I Know She Can Do It...But, Why Do I Have To?

courtesy of Katie Daisy Art

One day after I came home from dropping her back off at college to begin her sophomore year,
I steeled myself for the pain of the fridge.

Like the ice bucket challenge, I knew it was going to take my breath away, make me cringe, force me to do something I really didn't want to do at all.
I was going to have to deal with the ingredients...
her ingredients.

You see, my little chickadee likes to bake.
She bakes when she's bored.
She bakes when she's nervous or stressed-out.
She bakes for no reason...just to get a nice smell in the house.

Someday, she is going to make her own family very very happy.

Now, you understand my thickening middle.
When you next see me, just smile with understanding and kindness...please?

In that fridge, I found ricotta.
(For the record, never, in my adult life have I purchased ricotta.
Mary Kate has purchased more in her teen life than most non-Italians have in their whole life.)
For Ina Garten's Ricotta Orange Pound Cake...or maybe that's Giada's recipe?
I found chocolate frosting...left over from Patrick's Heart Day cake.
I found a whole tray of Lonna's insane pumpkin bars only partially eaten.

We are human after all -- our stomachs are finite.

What's a mom to do?

I lingered over the ingredients but knew they needed to go.

She's not going to be back until Thanksgiving...and by then it will just be gross.
Better to dive in right now, peel off the band-aid and face the truth.
She's gone -- for awhile.

Four plates at our table, not five.
No more blaring country music when I start my car.
No more moments of friction for dirty dishes, underwear lounging in places it shouldn't or endless TV marathons.

Dang it.

I know.  I know.
It's what you want and hope and pray for.
This is a very good problem to have.
She's happy.
She's found her spot.

It's just that I'm not in it.

My girlie and I go round and round.
Ours is not the companionable, mellow, obedient, docile relationship that some mothers and daughters seem (from the outside) to have.
Mary Kate and I have contentious, fractious moments.
But she trusts me with her confidences.
She shares herself.
She makes room for me...and if that isn't the biggest gift ever for a mom,
well then I can't think what it could be.

We just want a tiny, little bit of room.
A text.
A funny phone call.
A silly facebook inbox.
A tweet.
A shout out.
An Instagram shot, tagged with a hilarious hashtag.
Any tiny morsel.

Cause you know why?
You've got the whole kit and caboodle from us over here.
You have our whole heart.
Our full attention.
Our breath inhales and exhales with thoughts of you.
All the time.
Even when you think we aren't looking...
we are.

So baby girl, while I know you are flying high.
Send a feather or two to your ground crew.
We already miss you and it's been two days.

Dang it.

Be careful.
Be safe.
Be noble.
Be great.
Be smart.
Be funny -- that's a for sure.
Be honest.
Be gentle -- to others AND yourself.

But don't forget to just be.

Just sit in that wonderful quiet and know yourself.

You're pretty great.

Go show the world.

Your fan club awaits.

Needing More Hellos

"Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together?  I guess that wouldn't work.  Someone would leave.  Someone always leaves.  Then we would have to say good-bye.  I hate good-byes.  I know what I need.  I need more hellos."  ~Charles M. Schulz



It's been almost two weeks since I had to kiss my firstborn good-bye. Two weeks.  That's not that much time at all and yet every time I see him on Skype, hear his voice or read his words I know it might as well be a decade.  Already so much has changed for him...navigating the world -- yes that big wide world -- pretty much on his own with three stumbling and bumbling room-mates for companionship.  He seems older already.  He seems more worldly and yes, more moments have happened in these two weeks where his eyes have been opened.  I love it and I hate it in pretty equal doses.  I'm so thrilled for him to be on this adventure and so sad for me that our adventure with him in our daily life has ended.  


He's fine.  No, actually, he's pretty great.  He likes his room-mates, he has averted disaster and he's found his way to class and to food and to friends all relatively easily.  Heck he's even done his laundry!  


I can't help but reflect on my own going away moments.  I really don't remember being fearful at all -- although I'm sure I must have been nervous.  I just remember the adrenalin.  I remember being excited and ready and so curious about all of the new places and new people and new things I was seeing and learning.  I was thrilled and hopeful.  I knew I could do it and I wanted to go for it.  I couldn't get over the people...so very different and yet so very much the same.


I remember the kindness of strangers: that first day on my bike searching for my Classics class when out of nowhere a fellow biker pointed out the correct building I couldn't figure out from my map.  I remember the professors who told good stories and recited lines of poetry from their passionate hearts.  I remember feeling super cool hanging out in the Coffeehouse after class with my 75 cent bagel and cream cheese. I remember the parties and the craziness and the FUN!  Mostly, I remember the new friends who made me laugh and think and wonder about things I'd never thought about before. 


So...when I wish for more hellos from my big guy, I just remember how many, many, many hellos he is getting everyday. It's tantalizing to think about all of the paths he is crossing and all of the experiences he is having each new day of his adventure.  


And, it makes me want to have more hellos too.  I look a little longer for those confused faces trying to figure out a new school, a new team or a new town.  I find myself reaching out...pointing out a building, a person who knows the answer or a website that might help.  


A few years ago during the summer I had an itch to go to the beach.  My baby was weeks old but that didn't stop me; the beach was calling our name.  It was a little reckless but I packed up a picnic, good sunscreen and lots of sand toys and we started our adventure.  Two freeway exits down the road I got a flat tire.  I was close enough to home that I didn't freak out but it was a very vivid, deep feeling of vulnerability and suddenly I felt like a jerk on the open road with three kids and a tiny baby. What was I thinking? 


Two young hispanic guys stopped their car in front of ours.  I told the kids to be silent and I opened my window.  One of them offered: "I'm a mechanic, I know how to change a tire.  I'd like to help you change yours."


I was shocked and thrilled and very emotional.  He changed my tire like the expert he was and I sat in awe at a skill I needed to have.  Within  ten minutes we were ready to go.  I searched through my purse and tried to pay him.  He shyly smiled.  He refused and said: "I just got married a few weeks ago.  I would hate to have my wife out on a freeway like this and I would hope someone would help her the way I am helping you. "  That sacred moment of silent connection between us was all we needed:  I thanked him, and vowed to pay it forward.  He just smiled.


Often I think of that good deed...that kindness because he could see his wife in me.  Without effort, I can see Jack in all of the college kids around my town and I begin my hellos.  I can see myself in the new teacher and it dawns on me that that's the secret.  Seeing ourself in others gives us the willingness to say hello, to reach out and break down barriers.  Knowing it could be you gives you the grace to be patient, forgiving, understanding and most of all kind.  You're a little more tender and a little less ready to pounce.


So...deep breath...it's time for fewer good-byes and more hellos.


Hello world -- you're pretty beautiful.