Graduation

Photo courtesy of Kidlet

Her face was beaming as she grinned up at us from her second row pew. Her dad and foster dog guide Cadet sat behind my hubby and I, all of us perched up in the balcony with a bird's eye view of the graduation ceremony below.

A vintage home movie scrolled through my mind: flashes of Kidlet's first day on the ice in her hockey gear; dropping her off at nursery school and helping her find the cubby with her name taped above it; visions of a five-year old Kidlet in her rubber boots digging for earth worms; images of her belting out Seasons of Love at her grade eight grad... and a blurry mashup of scenes from our life.

Her childhood flashed before me in what seemed like moments. And today her dads and I came together, like so many times before, to witness her achievement of yet another milestone in her life and celebrate the woman she is becoming.

How is it then that the face gleaming up at us was that of my five-year old, innocent, fresh faced Kidlet?

The Chancellor's speech was riddled with advice for the new grads -- the best of which was "do something!" So Kidlet, I've had twenty-two years to dispense my advice, so no further required. You get it and have everything you need within yourself to create the life you want. And you have the love and support of your parents and sisters as well as your big, extended tribe. You once told me, as I tucked you into your bed, that you were happy you "picked" me. Well Kidlet, I'm glad you picked me too! It's a privilege to be your mother.

Kidlet's post-grad Facebook post:

I have to thank my mom for putting up with me for the last 4 years. She edited every single paper I have submitted ‪#‎truth‬. Sometimes at 11:45 pm when it was due at midnight. I appreciate all her time and energy and support. Love you mum.

Today is just one of those days in which I am reminded of the riches in my life; in which my heart is filled with pride and gratitude for the three precious treasures I have been blessed with. Life is indeed good.

Labels Equal Limitation

Labels - we seem to need them; labels that categorize and subsequently prescribe response. We need to know if it is a boy or a girl so we can plan. Plan for what -- pink or blue? Ballet or hockey? Playhouse or racing track?

Do we realize the limitations we place on our kids when we genderize them? It's shocking to me how many people are completely unaware that they do this - or how many don't really believe there is such a thing as genderizing. Do we really think little girls are born with a penchant for pink or that little boys have a love of trucks in their blood? Really?

Once, a long, long, time ago, I was a little girl. I was born free to be --- whatever I wanted to be. My parents didn't have the means or inclination to decorate a nursery so I was spared the frills indoctrination. I had a mother who had been athletic, strong and who loved adventure and my dad was the same, so it was natural for them to leave my sibs and I enough breathing room to decide for ourselves what we liked and what we were interested in. 

As a young child I had little to no interest in dolls, frills, pink or my mother's high heels. I did enjoy dressing up and playing Ivanhoe (mixing bowl on my head and all), had a fascination with pocket knives I couldn't manage to open, loved the sandbox and my friend's Tonka grader and when I got older, I loved building forts. Huck Finn was my role model and later on, Anne of Green Gables with her daydreaming, dramatic ways. And the best times of all spent with my sibs were pooling our imagination and talent (imagined and otherwise) and putting on shows. Throughout my childhood, I can't recall hearing my parents dragging gender into the division of chores or leisure. There weren't girl jobs and boy jobs -- just jobs that needed to be done. We fished with our dad, piled wood, played outside and shared our toys - whatever they were. My brother enjoyed our play kitchen and we all enjoyed his hot wheels (the tracks from which substituted as swords from time to time).

How different life would have been for us if we had been raised under an umbrella of presumption of what constituted femininity/masculinity - if
my mom had insisted that I wear a dress instead of a suit and tie for my band performances; if my sister hadn't been encouraged to play boy's baseball when there wasn't a girls team for her to play on; if my brother had been forced to play hockey when what he really loved was playing in the school band.

According to Merriam-Webster online dictionary:

fem·i·nin·i·ty: the quality or nature of the female sex

Why impose what those "feminine" qualities are? I can tell you that I never felt more feminine than when I was exerting my leadership and running for student council, or in later years, asking for a raise, or caring for sick child or parent. My notion of femininity had little to do with the height of my heels, how well I accessorized or how attractive I appeared.

Simply put -- had we been born to parents with rigid, preconceived notions of gender, we wouldn't have been free to express all that we were and grow to be the people we are today. My parents created a safe space for us to experiment, explore and express ourselves and  helped us feel that we were just fine the way, and who, we were. No labels required.

First Contact

FINALLY -- first contact. I hadn't spoken to Kidlet at all since we were pushed out the door left her happily unpacking and settling into her dorm room. It felt unnatural. Hubby and I were cloistered up at our cottage enjoying the coziness and monotony of the six day long drizzle and chill with no land line. I  exchanged Facebook quips and a few emails with Kidlet -- mostly me whining about how much I missed her -- but I hadn't heard her voice. I just got back last night at midnight from a business trip and all I could think about was talking to her and hearing about her first impressions and her first week on campus.

"Hi Mom!" She actually sounded genuinely happy to hear my voice.
"Kidlet! How ARE you?" my enthusiasm blurting through the lines.

And for the next fifteen minutes I got the answer. She talked excitedly, rapidly, trying to squeeze as many words per second as possible into the call. She has made cool friends; she likes everyone in her dorm; she misses her sweetheart I sensed a gulp and a tear here; she loves her classes imitated the guttural noises she is supposed to practice for her German classes; she only got lost once; the food is delicious and HER ROOM IS CLEAN that may be subject to inspection. Will miracles never cease???

I felt a pang ... homesickness, excitement, and pride all rolled into one fat lump in my throat. As the pace of the conversation quickened I realized she was expected somewhere and had to wind down the call. We said our goodbyes hastily however I sensed our mutual satisfaction with our exchange. My Kidlet sounded more mature and a new confidence strengthened her voice.

It may be time for Kidlet to give way to Womlet.  We'll see... All I know is that tonight I am going to sleep a little sounder. Nite Kidlet - sweet dreams.

Moving Day

The day arrived. Moving day. For weeks Kidlet had been collecting, organizing and stashing the things she would need for her dorm room on my dining room table. And for weeks I had been complaining about the excess and mess – which probably had more to do with watching the evidence of her departure growing daily, deepening my sense of panic and reminding me that the move was imminent.
Kidlet is the last of my girls to leave home and as a mama, it is a mixed salad of emotions. Bitter greens, juicy, sweet tomatoes, and crunchy lettuce – sadness knowing a chapter of mothering is closing; happiness seeing the strong, intelligent woman Kidlet has become and excitement watching her pursue her dreams and for what is to come.

The family gave her a send off the night before – grandparents, parents, and sisters and Fritz. We celebrated Doris’ 93rd birthday too and it helped take the edge off. Then again nothing takes the edge off like cake and ice-cream (and a droplet or two of wine). This marked round one of the goodbyes.

The tribe rallied and with the help of her two dads and sister, we got the truck packed up with a fridge, food, clothes that could outfit a village and enough personal hygiene products to last her through her degree.

The second round of goodbyes was fulfilled with her sister and Fritz and me (although I was following the caravan to the university). Watching her pull away from our home, I knew that “that” girl would never return but that next time she was home, a matured, confident young woman will have taken her place.

Kidlet, her dad, hubby, Kidlet’s sweetheart and I converged on the campus and after a 2.5 hour wait, got her stuff up to her dorm room. Thankfully for any other poor suckers were spared sharing with her she has her own private room – small as it is. I could see the panic washing across her face ... where to put everything? Where to start? Where’s the ladies room, the common room, the bookstore? I made up her bed one last time, hubby put together what needed putting together, her boyfriend helped her unpack her dad stood nervously by in the hallway. Tension and excitement duelled for supremacy and Kidlet called it a draw by releasing us – assuring us that she would be okay after she sorted out her stuff. Dispensing us a few quick hugs and hurried goodbyes as she shooed us down the hallway mitigated any potential drama or emotional hallway farewells. We left her standing in her cluttered, chaotic room with her boyfriend what were we thinking and walked to the parking lot, almost shell shocked at the brisk ending to the chapter. We bid her dad goodbye and I gave his arm a quick squeeze “this is the last one J”, and he smiled as he climbed into his truck.

I was a little quiet as we drove away from her and towards our vacation at the cottage. The emotions were swirling and I was fighting the reflective reflex. No tears – only pride. And as we hit the highway north, and drove into foul ugly weather, hubby pulled me out ... “look ahead”.

A reminder of good things to come.

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Help - Not Wanted

It's a strange sensation to be forced into retirement when you aren't ready. And I am not talking about work.

Kidlet doesn't need me anymore ... I know she loves me and still needs me to love her back and for incidentals, but she doesn't need me for the big things anymore. And she doesn't want to need me. I was going to say she doesn't need me like she used to ... and then it dawned on me that she hasn't ever been a child who has sought me out.

She was the 18 month old at Moms and tots swimming, struggling to get out my arms, wanting to swim alone. I had to let her sink like a stone to prove that she needed me couldn't swim. She was the the two and half year old who waved hello when I went to pick her up a nursery school, and then turned back to her activities. On one hand I was in awe of her independence and confidence - and on the other - I secretly wished that just once she would hesitate when I dropped her off at school, and display just a hint of clinginess.

When she was three I took her to parent and tot skating with the thought that we would have some quality time together. Wrong. She pushed me away and made off like a wobbly Bambi on her ankles skates to make a friend. I on the other hand used the hour to buff up on my skating and got better than Bambi.

In her lifetime with me she hasn't been one to need me -- that is, until she got sick. Thankfully she was prone to ear infections and to my delight, she would call my name out in the night, arms outstretched, and no one could console her except me. To this day she still seeks out the comfort of my mom hugs when she is sick or not feeling well. But tonight she balked when I insisted on going to her medical appointment with her (just to hang in the waiting room). She insisted that she didn't need me to go -- but she didn't realize I did.

So now my little five foot nine Kidlet is throwing me into semi retirement. She wants to leave the nest --no nudging by mama bird required. She has been counting down the days to freedom as have I (for other reasons). Kidlet may not need me anymore but I can't help feeling that it is somehow easier for her to leave knowing that she has parents who are here, arms eternally outstretched, ready to receive should she want a hug ...

I know she is prepared for the changes before her ... just not sure I am.

How Does My Garden Grow?

How does my garden grow? A valid question considering I have not had trowel or shovel in hand since the end of April when we first did our post winter once over on the beds. No excuses …life has been busy and like a miser, hours have been hoarded and conserved for the playbook of tasks that comprises our life these days.

I’ve been self centered of late, totally immersed in the pursuit of my own stuff, and you know what? It feels unnatural and a little odd. Odd - but necessary for now.

As I stood at my kitchen sink, coffee cup in hand, gazing across our pool to the garden (that sounded pretentious!) it struck me how lush and full the garden looked. There were parties of pink annuals that had resurrected themselves and the towering gangs of daisies seemed ready to take the stage. While I had had my head down (gazing at my navel), the perennials had blossomed with wild abandon under my gross neglect. They thrived.

It made me wonder if that same outcome could be applied to parenting. We tend to convince ourselves that they need our undying support and nurturing to help shape, protect and guide them. They need us … they really do. The day comes when they slip from our gaze, lingering only in our peripheral vision, and for one reason or another, life gets in the way or delivers a reason for us to loosen the grip. Our needy little chickadees find themselves alone in the nest, left to their own devices. They test their courage; they fend for themselves. They learn to use the toaster oven or the concept of a vegetable peeler. They experiment with the advice that has been so generously bestowed upon them … choosing to ignore as much as adhere.

And you know what? One day you stand at the sink, coffee cup in hand, gazing out the window at your not-so-little child, and it hits you. While your head has been turned she has blossomed into a strong, vibrant, woman full of wild abandon and possibility. She thrives.

How does my garden grow? I really have no idea, but it is nothing short of miraculous.

Chapters

In a few weeks my youngest will have high school behind her. That will be it. My career as school mom will be history. Never again will I

• fret over last minute forms that need to be signed when I can't find a pen that works;
• have a 10 pm run to buy cupcakes to be transferred into Tupperware for the homemade effect;
• buy more copies of the school picture than we have relatives;
• sit in the stands for her basketball or softball game; and
• lovingly don face mask and gloves to root through her backpack for rotting food and paperwork that needs signing.

Kidlet has grown up on me - probably while I was looking for a pen, quicker than I wanted. I know she will still need me, and that my job as mama will never be over as long as I have daughters. But there's no denying that a chapter is coming to a close. And being an avid reader, I look forward to savouring the next one, and the one after that.

Shocked and Crusty

Slightly shocked and kinda crusty .... that's me when it comes to the seemingly common sexualization of girls. Everywhere I look I am bombarded by images of young girls undressed in provocative adult clothing. When did the training bra get swapped out for "lingerie"? When did it become a badge of honour to proudly display our undergarments? And when did cleavage (and the ultimate push up bras it takes to create it) become a standard accessory? I get a knot in my stomach when I see mini-me stores like LaSenza Girl flogging sexy, scant clothing in cute little girl's sizes, perfect for clubbing. It's just wrong.

I like to think I am forward thinking, easy going and open minded but I hit a wall on the issue of teens dressing and acting  provocatively and overtly sexual. I think we have a generation being robbed of girlhood. What's the big rush? Having an eighteen year old in the house, I watch my share of MTV and other teen oriented shows like Gossip Girl and 90210, and I cringe at the sight of teens being portrayed as full on adults, in adult living situations. Kidlet still likes to watch Hannah Montana from time to time, but after seeing the newest Miley Cyrus video on YouTube, I couldn't help but wonder, 1) where are her parents?, and 2) what's the rush? She has her whole life to explore and express her sexuality, but for now she is just seventeen! I sound like a broken record these days as I overuse the phrase, "age appropriate". All things in their time.

When I was raising my girls I tried to give them enough latitude to express and be themselves, even if it meant fuchsia or blue hair, or a few random piercings. But we had boundaries. Basically they couldn't dress provocatively or in a way that would make them appear older than their years. But a trip to the mall or the nearest high school confirms it - we aren't in Kansas anymore. "Cover those babies up before you get a cold",  I don't scream. "Those stilettos are enslaving you, never mind that you are killing your back", I think but don't say. And of course, "your beauty does not reside in your boobs".

 So I guess it's official; I am getting old and crusty and am maybe slightly shocked. Just a little....

Motherhood Gifts

You taught me things about myself I had never known. You introduced me to love that was absolute, unconditional and infinite.

You held the strings to my heart; when I first laid eyes on you, my thought was you could really hurt me.

I learned to give - completely, unhestitantly, willingly - and how to live for someone other than myself.

You are my most important accomplishment and the source of my greatest joys, happiest memories, and hopes for the future.

Motherhood, you  have bestowed upon me the greatest gifts in the world - my three precious treasures. And so on this Mother's Day, I am so very grateful for the privilege of being a mom.

You may be interested in other Mother's Day posts:

Mum's Day
Mother's Day Blessings
Mothers in My Life

They Hear

We watch with keen but with seemingly casual eyes. We watch for shifts in normal - signs of stress, sadness, fear or any hint of darkness. We are their protectors.

We witness the struggles and emotional moguls as they navigate the tumultuous years of teenage hood. And when we can't be a party to certain collision or implosion, we advise -- ever so gently. Its risky business, this advising thing ... for at best you can hope for responses that range from rolling of the eyes, looks that scream "you're an idiot", two syllable versions of three syllable words (what-ev), shrugging of shoulders as the fingers fly across the minuscule keyboard, to stomping off to the anti-parent chamber - AKA their room. Total disengagement. Not to fret - it's really not personal.

We have lived and already traversed the rocky terrain that they must travel. We have much to offer - but our well intended wisps of wisdom seem to dissipate the moment they are spoken ...never quite making it to the ears of our beloved teen. But we don't give up when maybe we should at least ease up. We carry on one-way conversation ad nauseam hoping that despite the absence of any form of comprehension  or acknowledgement, our words can offer guidance and perspective that could prevent, comfort or save them. And we have to ask . ..are we trying to save them or us from pain? We are their nurturers. But maybe we talk too much.

And then the day comes, if you are really lucky,  where you overhear them with a friend, chatting, exchanging rants, and  you hear your words (albeit cloaked in teenspeak) offered up as advice or as options. Or you see snippets jotted in birthday cards. Fragments of thought and conversations that have somehow magically penetrated the anti-parent shield like a SCUD missile.

I have learned that despite the lack of confirmation of receipt or seeing any obvious signs of active listening, they do hear. And I suppose as parents we have to choose wisely when to launch those advice/opinion packed war heads. Because in all likelihood most will be intercepted and discarded; but those that do hit their mark better carry important intelligence.

Defiant

"SIT." Fritz the surly Schnauzer turns head calmly away, clearly unfazed.

"Stay. SIT." Kidlet commands  urges -  almost as loudly as the furball's barks - in her mock authoratative voice. Fritz bolts back to the door to resume barking at the imaginary intruder. The sound is shrill and deafening. That dog occupies an octave all his own. Kidlet and I protest in chorus - two part harmony, and Kidlet stomps to the front door, growling under her breath.

She confronts the little furball head on, finger wagging. "NO Fritz. STOP you little $^$#. Mommy, stop laughing." Mommy (me) tries to suppress smile. Kidlet drags our little furball back into the family room and props him up onto the  couch to meet the little beast eye to eye.

"Don't laugh Mommy. This is serious." She resumes her impassioned lecture to the disrespectful furry subject. Fritz looks off givng Kidlet the invisible treatment. Where is the Dog Whisperer when you need him most? Kidlet clearly thinks she is making headway. Fritz sits up in perfect posture as he waits patiently for her to finish her lecture on the subsequent consequences of his continued barking. Before she finished with a commanding, "OK - go now" he was already bolting back to the door.

"He is the most defiant dog I have ever seen!" she utters in disgust.

I smile to myself ... remembering a day many years ago, when that script played out pretty much word for word ... when Kidlet was about two, and we didn't have a dog.

Headstrong and defiant. Kids and dogs.

She's Not Going Nowhere

That's what Kidlet texted me ..."well I'm not going nowhere".

She got her first university acceptance letter and it seemed to come as a huge relief. She has been harbouring a fear of being the only one in her class not to get accepted anywhere ... although there really is no chance of that. Kidlet has been deeply involved in her high school and community and in spite of being on the ice with her hockey 4-5 nights a week/8 months a year - for the past 10 years, she has managed an A average.

This is a nerve wracking time for the high school college hopefuls. They are perched precariously on the cusp of dreams facing infinite possibility. As parents, we have reserved front row seats from which to watch them take flight.

So these are exciting times around our house. Kidlet and I have lots to look forward to in the next six months... graduation, Kenya, university. And over in the corner there stands the double edged sword - holding close and letting soar. God I am going to miss her. But I know I will enjoy the technicolour show that is Kidlet - unplugged and unleashed.

You've Grown Up on Me

Kidlet broke her promise. When she was at the height of cuteness and cuddliness laying in my lap, I made her promise to not grow up. She promised - but it was one she couldn’t keep. She grew higher than any woman in our family; grew through the eye infections and braces; sung, skated and competed through her girlhood, developing her physical strength and uncovering her strength within.

She embraced opportunities to travel and learn what the world had to teach. She had her mind and heart opened to new possibilities. She experienced outrage at injustice. When she was a child, I had a hard time trying to explain to her what an Indian Reservation was. She immediately wanted to write to the Prime Minister to let him know what was going on. I had to look into those chocolate pudding eyes and explain that the poor treatment of our First Nations peoples had been going on for a very long time and that assuredly, the Prime Minister was well aware of the situation.

Kidlet has never been “easy”. She was the kid at Moms and Tots swimming class squirming to get out of my arms to go it alone. I let her once and she sunk like a stone. She hung on a little longer after that. When we went to Parent and Kid skating, the minute she hit the ice she took off in search of a friend leaving me to skate laps on my own. I got to be a very good skater. She was not the child who came running with open arms when I went to pick her up after work. She would want to finish what she was involved in … secretly I used to wish that just once she would hesitate before letting go of my hand … cling for just a second.

But that is not Kidlet. She is a force unto herself; a whirling dervish of emotion, opinions and passion, boldly tromping wherever she pleases, blissfully unaware of barriers - with the expanse of her life in front of her.

And today, on her eighteen birthday I can see the little girl who still loves a hug and snuggle, who still needs an encouraging word from her parents. I see a young woman navigating the tricky path between childhood and adulthood, facing grown up choices, striving so hard to make her family proud. I see a young woman who is self reliant, capable and discovering her own power – the power to be just about anything and anybody she wants to.

Happy birthday Kidlet. You’ve grown up on me …

In Her Shoes

She came home flushed with excitement - eyes on high beam, her treasures in tow. She had bought a new dress for her very first semi formal school dance ... and new shoes. Coat barely off, she tore into her parcels explaining as she went how she landed great deals on her purchases. She was just about as excited as I'd seen her be about anything ...

She disappeared into the bathroom, and made like Clark Kent. She went into the bathroom a school girl and emerged a sophisticate. I was momentarily shocked at the vision standing before me ...  her tousled hair, five foot ten lanky frame - wearing an above-the-knee strapless black satin dress with an ivory sash. My eyes lowered to her shoes ... her 4 inch  peeptoe heels. I couldn't hide my shock surprise. The mama bear voice was speaking before I could process and edit ... something about the shoes not being age appropriate ... I think I went as far to say they looked like hooker shoes. [Bad Mama Bear - shut up!] Her face fell. I regretted the words the minute they left my mouth. Darn! She left abruptly ... and the joy vacated with her.

I sat there in stunned silence to figure out just what my problem was ...

She isn't my little cherub faced, tom boy Kidlet any more. She is a young woman - and the shoes proved it to me. I've been in a bit of a state of denial lately ... and I only know this because of the sporadic reveals -- you know -- those momentary glimpses of perspective or objectivity that provide clarity. It's cliche to say, but it seems that Kidlet morphed into a young woman overnight.

I rummaged through my hope chest and found them -- her size 2 pink and purple canvas high top sneakers. When I hold them in my hands it triggers a memory reel of Kidlet, cap turned backwards,  running like the wind - usually away from me! Was it so long ago? It is time to let go and let be.

I'm happy to report that I pulled it together, packed my pride, gathered up my humility and made peace with Kidlet. I apologised. I told her how beautiful she looked in her outfit and that I regretted more than I can say taking the wind from her sails and hurting her feelings. I tried to explain that I sometimes forget that she is no longer a little girl ... but rather a young woman, about to turn eighteen - in grown up shoes. I need gentle reminding.

The high tops are stashed back in their special place along with the childhood version of Kidlet. I am reminded that as a parent, there is still so much to learn. And I am trying to learn from my missteps ... and to put myself in her shoes ... but I think I would topple over. 

I love you Kidlet. Rock them shoes!

Forks in the Road

It's bringing back memories ... Kidlet and I sat perched in front of her computer filling out her application to university. Selections! What university? What program? What major?  So many decisions to make for what must seem like monumental, permanent choices to her. In reality, she is choosing her start and from there she will discover her passion and true intention.

I can remember that time in my life when infinite possibility stretched out before me, and the choices seemed limitless. I obsessed over the many options, picturing myself in various roles. My application reflected my diverse interests and desire to be everything. I applied to be a journalist, nurse, photographer, social worker, lab technician (what was I thinking???), and to a radio and tv arts program, which is where I ended up. I packed up my optimism and hopes for my future,  left the security of a loving family and small town and headed off to school in the big city. I couldn't wait to get started on my grown up life.

Now I watch my daughter - my youngest babe - at those same crossroads. She seems to be mildly excited and it was only after her marks from the past year popped up on the application that the reality of it all seemed to hit home. "They know my name and my marks". The wheels are in motion now for an exciting adventure ... getting decent grades; waiting to hear if and where she is accepted and then more decisions.

The reality of it all is starting to hit home for me too. When my middle daughter moved out to go to university it left a little hollow in the house and in my heart. I knew she would never live at home the same way again. My baby had left the nest. But I had two others left at home whose chatter, laughter and comings and goings filled the house and helped kill the silence. This time it won't be as easy. Kidlet is the last. The bedrooms will be empty and much cleaner; there will be no stream of teens through the house, no pile of shoes at the door, and no impish face to kiss goodnight. Fritz will have to do and hubby will have to prepare to have his ear talked off. Me? I will have to adjust.

Kidlet is at a fork in the road and I suppose I am too. And that is what makes life so envigorating and exciting, and that is my take away from today!

Growing Up and Away

I am stashed away in my bedroom, computer open in my lap, Fritz sprawled across my legs. Kidlet is downstairs in front of a roaring fire with her boyfriend. Yup -- she has a real life boyfriend now. Her very first - the official memo that my baby is growing up.

Time is forever serving up new changes and evolutions. I can feel the cosmic shift and soon my universe will look quite different. In the next nine months I could very well become an empty nester - just hubby and the dog and I. The house will be quiet and cleaner! No more aromatic hockey bag lodged in the front foyer. We'll only need three litres of milk instead of nine every week. I'll probably only have to do 2 loads of laundry and a jar of peanut butter will last for months -- not to mention the ice cream! Kidlet's bedroom floor will reappear and there won't be any wet towels slung over the bannister to dry.

But for now, I still have my little girl here, at home .... in front of fire with her boyfriend. Time to unleash Fritz the yappy schnauzer for a recon mission.

Passing on Through

Maybe it's recent birthdays of my two older daughters; maybe it was reading this quote from The Prophet that I posted on my other blog, Soul Snax. Whatever the reason, I've been reflecting on my daughters, how I raised them, the kind of parent I was... and what it meant to be a mother to them.

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters
of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may house their bodies but not their souls ...

From the first  moments I was pregnant I had the acute sense that the life growing inside me was "on loan" -- not mine to own. I cherished the months I had my unborn baby to myself, knowing that in due time that baby would be shared with all who loved her. My babies were born, each with their own unique personalities  and I was surprised by this. I had the notion that babies were born blank slates, and that we as parents would be the influence in shaping them. That was only partially true. In some ways I felt that my babies were born intact with special aspects of them already seeded. My role was to nurture that which had already been delivered, to allow and cultivate them to grow into themselves.

They come through you but not from you

This is especially poignant. It is a good reminder that we are not parents to impose our own will, personalities and opinions on our children, but to help them develop free thought, perspective, evaluation and problem solving skills. (Easier said than done, for certain.) It is our job to love them and teach them about love and kindess ... and how to survive and thrive.

It's true ... they are merely passing through us on their life's journey. Just stopping in long enough to nourish and equip themselves before embarking on their own adventure.

And if we have played our part well, and loved them with every part of our being, then maybe, just maybe they will make home a frequent stopover on their life's travels.

They come through us - and back to us. But first we have to let them go ...

My Gift is You

you came to me when I was

very young

you changed me -

taught me things about myself

I never knew

you introduced me to

unconditional, infinite love

and I knew

we would be

forever connected.

I was  happy

you were born a girl

I wanted - with you

what I had

with my mother

thank you for

choosing me

from all the universe

to be

your mom

you are my

precious treasure

and on this day

I accept only the greatest good

for you

happy birthday cookie

Post Notes

The weekend seemed to fly by as so often is the case. I had homework which I just completed ... I think I was channeling Kidlet. All of last week she was withdrawn, intensely struggling, juggling the myriad of responsibilities and activities she has taken on. And she insisted on going it alone. My words were of little comfort; my offers of help shunned. Shut out. That's what I was.

On Saturday when we talked the relief in her voice was evident. She had taken matters into her own hands and sought help. She now has a plan, the resources and the desire to work it. She has alot riding on this final year of school and we both know it.

She needs no reminders and apparently not my help. As she so earnestly told me, she had to solve it on her own. And she did.

But I am not wandering far, and I'm still here should she ever need me ...

Yes they could. Wish they would. And they will...

Question: Couldn't they be more tidy, helpful, organized, energetic, communicative, affectionate, sensitive, thoughtful, respectful, generous??

Answer: Yes they could. I wish they would. And they will ... someday.

I am talking about teenagers. Oh sure, we all think our little, sweet faced, cherub-cheeked child will be the one who escapes the dark side of puberty ... who doesn't morph into the body of attitude that seems in many cases to accompany the foray into adulthood. But you will probably not dodge this bullet ... unless of course your spawn is not of this earth. : )

[Gross generalization alert]

You too will awake one morning to a mumbled response to your cheery "good morning". You too may be the object of impassioned pleas of why they have to go there and need that and stay out that long, with those friends. You too may lose sight of your child, lost in a three foot high clothing collection consisting of pretty much everything they have worn, tried on, that has arrived as nice piles of clean clothes, and those that have been salvaged from random backpacks and sports bags. You too may suddenly find yourself behind enemy lines (how did I get here??) ... fighting for the other side - or rather, be told that you are. You may also find yourself the subject of excruciating scrutiny and the extensive inventory of your misdeeds and shortcomings - the source of all your teen's angst and problems. You will be challenged at every turn ... even at the most innocent of suggestions or even compliments ....

"I think you played really well in that game."
"No I didn't. You don't know ... you're my mom."

"Honey, make sure you get lots of sleep -- you have a big day tomorrow".
"Ya Mom. I know that. I'm the one living it."

Parents be forewarned. It happens suddenly, quickly, without warning. One day they wake up, and you find you have been toppled from your pedestal; no longer the answer to all of their questions; no longer the centre of their universe; nor the source of everything they need, unless it's lunch money.

But it's not all gloom and doom. This state of change and strange is temporary, and necessary for both. Teenager needs the space to assert their new found, greatly desired independence. Parents need to see some ugly to help us loosen our grip and let go -- just a little.

When I wonder what to insist upon, what rule to enforce, how much and how far to push, I think back to my own teen years ... I hear my mom telling us to keep our bedrooms doors closed. I recall her telling me as a parent to pick my battles and not to sweat the small stuff (the stuff that isn't risky, unhealthy, dangerous or illegal).

These teen creatures who we love so dearly are a work in progress and one day, just as quickly as they left, they will come back to us. And they will ... someday.