyone else, I’m trying to save money on my groceries. If that’s the case, I need to drive to the store myself and pick up my groceries. Saving time using a personal shopper does not equate to saving money. For some, it might mean saving money spent on gas going to the store. But you are using the gas of another, and that’s not covered by their delivery service companies.
Consider changing how you think about these services and tip your driver. I know it’s not mandatory, but it is an encouragement to those trying to earn real money through these jobs. We all enjoy the service we get…now let’s remember to pay fully for it.
It was a surreal moment. My head spun and my heart raced. I didn't know what to say to the doctor on the other end of the phone call. I felt wordless.
But God, as He always does, put the exact right person in that position at exactly the right moment. The doctor who called wasn't the surgeon I'd been seeing. He was just the one on duty that day. He didn't know me, but he did understand cancer since he'd already had it, as well. He gave me space to process the news and then explained the type of cancer I had and the prognosis, which he noted was very good. If I had to have cancer, it was a "good" one to have, he said. He wasn't a fortune teller, psychic, or visionary -- just someone who understood from experience and his job.
The next month and a half was filled with appointments and plans. My surgery was scheduled for a few days after my birthday in mid-October.
I won't lie and say I wasn't nervous. But God placed the first verse and refrain from the old hymn, "It Is Well with My Soul," in my head and that helped me through that time. He reminded me of the words and the story behind them. And, because of that, I had a tremendous peace.
From Wikipedia: The hymn was written by Horatio Spafford after many traumatic events in his life.
The first two were the death of his four-year-old son and the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, which ruined him financially (he had been a successful lawyer and had invested significantly in property in the area of Chicago that was extensively damaged by the great fire). His business interests were further hit by the economic downturn of 1873, at which time he had planned to travel to England with his family on the Ville du Havre for D. L. Moody's upcoming evangelistic campaigns.
In a late change of plan, he sent the family ahead while he was delayed on business concerning zoning problems following the Great Chicago Fire. While crossing the Atlantic Ocean, the ship sank rapidly after a collision with a sea vessel, the Loch Line, and all four of Horatio's daughters died. His wife Anna survived and sent him the now famous telegram, "Saved alone …"
Shortly afterwards, as Horatio traveled to meet his grieving wife, he was inspired to write these words as his ship passed near where his daughters had died.
When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Refrain
It is well, (it is well),
With my soul, (with my soul)
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
If a man who had lost so much could say that, I, with curable cancer, could repeat the same words.
Praise God!
I don’t know if I can.
Why not?
I don’t feel brave enough.
You’re braver than you think.
I wish you didn’t have to go.
I need to go. I have bigger places – and God – to see.
I wish I’d done more for you.
You did your best.
But it wasn’t enough. I hope you haven’t suffered.
Hold my paw...
I hope you know I love you.
I’ve never doubted that.
I won’t ever forget you.
Memories fade…but we’ll see one another again. Me and all the others. And won’t that be glorious? Oh, so glorious...
....
Hop far, sweet bunny. And always remember I loved you.
Rest peacefully, precious Jezzy. Kiss Jujubee for us.
….
The night is long…but the days are, oh, so short.
….
This is precious little Molly, my Himalayan Netherland Dwarf, who turns 6 years old on 7/13.
I told her secrets of sadnesses and joys. I shared food with her and dressed her in hats and sweaters and took her for bike rides in my bicycle basket. When we went for walks, she rode around in the hood of my sweatshirts.
She, in turn, gave me kisses, licked away my tears, and cuddled up close when I needed a hug. She gave me a litter of kits on Easter. She was the perfect first bunny for a girl who had desperately wanted her own pet.
The “bunny-bug” had bitten me, and the rest is — as they say — history.
Sometimes.
Life has a strange way of taking us on twists and turns, uphill and downhill, back and forth. Memories flood our brains, holding us back or pushing us forward.
We're all a product of those memories, our past times and events and happenings -- good and bad. How do we reckon with them? How do we not allow them to drag us down or pull us under?
It's a difficult process. Certainly doable.
Children are mirrors of those memories. They go through ages and phases that we can somewhat remember, that become very clear when we watch our offspring go through them. Of course, their experiences are different. But the fuzzy recollection of our own experiences comes back into focus...at least for that moment.
And we remember. And the memories, like old friends, take us on journeys back to times that feel forgotten yet are still in the foreground.
"As I was saying..." the memory says, without missing a beat.