For My Friends with Young Children, or My Annual Post-Thanksgiving Meditation

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Here's the thing.  My children live far away, one six hours to the west and the other, with his fiance, six hours to the east.  We've been together for Thanksgiving week – all of us – hanging out, cooking, touring around DC, running errands and just being — and being thankful.  It's always special when the whole family is together; it seemed so natural when the boys were little and now it's a treat.  I cooked a million meals with them banging around in the kitchen.  Now it's a precious thing when I make turkey meatloaf with my younger son.  I watch him, an accomplished cook, chop like a pro, listen as he reassures me that this new thing will taste great, laugh with him, trade recipes.  I rode around in cars, subways, buses with them all the time, and, along with their dad, dragged them into a million stores from grocery to toys to clothing to antiques.  Now it's the pleasure of serious shopping at Ikea with my older son and his fiance, getting to be around while they choose a sofa.  Seeing what a fine woman she is, watching them seamlessly making decisions together, measuring, taking photos, laughing, planning.  It feels great to see them launching themselves so well together and makes it OK that much of their life is lived far from us.  That's how it is.

I know though, that when kids are little, schlepping them in and out of car seats and strollers, keeping them occupied while you try to cook, keeping little hands out of the Ikea toy bins, mediating murderous sibling battles, keeping a home running while keeping kids in line – it's a lot.  I remember.  It doesn't matter whether you work outside your home or stay home with your family; either way there's so much to handle.  I kept thinking about that as I wandered around Washington with these adults who are also, forever, my children, reminding myself how long it would be before we would all do it together again.  Reminding myself that it's a credit to us that our kids are self-sufficient, productive and wonderfully decent, funny, loving men — and how blessed we are that they chose to come to us for the holiday — and that it's right, and good, that they have their own lives and homes and futures.

But though that's true, I wanted to tell you about this because it goes so fast.  All the cliches are true.  Turn around and they're grown.  That doesn't mean it isn't hard to keep things going now, it just means that those days will be gone, sooner than you think.

My youngest is approaching 30.  My oldest is getting married.  They have money market accounts and careers and fiances and plans and even some gray hairs.  They teach me more than I teach them (although that was always true.)  They are, like those of you reading this, grown ups, and my husband and I have our own rich and happy life together.  But it still can be, for those few moments of farewell at the end of each visit, desperately painful, on both sides.

As we drove to the airport last night, I (sort of) joked that I had to hook my iPod up to the car radio so that, when I was sad after leaving them off, I could blast Bruce, or Great Big Sea to make me feel a little better.  When we arrived at the departure entrance, I got out of the car to help unload the bags.  My son the chef was still in the front seat of the car. I was worried that a cop would throw me out of the parking place so I went toward the door to ask what he was doing.  He turned around.  "You iPod's all hooked up" he said, and reached out to give me a hug goodbye.

ISN’T THAT THE GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE?

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We leave for San Francisco in the morning, I’m not packed, I have a class tonight and an appointment in 15 minutes.  So this is a shortie.  I’m so excited to see our kids and, as usual, nervous in advance.  Last year I wrote a post called "I Don’t Want To Be a Turkey on Thanksgiving."  Sort of the same feelings this year; being considerate of adult kids and their autonomy NOT from things you might do on purpose – those I can control.  It’s the stuff that can happen by accident and end up being an issue that I always worry about. 
If there’s anything I’m thankful for it’s the gift of these two young men who have grown into such fine people.  Even from all the way across the country, they bless my days.  Makes Thanksgiving mean a whole lot.

Teach Your Children Well

Little_in_snow_hug Much of what I enjoy about other blogs, particularly "mommy" ones, is the sense of irony that is so different from my own sentimental view of parenthood.  Brutally honest and often painful, they reveal wounds and issues I don’t think I could talk about on line.  Loving mothers and beautiful writers, women like Liz at Mom 101, Mir at WouldaCouldaShoulda, Kristen at Motherhood Uncensored and Jenn at Mommy Needs Coffee are all gutsy beyond measure in their honesty.  Mocha Momma Kelly, Liza  from Lizawashere and BeenThere’s Cooper Munroe are just as honest but with a different tone – one more familiar to me.  All perspectives are worthy, moving and wise. 

Here’s one of the few times I really feel generational difference though.  These bloggers are substantially younger than I am; I’m old enough to be the mother of most of them.  I don’t feel that difference often, but today, with one of my boys gone already and the other leaving tomorrow, I just can’t get un-sugary. 

The great gift of raising children is I am sure the most profound privilege life brings us.  The pleasures are infinite.  To my delighted surprise, they don’t stop when these tiny people emerge as full-blown adults, taking their places as productive, loving, principled men.  The entire time they, and Josh’s girlfriend Amy, were here this week, was so great that I’m struck dumb with gratitude and love. 

For an entire afternoon excavating six boxes of treasures from 20 boxes of childhood stuff — from broken Nintendos and the Jerry Garcia’s death issue of Newsweek to Double Dare sweatshirts and high school yearbooks, they worked, sorted, laughed, read aloud, complained, laughed some more, and got it all done despite my best efforts to help.   I wish I could tell you what it felt like to see them laughing together over a first grade "book" Dan had written or once-treasured but minor value baseball cards, remembering the pleasures and joys of their lives.

Nobody’s life is perfect and our family certainly has had its share of pain, but there is a beautiful foundation that holds us up – draws us to one another and fills us with love. That’s corny.  We have two sons who are funny and attractive and honorable and productive and considerate and who clearly love us.  We are grateful.  That’s corny too.  I don’t know how to say that with any self-restraint or discipline – stylistic or otherwise. 

I adore these young men even as I struggle to retain the distance they deserve (reasonably successful), welcome them when they want to be with us (easy as pie), shut up when they need to be someplace else( do my best), keep my mouth shut when I disagree (getting better all the time.)  I am very proud of their self-reliance and accomplishments, their candor about obstacles in their lives, their incredible humor — they are both very funny, particularly when they are together — and their gentle, loving souls.  They’ve accepted our newly religious lifetstyle with interest and respect.  They are also very good to one another.  I revel in their friendship, all the flying back and forth for concerts and birthdays, and great gifts they give one another.

In other words, I’m a corny, unoriginal mom.  My sons have brought an unanticipated portion of joy and satisfaction, fun and admiration, adventure and idealism, into my life.  And they love us.  Stupid us.  Despite all the mistakes and complications.  I’d love to be able to be a bit ironic about it, to ditch what my kids call my "pink Cindy glasses" for a while just to see how I would sound, but it ain’t gonna happen.  So I hope all my edgier colleagues will tolerate this gooey post and understand my inability, tonight, as the year winds down and this family visit winds with it, to say anything except "God I love my kids."