Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat

I know you hear me complaining. I know you hear me when I sigh and say the laundry in this house never seems to end. It's true, you know, it doesn't. It started out small. Little socks for little feet. Tiny shirts for my two little boys. Blueberry stains, applesauce spots, orange juice spills. 
Wash, dry, fold, repeat. 

As the years moved on, the hamper seemed to fill faster and faster. Bigger socks for bigger feet. Larger shirts for bigger boys. Grass stains, ketchup spots, grape juice spills.
Wash, dry, fold, repeat. 

Before I knew it you had both grown so much that you needed your own hampers. Soccer jerseys, baseball pants, ski clothes. Different clothes for my boys who were changing and growing right before my eyes.
Wash, dry, fold, repeat. 

The truth is that behind my complaining is a mom who is desperately trying to remember the smell of your baby pajamas. I remember folding rompers and bibs. I remember losing baby sock after baby sock because there was no way something so tiny was surviving the sock monster that clearly resides in our dryer. 

I remember cleaning skinned knees and kissing boo boos, then hoping that the bloody knee spot would come out of your new cute toddler pants.
I cheer you on at your baseball games knowing full well that the hamper will be full of grass stained pants, ketchup stained shirts, and smelly socks. Sure I roll my eyes, but the truth is I will miss this. The other day as I grabbed all of your clothes out of the dryer I had a flash back to the days of the two of you lying in the grass, waiting for dusk so that you could catch fireflies. I remembered the smell of your clothes after a full day outside. I remembered folding the clothes of my two small boys and feeling happy and content about the day.

The truth is one day I will open that dryer and it will no longer have your socks, or your shirts for me to fold. The two of you are already helping so much with your own laundry, but late at night when you have both drifted off to sleep, I sigh and open the dryer. I sit and I fold your baseball uniforms. I look at the piles and I know that one day they will no longer be there. I look at the piles and I see the both of you. I see your hobbies. I see your favorite shirt that I beg you to stop wearing every other day. I see your pants that you are about to outgrow. I see your sweatshirt you begged for on vacation. I see you. I see who you are, and I remember who you were. As I drift off to sleep I see two little boys lying in the grass waiting for fireflies.
Wash, dry, fold, repeat.

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Dear Mom, Before They Were Mine, I Was Yours

Mom...
Before they were mine, I was yours.
Before they wrapped their tiny little hands around my finger I wrapped mine around yours.
Before I knew how to walk you taught me I could fly.
Before I learned to doubt, you taught me to always believe. 
Before they were mine, I was yours.

Mom...
When the world felt too big, you made it feel like home.
When the journey felt too long, you reminded me to take one step at a time.
When the heartache felt unbearable you reminded me to breathe.
When my dreams seemed far fetched, you helped me reach higher.
When the world felt too big, you made it feel like home.

Mom...
When it rained, you made me look forward to the rainbow.
When I felt stuck in the storm you handed me an umbrella and told me to dance in the rain.
When the sun was shining you made sure we soaked it in together.
And together, we jumped into the ocean, and leaped into the lake. Together, we chased fireflies, and picked dandelions.
When it rained, you made me look forward to the rainbow.

Mom...
Before they were mine I was yours.
Before someone called me mama, you showed me what it was to be a mom.
Before I felt my heart grow, you taught me it was possible.
Before I held my sweet baby boys for the first time, you told me they would be the best gift I had ever received. You were right.
Sometimes when I hold their hands, I remember holding yours. I remember you brushing my hair, and telling me the world was waiting for us, and sometimes, I remember our days at the lake...when the world stopped for us.
Before they were mine, I was yours.

The Space Between

There was a time that I counted your little toes because the time seemed to allow for it. There was a time that I used to pull your head slowly into my neck so I could breathe you in. Oh how I miss that. There are pictures that remain in my mind, and they are full of baby pouts, chubby cheeks, and moments that seemed to move in slow motion.  They are moments I didn’t realize I should have been recording. They are the moments that defined me as a mother.

Somehow, despite the amount of warnings I received telling me just how fast time was going to move, I didn’t quite grasp it until I myself was caught up in the time warp.  So here I am watching you. Here I am trying to figure out this time we are currently visiting. There are all these people talking about babies, toddlers, teenagers, and college kids, but you don’t fit into any of those groups. You are somehow residing in the space between.

You are still a little boy, but you are trying to navigate a bigger world. You are holding onto your forever friends, while finding your crew.  You are still excited to see your mom and dad, but equally excited to wave goodbye.  The funny thing is, you’re aware that the wave goodbye makes me sad. You are still okay with making sure we are okay.

You are currently in the space between. You are not yet old enough to venture off on adventures of your own, yet not young enough to have us navigate them for you. These are new waters for all of us. No matter how prepared we feel there are moments that make us realize we fell short.

No one told me about the space between. No one told me how fast we would wind up here. No one told me that there was a time between chubby cheeks and teenage angst. No one told me. So here we sit in the space between. Here we breathe in. Here we breathe out. Here we talk about things that don’t involve baby toes or teenage love. Here we talk. Here we fight. Here we love. Here we try the best we can to navigate the next steps. Here we laugh. Here we stay silly. Here we teach our boys about forgiveness. Here we teach them about love.  Here we stay. Here we remain. HERE. Here, we embrace the space between.

My Best Gift

Every year I tell myself that come December, I am not going to get all bananas about the holidays. I tell myself I’m not going to stress about every little thing, and that I’m going to enjoy the little moments. Yet every year when I look in the mirror on any given day in December all I see is a big old bunch of bananas.

I see someone stressed about Christmas cards, decorating the house, getting everyone on my list the perfect gift, shopping among all the other bananas during Christmas week for all the food that I just have to bake and cook, because if I don’t will Christmas even happen? Spoiler alert, yes, Christmas will in fact happen whether or not I find the time to make my peppermint bark. Yes, Christmas will happen no matter what we do or don’t accomplish, but the bigger question is, how do we find the simplicity in the season?

I’m not going to claim to know the answer, but I will say, there is something about knowing another year is coming to a close that makes us all feel nostalgic. The years seems to fly by especially fast when you become a parent. The more I thought about it the more I realized that Christmas is actually the time to celebrate all the gifts we have already received throughout the year. When we receive gifts we want to offer our gratitude.

Dear Friends, Family, and all of those who have impacted my year,

Thank you. Thank you never feels like enough, but it still feels important to say.

Thank you to my friends and family, new and old, who showed up for every small moment. Thank you for picking up the phone when I needed to cry, or I wanted to vent, or shout to you with excitement that I was able to finally figure out how to stop having all my important emails go into my spam folder. Thank you for loving my children like they are your own.

Thank you for making me laugh, and for laughing with me. Thank you for understanding when I need to cry, and for crying with me. Thank you for trusting me with things you wouldn’t share with the entire world. Thank you for allowing me to share the things you would.

Thank you for showing up for the big moments. Thank you for cheering me on when I wasn’t sure if I could do it. Thank you for routing for me during the times I doubted myself the most. Thank you not only for accepting me at my worst, but loving me anyway. Thank you for the Mexican, Chinese, Tai, Italian, and Polish food that we used as our focal point for our gatherings. 

Thank you for never allowing my wine glass to be empty or my coffee to be cold. Thank you for never allowing me to quit, even when I told you I was going to do just that. Thank you for sharing my words, not because you felt like you had to, but because you wanted to. Thank you for listening to my endless stories about my grandmother and seeming entertained throughout each and every one. 

Thank you for showing up at my front door when I said I was okay, but you knew that was a lie.

For every laugh, every tear, every accomplishment, and every moment of defeat, I needed you all. Every gathering around a table, in a kitchen, or on a porch taught me something. Every time we got to talk, really talk, was a time I appreciated. 

Every small smile. Every brief hug. Every kind word. Every ounce of love and support. It was all a gift. So this Christmas I hope you all know that my biggest gift is you. You see Christmas is one day.

 Most of the gifts we open are packed away for when we need them, but you? You are a gift that will keep giving day after day, and year after year. One day when all the boxes are put away and all I have are my memories, it won’t be the gifts I unwrapped that I will remember. It will be the people I had in my life. 

You are the gift that I am so very happy to have. The best part about this gift is that I get to enjoy it every day for the entire year. Thank you for being my best gift!

Let Them Feel

When I was a kid I thought my parents knew everything. By the time I was a teenager I thought they knew nothing. Now that I’m a parent I realize I was right, both times. I think knowing everything while knowing nothing is pretty much the reality of parenthood. Parenthood is basically getting thrown into the deep end of the pool and struggling to make it to the ladder.  When you feel confident and you master swimming in the deep end of the pool someone throws you into the ocean.  Parenthood is a constant struggle of convincing your kids that you do in fact know what you are doing all while doubting yourself every single day.

If you don’t doubt yourself are you really a parent?  Don’t ask me. I spend most days flying by the seat of my pants. I tuck my kids in at night and I hope that I did an OK job. That’s right an OK job. When I had my first son, the idea of being an “OK parent” was out of the question for me. I was going to be a phenomenal parent. Sure. I was swimming in the pool and I was good at it, only the pool was calm and no one else was in it. Once I had my son I realized that the pool was full of tons of other swimmers and all of those swimmers had opinions on my swimming abilities.

To be honest now that my boys are out of the baby stage I find myself wondering more than I thought I ever would if I am going to be able to navigate each new unchartered territory of water we enter. The hopeful answer is yes, but the honest answer is, I’m not always so sure. Facebook has been kind enough to remind me on the regular with my “Facebook Memories” that the baby years are long gone. Gone are the days of napping, snuggling, snacking, and giggling within our own little bubble. We are in the elementary school days now and I have to tell you, they are going faster than I could have ever imagined they would. I’m not naïve; I know middle school and high school will be here in a hot second. That’s how this parenting thing works. The days are long but the years…well the years move fast.

Lately I’ve noticed that our family is so busy that the days are flying by and the months are moving at warp speed. My oldest son is eight and my youngest is five. There is something about my eight year old that has changed in the last year. I can see that a big change is upon us. I can see that I am about to get thrown from the pool into the ocean and I’m terrified.

He’s almost nine years old. Nine. Yet somehow I can close my eyes and remember the nurse putting him on my chest like it was yesterday. I can remember his little hand wrapping around my finger. I can remember whispering to him that I would never let anything or anyone hurt him, and I meant it. There is a change in the way both my husband and I treat him now. He has shifted from being a little kid to a boy. We expect more of him. He has responsibilities around the house. He is expected to get his homework done or baseball practice will just have to go on without him. He is expected to clear his plate after dinner. We remind him about doing his best and making us proud. We tell him not to cry when he is fighting with his brother about basketball.  We tell him to toughen up. We tell him to be the big brother and give his brother a turn. We tell him not to get angry at his brother. We tell him not to cry. We flail around in the ocean making mistakes and hoping that we will be given another chance to learn how to swim.

Today I read yet another article about a heartbroken mother who lost her son to the epidemic of heroin. When I tell you it scares me I don’t really think that it accurately portrays how I worry about it. I know that no matter how much we try to protect our kids this is the one thing that can reach out and grab them without discriminating. Drugs don’t care that you took your child to toddler music classes. Drugs don’t care that your child was gifted in reading. Drugs don’t care that your child was a soccer, baseball, hockey, dancing, fill in the blank star. They don’t care. Drugs don’t care that in elementary school your child had everything going for them. Drugs don’t care that they were in the school play. Drugs don’t care that you used to be able to talk to them about anything and everything. Drugs don’t care that at one point you thought your ears were actually going to fall off from how much your child went on and on and on about anything and everything. Drugs literally don’t care about your Facebook memories.

Today when my son came home from school I talked to him for a while about his day. I took the time to listen. I really listened because if the OK parent in me is being honest, I don’t always listen. I often multitask. I look through their folders and empty their lunch boxes all while nodding along to the stories of the day.  I give my kids a snack and have them do homework. I break up fights and tell them to stop crying.

I’ve been thinking about something a lot lately. Why are we telling our kids not to feel? Maybe you’re not guilty of this. I am though. I am so guilty of this, only I didn’t even realize it. It hit me like a ton of bricks that every time we tell our kids to stop crying, to toughen up, and to stop flipping out over what my husband and I perceive to be silly, we are in fact telling them to stop feeling. We are telling them that their emotions are not worthy. Every time they tell us they are bored we try to fix it. Maybe this is some of the problem. Maybe. I say this because obviously as I walk slowly into the water from the beach I can’t possibly already know what the parents out in the deep are dealing with.

I can’t help but think that kids need to feel boredom. They need to feel still. They need to feel the difference between being busy and being relaxed.  Our kids need to feel sad. How can they ever appreciate being happy if we don’t allow them to embrace being sad? We all need a good cry every now and then. We need it. We are humans. We are meant to feel. Kids are anxious for a reason. We are telling them to stop. We are telling them to sit still, to be quiet, and to do their best. Their best? Their best is to be a kid. Their best is to be curious, anxious, sad, happy, angry, overwhelmed, silly, loud, and quiet. Their best is to be comfortable with who they are and know that we, as their parents will embrace them for it.  Drugs allow people not to feel, the question is why are so many people afraid to feel? Let’s allow our kids to feel. Let’s embrace them for it. I’m not suggesting we allow kids to cry and punch, shout or laugh through their entire day. I’m suggesting that we allow them to navigate the baby pool in the best way they know how. I am suggesting that we allow them to feel scared, that we allow them to admit they don’t know if they are ready for the deep end and when they do, it may help to tell them that we didn’t always know how to swim. 

A Christmas Full Of Memories

My husband and I got married in October of 2005. Christmas arrived quickly that year and we decided we were going to go cut down a tree.  Here’s something I didn’t know, a tree in the wilderness may appear smaller than it actually is. We were living in a two bedroom condo at the time and my husband wound up having to cut the tree on our tiny little deck in order to just fit it in the door. Fun times. The neighbors must have loved us.

Once we got the tree inside I realized I didn’t really have any ornaments to decorate it. So I did what anyone would do. I rushed out to Target and stocked up on a bunch of cheap, but pretty enough ornaments so that our poor, cut up tree would look like an actual Christmas tree. Once the lights were on, our tree looked great. Lights fix everything. I had three nice ornaments on the tree. Two of them we had bought on our honeymoon and one of them I had made at the local mall for our “first Christmas” together. I decided that by the following year I would have a real grownup tree. You know the type of tree I’m talking about. It’s the one in all the magazines. It’s the one that Martha did herself. It’s the one you pin for future reference. It’s usually color coordinated. Spoiler alert it is not the tree I have.

My plan had been to go out at the end of the Christmas season and stock up on the expensive ornaments that would surely all be on clearance. Only I didn’t do that, because well the best laid plans as they say. Before I knew it Christmas was over and winter turned to spring. Who thinks about their Christmas tree in the spring? Not this girl. Summer arrived and in a blink fall followed, as did our anniversary. We went away for the weekend and I decided to buy an ornament in a local shop. What I didn’t know then is that with that one ornament I would begin a tradition that would carry on for our family, making our tree what it is today.

In the years that followed, I began buying an ornament on every vacation or special trip we took together. I went back to the same place I had bought our “first Christmas” ornament and had one made when we got our dog, then again when our oldest son was born, and again when our youngest was born. They closed after that and I’m so happy I was able to get all of our special ornaments from them before they did.

When we go away somewhere my husband knows that I will not leave until I find a shop that sells local ornaments. I have an ornament from our first trip with our oldest. I have one from my husband’s fortieth birthday. I have many from our summers in Lake George. I always write the year on it before packing it away.

Every year when it comes time to decorate the house for Christmas I am completely stressed. All I can think about is my long list of things to get done. I imagine my family grows pretty tired of hearing me talk about how much I have left to do when we literally just finished our Thanksgiving turkey. I can’t help myself. I’m one of those people who complain when I feel overwhelmed. I will admit it’s not my best quality. I try to surround myself with people who are the “glass is half full” type because when my glass is empty I need someone to help fill it up a bit.

This year wasn’t any different. My list is long and my patience was running thin. I spent a good deal of time telling my husband it was never going to all get done. “I’m only one person. We don’t even have a tree yet. When I am getting all the shopping done? Do people really need a card from us?” He’s gotten pretty good about just nodding along and ignoring my Christmas induced insanity. We finally went to get our tree. He put it up the next day and got all the lights on it. He took all the boxes of ornaments down from the attic and suggested I decorate the tree in peace and quiet the next day while they were all out of the house. I agreed.

The next day I opened the first box and pulled out our “first Christmas together” ornament. Suddenly I was brought back in time, eleven years ago, before our kids when we were newlyweds cutting down a tree together that would wind up being way too big for our condo. I started laughing just thinking about it.

 The next ornament was one from Hawaii and I remembered our blissful honeymoon and how eleven years has certainly aged us but I wouldn’t change a thing. Next it was an ornament from Lake George 2015 which was the last summer my grandmother was with us for that trip. I cried thinking about how much I miss her, but I smiled thinking about all the wonderful memories we have with her. 

Ornament after ornament brought me somewhere back in time. They are all representations of a time that has passed, but each and every one of them mean more than I ever thought they would when I bought them. It is amazing how the sight of something as small as a Christmas ornament can bring up so many emotions. As I picked up each one I instantly had a picture in my mind of the trip. I saw my oldest at two playing in the sand of Cape Cod.

I saw my youngest at two beaming with excitement on his first steam boat in Lake George.

I saw my husband and me holding hands as we walked the Cliff walk together in Newport Rhode Island.

I moved on to all the homemade ornaments my kids have made over the years and I was reminded about just how fast time moves. My grandmother always used to say “Don’t blink Jen. It goes faster than people tell you.” I blinked. She was right. My oldest is eight now. Looking at his little face on a gingerbread man that he made when he was three reminded me just how fast time is moving. I remember him giving it to us. I remember laughing and telling him it was adorable.

My youngest is five and I remember the Santa face ornament he gave us for his last Christmas in preschool.

The ornaments with their faces on them are my favorite. They are frozen in time. I may never get another one of my eight year old at this point. So I cherish the ones I have. They are worth more to me than the most expensive ornament on the clearance shelf. The same can be said about the Popsicle stick ornaments and the toilet paper roll snowmen. They are priceless.

When I was done decorating the tree I realized just how lucky we are.  My stress was gone. If nothing else gets done that’s okay because everything we need to celebrate Christmas is represented on our tree. I will never have a Martha tree and I’m good with that. I don’t need a tree meant for the magazines. I want a tree meant for our life. I will continue to buy an ornament everywhere we go and date it accordingly. One day when I blink and the kids are out of the house starting their own traditions, I will have the ornaments to bring me back in time, to bring me back to days that might not have seemed big at the time but will surely be worth remembering.  I will always enjoy Christmas and I will forever cherish looking back onto Christmas pasts. After all Christmas is about making memories with those we love and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate that than with a tree full of memories. 

Ten Steps Towards A Real Friendship

There are times as a parent that I find myself looking at my kids and feeling a little bit of envy towards their youth. After all they have more energy than I can muster after a full night of sleep and an entire pot of coffee. They also have the endless ability to use their imaginations and act silly while receiving zero judgment (people look at me funny when I run around my yard chasing bubbles). They still believe in the good in everything. They don’t have adult responsibilities to ponder as they desperately try to fall asleep at night. No. My kids get in bed and blissfully fall asleep while dreaming about ice cream and a game of kickball, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Childhood should be chock full of innocence and smiles and void of stress and sleepless nights.

The one thing I don’t envy though is navigating through the ups and downs of unestablished friendships. If there is anything that I have learned in my forty years it’s how to know the difference between a real friendship and a fake one. I no longer have the patience for nonsense or fair weather friends. Age and experience have taught me a thing or two about friendships over the years. I haven’t escaped without a few cuts and bruises, mostly to my pride but I’m better off for it.

I think one of the most important lessons we can teach our children is how to be a good friend.  I want my kids to be able to recognize a good apple from a bad apple in the bunch but I also want them to know what it takes to be the good apple. It’s not always easy and if we are being honest I haven’t always been a good friend when I should have been, but with life lessons and maturity I have learned what it takes to be a good friend.

1. Be a good listener. Good friends take the time to not only hear your words but to really listen to them. No one wants to talk to someone who is always talking. Take a breath. Listen. It means more than you realize.
2.  Show up. It sounds easy but not many people do it so when you find someone who shows up without being asked you have found a friend. Be that friend. Show up for the good stuff. Show up for the bad stuff. Just show up. 
   
3. Stand next to and up for your friends. When someone is your friend you don’t always have to agree with them but you should always want to stand up for them. 
   
4. Don’t talk about them. Talk to them. If you have a problem with one of your buddies tell them. Don’t tell everyone else instead of them. Real friends tell each other when they’ve done something to upset them. Be direct. Be honest. It says a lot about your character.
5. Celebrate their achievements. You and your friends didn’t learn to crawl or walk at the same time. Your successes are going to ebb and flow. It might take you a little longer than your friend to find your success but be happy for them. Cheer them on and they will return the favor by rooting for you. 
   
6. Embrace them during their failures. Life is about learning. We cannot learn if we don’t fail along the way. When we fail we need someone to tell us it’s going to be okay. We need someone who will tell us to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and keep trying until we succeed. Be that person.
7.  Believe in your friend. Believe in their dreams. Believe in their hopes. Don’t minimize any of that because in doing so you deplete the air from their balloon. No one wants to be friends with someone who sucks the air out of their balloon. Balloons make people happy. 
   
8. Allow them to be who they are and be the real you whenever you are with them. Real friends don’t have to change themselves to be friends. They love each other for exactly who they are. They love the good, the bad, and the ugly. You don’t always have to like your friends but if you are real friends you will always love them. 
   
9. Be silly, be vulnerable, cry, laugh and have fun with your friends. Don’t be the fun vacuum. No one wants to be friends with someone who walks into the room and sucks the fun right out. Don’t be afraid to have fun. Don’t be afraid to laugh until you cry, and definitely don’t be afraid to cry when you need to. Friends who are willing to show emotion in front of each other form a deeper bond because of it. The things you laugh and cry about will change as you grow older but the bond will remain the same.
10. Call your friend out if they need it. You know who they are and you know who they want to be so if you see your friend headed down a path that will take them far away from both of those places call them out on it. You might lose them for a little while but they will come back.

Life is about making connections. The bonds we form and the relationships we build enhance the life we lead. They take work but they shouldn’t feel so hard that you are exhausted from them. The relationships worth fighting for and working on will not always be obvious to you, but when you realize one is, I know you will both give them your all. The thing is, every person who comes into your life comes into it for a reason. Some will leave you and some will stay, but each one will teach you something about yourself that you wouldn’t have known without them. Enjoy the simple things. Take in the moments. Don't worry so much about the years and the memories because in the end the moments that you show up for will make up the memories that you will look back upon for years. 

To My Last Baby

When the doctor announced you were a boy and gently laid you on my chest I didn’t know at the time that you would be my last. When you wrapped your little hand around my finger and our eyes met for the first time I had no idea that it would be the last time I experienced a bond so new. When I brought you home and rocked you in the nursery I didn’t know at the time that you would be the last baby to make that nursery a home.  Looking back, I realize that just like the firsts were so very special with your brother, the lasts were just as special with you.

It’s ironic that when I first found out I was pregnant with you I was both excited and yet somehow still nervous.  I was so very afraid there just wouldn’t be enough of me to equally love you and your brother. Oh how wrong I was. The moment you were born I quickly figured out that I didn’t have to share my heart with you both, instead my heart grew bigger. It grew so big that I immediately knew having “enough love” was never going to be a problem of ours.

There of course came a point in time that I did in fact realize you were the last puzzle piece. You were the part of our family that was missing and with you our family became complete. Of course with that epiphany came the realization that you were the last baby. I want you to know that being the last baby comes with a great deal of responsibility and honor. You see your brother paved the way. He was our first, but you my love, you are our last. Your brother started our family and you completed it. The engine of the train leads the way, but without the caboose the train would be missing something. You are our caboose. 

In case you should ever start to doubt just how much you mean to me I want you to take this letter and keep it with you always.

My dearest caboose,

My love for you was big from day one and only grew bigger.  I wasn’t always good about writing down your milestones but each and every one of them is etched in my mind and they will remain there…always. The first time you called me mama, the first time you laughed, the first time you crawled, the first time you walked, and the very first time you ran and didn’t look back right away.

I remember the smell of your head. I remember the softness of your feet. That is love. Love holds onto these little moments. I remember your first day of preschool and in a blink there we were at your preschool graduation.

I remember putting you on the big school bus for the first time and knowing you were ready but doubting that I was. I wasn’t.  I remember comforting you when you were scared and sharing in your excitement when you hit your first baseball. I remember your joy of art projects and spending my days picking up scraps of paper remnants while my feet stuck to random pieces of tape. I remember knowing that I would surely miss them both.

I remember the way you passionately called every child in your class your friend before saying their name when you would tell me a story about them at the dinner table. I remember the way you looked up to your brother. I remember the way you just wanted to play with the big kids. I remember when you became the big kid. I thought I was ready. I wasn’t.

I remember the way you gave everything your all. I remember knowing you were always going to try your hardest, you were going to love big, and you were going to always be a giant light shining in the dark.

I remember the many times I smiled with pride and hid the tears as to not embarrass you, but they were there. They were always there.  With every step, every turn, every milestone you amaze me. You make my heart continue to grow.  One day I will be standing in a sea of parents watching our babies graduate from high school. I want you to know that the tears are my way of trying to let go of the baby who first wrapped his hand around my finger and the smile is my way of letting you know that it’s okay. It’s OK, because in letting go you somehow make my heart continue to grow.  In the end your brother is the engine and you are the caboose, but I am the engineer and once I get you both safely to where you are going my job is complete, which is ironic because my dear caboose you completed me.  

"and 

she loved

a 

little boy

very, very much

-even more

than

-she loved

herself."

Shel Silverstein The Giving Tree

Tomorrow Will Be Better

When I was a kid I was convinced I could save the world. The funny part about that is not necessarily the naivety of me thinking I could save the world, it is the fact that I had no idea what the world needed saving from. When I was five years old I loved everything about everyone. I went to kindergarten and adored my teacher. Her name was Ms. Langer and she wore lavender skirt suits with lavender pumps to match. She was every five year old girl’s idol. She was quite literally mine.

My days were filled with school bus rides, finger painting, nap time and music. They were full of laughter, playtime, and a complete feeling of being surrounded by a giant bubble of love and security…only I didn’t know that then. There was this boy in my kindergarten class named Wally. He was different from the rest of us. The year was 1981. Wally acted out often in class. He talked back to the teacher. He cried. He screamed and for some reason the teacher always sat him right next to me. The first day that my idol of a teacher sat him next to me I was upset. I thought that she was doing it as some type of punishment. I thought I must have done something wrong to deserve sitting next to the worst kid in the entire kindergarten class. When it came time for snack and milk Wally smiled at me and then proceeded to spit an entire mouth full of milk directly in my face. He was promptly sent to the principal and I was quickly ushered over to the sink to wash my face. When my father greeted me at the bus that day and asked how my day was I quickly responded with,

“Not good. Wally spit milk at me.”

My father looked at me and said, “Oh is that right? He spit milk at you?”

“Yes. He spit an entire mouth full of chocolate milk at me daddy.”

“Well it sounds like Wally was having a bad day. 

  I bet tomorrow will be better.”

The next day at snack time Wally looked at me and sure enough he spit milk at me yet again. He was sent to the principal and I was walked to the sink to wash my face…again.

           

            “How was school honey?”

            “Not good. Wally spit milk at me AGAIN.”

            “Did you ask him why he spit milk at you?”

            “No. He went to the principal before I could ask him. 
             Spitting milk is gross.”

            “Of course it is honey, but maybe Wally is sad about something.”

            “Sad? I don’t want anyone to be sad.”

“Maybe Wally just needs a friend. Maybe he just needs someone to smile at him.”

The next day I went into school and I sat down at my desk. I looked at Wally and I said hello. He looked back like a deer in headlights and he said hello back. We wound up becoming “chore buddies” for the remainder of the year. We fed the hamster together. We handed out milk together. We barely spoke, but we said hello every morning and goodbye every afternoon. He never spit milk at me again. At the start of first grade my teacher sat Wally next to me and I asked him how his summer was. He smiled and said it was okay. My family and I moved at the end of that year and I have no idea what happened to Wally after that. I worried for the first half of second grade about who Wally was sitting next to and I hoped that they were being nice to him. I hoped that he was able to find someone to be his friendly smile throughout his day.

The remainder of my elementary school days were happy and middle school appeared faster than I could have imagined. Once I got into high school I became obsessed with saving the world. That’s right. The world. I was super realistic. Homeless? I was going to feed and shelter every one of them. Sick? I was going to fund their treatments and find their cures. Equality? Is that even an issue? Everyone is the same no? Everyone is the same? Apparently not. To me though the answer was simple, the answer was yes. We are all human beings and we are all the same.

I had many an argument at the kitchen table with my father about all of it. If it had been up to me my parents would have been running a shelter out of their kitchen. We would have been handing out money to those who needed it and not questioning them on their way out the door. As I spewed my ideas of saving the world, my father explained to me how the real world just didn’t work that way. The very man who had told me to go ask the milk spewing kid how his day was going told me I just didn’t get it. He was right. I didn’t get it. The world was much more complicated than I realized at the time. Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t that my father didn’t want to raise me to be someone who wanted to save the world and help people, it was that he wanted me to understand not everything is that simple. He wanted me to realize I was setting myself up for giant disappointment. He wanted me to realize not every person needing help was a milk spitting five year old.

My father is a man who drops everything to help anyone. In 1986 the towns around us were hit by a major flood. My father dropped everything to help those families by working on their homes in his spare time. He was the guy who would stay two hours late at work because one of his employees needed someone to talk to about the sudden death of their mother. He was saving the world in his own way while trying to prevent me from giving too much of myself and getting nothing in return.

Fast forward to today. I’m a mom of two boys. I still want to save the world only now I know how impossible that is. Now I know the problems are so much bigger than me. They are so much bigger than simply asking someone how they are doing. Right? They are bigger than that? Yes. They. Are.  Now I want to save the world because I brought two additional humans into it. I brought two boys into a world I don’t understand and I love them more than I ever thought humanly possible. If there was ever a time for me to save the world it would be now. It really isn’t that simple though.

The other morning I turned on the news and I stood in my kitchen and cried. I cried because I feel helpless. I cried because I want it all to stop. I cried because I thought about my five year old self and how I just wanted everyone to be OK. I just wanted everyone to be happy. I thought about the fact that I now have an eight year old and a five year old and how all they want is for everyone to be included. They are good kids who feel sad when someone else is sad. They feel joy when someone else feels joy. They feel and I never want them to lose that. I never want them to lose the ability to feel empathy. As far as I’m concerned empathy is not an optional human emotion. It is a vital human emotion.

We have become a society with our faces buried in our phones. Our emotions are expressed through our Facebook status or a quick Twitter update. Our Instagram shows our life in pictures and our Snap Chat tells our friends how we feel about them. How can we raise a generation of empathetic, emotional, human beings when we have taken away all the tools they need to be those people? You see the only tools you need to be an empathetic human being are your heart, your brain and your ability to feel things.

In the last week I have watched people I know fight on Facebook. I have watched people share videos of idiotic media personalities sharing their opinions on what is happening in our country because WE have forgotten how to find our own words. I have watched people tear each other apart. I have watched people attack each other over their appearance in Facebook pictures because they didn’t agree with the words the other one typed. I have seen people attack someone else’s children because they assumed they only sided with police or they only sided with Black Lives Matter. I have seen enough to make me want to quit, only I don’t know what I would be quitting. We can’t quit society. We may want to…but we can’t.

You see somewhere deep down the five year old in me wants to pull my chair up to the milk spitting kid and just smile. I want to ask him how his day is going. I want to tell him he is not being judged. I want to tell him I will be his friend. I want it to be that simple. I want it all to be that simple. Despite the fact that my father warned me that simplicity was something adults were not blessed with I wanted to believe otherwise. I wanted to believe that life was simpler than adults made it out to be. As far as I can see we complicate everything. We make it harder than it needs to be. We are doing it all wrong.

I am a mother. I am of the belief that I am supposed to be teaching my children to become empathetic, loving adults and in doing so I realize that they are in fact teaching me. Children are our reflection. They do as they see. The thing is everything is a mess right now. It’s a big old mess. Stop sharing someone else’s opinion. Just stop. Instead find a way to reach out to an actual human being. I can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like to be a police officer in our country right now or to be married to or the mother of or the child of an officer for that matter. I also have no idea what it feels like to be black in our country. I have no clue and for me to spew opinions as if I do, would just be ignorant. So here is what I will say. I stand with you. I stand with all of you because it is not my job to judge. It is not my place to argue or shout words that will not make any of this better. All I can offer is empathy and love. 

All I can hope is that at some point we will all find a way to make this better not just for us but for the generation to follow. I can only hope that we all want to create the best reflection for them to emulate. We can do this. We can be better. We can find better words. We can be kind. We can and if you find yourself saying you can’t then YOU are the problem. We can find a way to wipe the spit milk off of our stubborn faces. We can find a way to look at the kid spitting the milk. We can look him in the eyes and we tell him we see him. We can tell him we really see him and we can change more than we realize.