STEP-mom

I read this in an article on CNN while recently reading up on how to deal with teenagers - despite the fact that I was a difficult one - I am somewhat clueless in how to deal with our own.  The article talked about the pitfalls of step-parenting and I thought the first two paragraphs were right on the money, so I thought I would share them.  

"As far as hard jobs go, it's up there with air-traffic controller and crane operator. Stepmothers preside over a minefield of hidden hurts, half-concealed traditions and occasional tugs-of-war. Want the job?

It's been said that parenting is the toughest job in the world. Wrong. It's the second toughest: Stepparenting wins hands down. Right now, approximately half of all Americans live in a stepfamily, which means that every day, millions of women are subject to the taunt -- sometimes mournful, often angry --"You're not my mother!" (R.Rogers, Things A Step Mother Should Never Say, 2008).

I have been very blessed with the three girls that came into my life when I met their father.  I have been lucky enough to never have been on the receiving end of the dreaded "you're not my mother" statement.  I'm sure like all children and parents there is a certain amount of resentment and frustration that they feel with me and for me, especially when I am pointing out the fact that it is Sunday at 8:00p.m. and their homework, which they have had for the entire weekend, is still not done.  

Blending a family, I have discovered, is not to dissimilar from brain surgery.  You have to prepare, you have to know there will be things you didn't plan on or account for.  You have to be able to think on your toes and you have to be surrounded by people who will help.  You also have to realize that the slightest zig, when you should have zagged can be fatal.

When my husband and I decided we were going to blend our families and try to make things work we were very nervous.  We didn't know how the kids would react to each other, to each of us, and we didn't want to add to the stress and strain they already felt trying to navigate between two households, with two different sets of rules.  Early on my husband and I both decided that we would not let the kids from our respective previous marriages call us "mom" or "dad".  Both my son and his daughters had a "mother" and a "father".  Neither had died and both were still very involved in the kids lives.  Out of respect for their parents and for the children we instead opted to being referred to as a "parent" and letting the kids call us by our first names.

To some who are divorced, or not divorced, it may seem odd to be a parent, to be acting as the parental unit in charge of the well being of this gaggle of kids, and yet not want to be referred to such terms of position and endearment as "Mom" or "Dad".  Yet, I have found this has made the transition to our blended world easier.  It has helped keep the children from feeling as if one might replace the other.  And it has helped us have good conversations about their "parents".

I guess in the end my point is if you are a "STEP-parent" it doesn't mean you are any less of a parent, but your position in that child's life may take time to reveal itself.  You cannot force children to love or trust you.  You cannot demand they love you the way they love their parents.  Divorce is hardest on kids.  And although what a child calls their Father, or Mother's, new partner may seem trivial, it isn't.  Some can make it work, but many struggle.  It is a selfish and a huge mistake to let your children use titles like "Mom and Dad" in relationship to any step-parent if it in any way makes them uncomfortable or uneasy.  It is confusing to them at best, even if they are older children.  To be a good parent, Step or otherwise, means putting your children's needs first.  It is in this way, small though it may seem, that I am very much like my parents.

Table It

Fall is always a busy time in our house. Between birthdays, holidays, school activities and more birthdays its a miracle I can get everyone fed and off to the next activity, let alone carve out time to sit down around the table and enjoy our meals together as a family.  Amazingly meals are the one thing the kids seem to make sure we have time for.  Everything about mealtime is like watching a well choreographed dance.

I cook whatever is on the menu for the evening. Thomas and Lindsey Lou set the table. Lindsey Lou usually sets the plates and the cups. Thomas does the silverware in the most haphazard way, then Lindsey goes back around straightening it. Thomas places a napkin on each plate and then yells for Niki to come pour the milk. Once the food is ready all 4 kids run to the table, making a brief pit stop at the bathroom to wash their hands. Usually 2 out of the 4 make it and when I ask if everyone has washed their hands two answer "yes" and two generally say "oooops. Be right back". Once everyone has found their seat my husband joins us and we begin with our prayer.  We make the sign of the cross and say our table blessing - sometimes it's Catholic and sometimes it's Lutheran, either way all the children say it loud and clear.

It is what follows our prayers that has become central to our family and one of my favorite ways to spend time together. While everyone is is dishing up food and determining if they like or dislike what we are having the conversation starts. "Guess what we did at school today?" "Did you know ..." "We got to go to the ...... On our field trip today".  No matter how many times these exchanges happen I never get tired of them. After the all updates have been said the conversation usually turns to something silly. "Dad would you rather eat a pinecone or eggplant?" "Do you think Grandpa would really wear a speedo? And wouldn't that be gross?" "Did you know grandma was a hippy?, what's a hippy?"  The resulting conversation that this line of questioning usually leads to  lots of laughter.  I don't mean giggling, but snort your milk through your nose, give yourself a belly ache, doubled over in pain kind of laughter that normally ends with Thomas telling us a story about how something farted and grossed someone out. It will never cease to amaze me how many times boys can insert legitimate comments about darts into a conversation, astonishing.

Recently my mother in law came over to share an early dinner and to visit with our family.  I had made spaghetti with meatballs.  We had hit the conversation point of our dinner where the kids were talking about my Father, who walks with a cane, and how he compared to Yoda.  Apparently they think he is pretty much a master Jedi.  My husband was serving himself some spaghetti and a meatball jumped up and rolled onto the floor.  Without missing a beat the kids and I sang at the top of our lungs "ON TOP OF SPAGHETTI, ALL COVERED WITH CHEESE, I LOST MY POOR MEATBALL WHEN SOMEBODY SNEEZED (HAAAACHOOO)  IT ROLLED OF THE TABLE AND ONTO THE FLOOR ... " At this point my husband was astonished by our inability to sing in tune and the fact that we all sang the same silly song with reckless abandonment and laughter.  We continued on "...AND THEN MY POOR MEATBALL ROLLED STRAIGHT OUT THE DOOR.  IT ROLLED DOWN THE SIDEWALK AND UNDER A BUSH, AND THEN MY POOR MEATBALL WAS NOTHING BUT MUSH"

At this point my husband and mother in law were ready for the ear piercing "joyful noise" to stop; however, we finished the song and then erupted into laughter.  Then our youngest daughter said, "How do you know that song?"  I said, "oh it's been around for years" and our eldest daughter said, "Man I'm amazed they would teach kids these days something so old", to which I responded, "the classics never grow old" (insert teenage eye roll and sigh here).

Over the next week many of us will gather together to share a Thanksgiving meal.  Don't let the opportunity to make your own meatball memories pass you by.  Revel in the stories that everyone has heard one hundred thousand times, play that extra round of "chase the ace", take the time to sing the silly song that pops into your head.  Meal times around the table are the central nervous system of the family opportunities like Thanksgiving help us to strengthen the fibers that bind us to one another.  Who knew that the meatball song would be part of the soundtrack of our life for yet another generation.  

I Want To Hold Your Hand

In my youth, which seems like a lifetime ago, I used to chide my father for not being "more romantic with my mother and showing her he REALLY loved her".  I don't recall any grossly overdone flower bouquets, or chandeliers of diamonds, or seeing he and Mom jetting off to some exotic all inclusive resort by themselves (or with us for that matter).  I thought, what a dud.  Dad must have been one smooth dude when he was younger, cause all he does now is hunt, camp, fish, and help with our various school and extra curricular activities - NOT romantic at all and this is certainly not any way to show you love someone.  Shows you how vast my knowledge of romance and love was at 10 or 12 years old.

For me romance and love were interchangeable and both were like the end of the Cinderella story.  It was about the glass slipper, the royal ball, the horse drawn carriage, and my very own prince charming.  I asked my Mom once if she thought she got the short end of the stick.  She just smiled, as she always does, and started to tell me about all the ways Dad was romantic (and yes these are all G rated).  Mom told me that love is represented by the little things only your spouse knows about you that continue to keep the romance alive and prove they love you.

Your Father isn't a showy guy, and I don't need all that stuff, it's just stuff.  But I know your Father loves me because I see it there when he chooses my favorite place to eat when we go out to dinner.  It is in knowing I like to sleep in so he lets me sleep in every weekend and keeps you kids occupied until I wake up on my own.  It is in engaging in activities with you girls and making time to do things together as a family.  It is in the occasional peck on the back of the neck (ewwwww, please stop there mom before you burn my inner ears to death!).  And it is in the way your Father thanks me for every meal I puts on the table.  He always says, "Terri that was great.  You are an excellent cook!".  Honestly, not a meal Mom makes goes by without Dad saying that.  In response to my Mother's altruistic description of love and romance I rolled my eyes, sighed and thought, he has brain washed her into believing this is romance, this is love UGH.

On December 23rd 2010 I married the most remarkable man.  He is kind.  He is loving.  He is smart, ever so smart.  He is honorable.  He is courageous.  He is an amazing father.  He is a good man, one of the best, I have ever known.  Each night since that day I have had the honor of falling asleep next to him.  And every night I lay my head on his arm.  Snuggle up next to him (he is always a good source of heat and I am alway cold), and I tuck my right hand under my pillow and find his waiting for me.  Our fingers interlock together and we hold each others hand. This is how we have fallen asleep every night we've been married.  This is what I miss the most when he travels and this is just one of the many ways,  that has nothing to do with flowers, diamonds, royal balls, etc. etc, that prove his love in a very romantic way.  It is in discovering that true love and romance exist in the the most ordinary things in life that I am truly like my parents.

Strangers In The Night (And Day)

When you get married the second, third, fourth, fifth - well really any time after the first you will find yourself in the unique position of being the 2nd wife, or at least not the first.  If there are children his first wife will always be a part of your life.  Being the second wife to my husband there is part of me that wants to throw a temper tantrum when I don't get my way, and yes, you read this right  - tantrum.  A full blow on the floor, screaming, kicking, red face, fists flying tantrum.  Luckily for me, and for my husband, that side of my brain actually did grow up and it tells me to breathe, un-clench my fist, and to use my inside voice.

It is then, and only then, that I remember his ex-wife is a variable in our new life together.  She is someone whose opinion does count, she has a place in our family, and at the end of the day she may be a complete stranger.  About 3 months after my husband and I got engaged he was set to travel.  Normally we would have the kids one night a week and every other weekend.  On the occasion he travels over a weekend we would normally have his children his ex-wife has put her foot down and said "NO".   At first I was taken aback.  Am I not responsible?  She doesn't like me?  How dare she ...!  etc.  etc.  It was my own personal pity party.  Then something she said to my husband shocked me back into reality.  She said, "I am not going to leave my children with a complete stranger!"  She had other choice things to say but that is irrelevant to my point.  It was this single statement that made me realize that while I was not a stranger to the girls, not a stranger to their teachers, or many of their friends, I had never interacted or really even seen her.  She was right.  I was in fact a complete stranger.

Having been truly humbled by her statement I extended an invite to her to come see the house, meet my son, meet me, to get to know each other better.  I thought with my husband out of town this would be a perfect opportunity as they would not have to deal with the awkwardness of being face to face.  While I did not have high hopes we would become best friends, I had hoped we could become acquaintances who could talk when necessary to create stability and consistency between our two homes for the kids.  I thought this was a brilliant idea.  I was excited to be able to help build a bridge for our girls and create harmony where strife had only existed before.  After sending my husbands ex-wife a note inviting over I was certain the olive branch I extended would be accepted.  I was crushed when my offer was declined. I kept trying and keep trying.

It would be so easy to spit fire and venom.  It would be easy to make things difficult, but where would that leave me?  What kind of example would it send to my children?  I may not like some of the parts of being a second wife but the reality of it is I can never replace, nor would I ever want to replace, the girls mother.  I realize I am important to the girls but their mother is their mother and until she decides to not be a stranger I will remain as such.

For all of you 2nd wives out there who are dealing with a first wife, be patient, be slow to anger - quick to forgive, and remember you are a perfect stranger to this person who is entrusting the most precious piece of her heart to you. She may be his ex-wife but she will be the mother of his children for life. 

We Are Family ...

Towards the end of the summer our youngest daughter asked why she had "blonde" hair when all of her sisters, and both her parents, had dark brown hair.  She wanted to know where her light eyes came from, when her sisters had deep brown eyes.  And lastly she wanted to know why on earth she had such fair skin, and why we were constantly dousing her with sunscreen.  My husband lovingly explained that she was the lucky recipient of all of the recessive genes in her gene pool.  She inherited the light hair and eyes from the McMahon/Dunn side of the family.   More specifically that she looked just like her Great Grandma McMahon (Dunn).  Settled with the response from her Father, our strawberry blonde beauty bounced off to play lego star wars versus lala loopsy with her brother.

Later that week our son was comparing his beautifully caramel skin, that had been darkened by the summer sun, with the lighter version of his sisters skin, pink from the warm heat.  He said, "I hate my brown skin, it's so ugly".  Immediately all three of his sisters said, "I wish I had your brown skin.  It is so nice and tan, not pale and blah".  T wasn't the least bit consoled and again verbalized his wish to be "really related" to his sisters so he too could have light skin, instead of brown.  It was in this instance that I realized a bigger conversation needed to be had about how we are all made in God's image and that no one person, or skin color, or any other characteristic is better than any other, but rather that we are simply different, unique.

At dinner that night we talked more about genetics, about how there is a limit to the physical characteristics a person can have and that those characteristics are determined by the ones your parents bring with them.  If both of your parents are caucasian, there is little to no chance that if you are their genetic off-spring that you will be born with the physical characteristics of the Chinese.   The kids laughed and started to give us the examples showing their level of understanding.  I have eyes like Dad.  I have hair like Mom.  I will be taller than you Mommaca because Mom and Dad are (thanks, sigh).  Then our youngest daughter said something that truly amazed me.  She said, "Just because we don't share our genetics we are still family, right?".

And that is when we determined that there are physical genetics and environmental genetics.  Environmental genetics are not about eye color or nose shape but rather the chromosomes of your life that are carefully constructed from thanksgiving dinners, christmas cookie bake-offs, tears cried, hugs given, bandaids used, swimming lesson successes, basketball games with your parents embarrassing you with their cheers of joy, birthday cakes, crazy smiles, good smiles, fart smiles (if you have boys), happy smiles, school plays, questions of the past, questions about the future, bedtime stories, golf cart rides with Grandpa, playing home videos made by kids for Grandma, cuddling, family movie nights, time at the lake, hugs, and love.

My parents have always said, "Family is not determined by genetics (thank goodness since I am adopted) but rather, the contributions people make to who you will become, who you are, and how you live your life".  Once again, I am forced to admit they are right, they are smart, they are wise, and I am becoming more like them every day.  THANK GOD!

If You're Happy And You Know It ...

Tolstoy once said, "If you want to be happy, be".  For the longest time I used to ponder this statement, wondering how on earth the mere act of just being, could make one happy?  Some might say if I were a person facing a terminal illness, I would rejoice in the knowledge that I was alive.  The same might hold true for someone recovering from an addiction or a traumatic experience.  However, I can't help but wonder if my joy would be short lived once the reality of being terminally ill set in, or the temptation of my addiction, or the memories of my traumatic experience found their way back into my conscious memories.  So, what then did Tolstoy mean by saying, "If you want to be happy, be"?

I believe my Father holds the key to this quagmire.  As a younger man my Father worked hard.  He always put his faith and beliefs first, his wife second, and family next.  He never wavered in his priorities.  He worked hard to make sure he not only provided financially for the family, but that he lived in a way that would set the tone for the rest of the family.  He cared for my mother during each round in her fight with cancer.  He cared for my Grandmothers after their husbands passed away and they needed assistance with keeping up with their homes to ensure they could maintain their independence.  From the outside looking in one might think the additional responsibility my Father took on would be a burden.  Something to be "lived through" or "survived".  Yet with each passing year, no matter how old, how broken his judas of a body becomes, or how tired he is, my Father continues to rise to meet the challenges of providing for his family and caring for those he loves.

He uses the early hours when he cannot sleep to have coffee with his daughters, and now his grandchildren. He uses this time to listen to what is troubling them, to offer them advice, and to encourage them to live up to the greatness they were born for.  He uses his fun loving spirit to make those around him laugh and to pull the ties that bind us as a family closer together so that they are strong enough to outlive him.  It is through his constant love, his unwavering support, and his assistance when the family needs it the most that my Father finds great happiness. I say this not to bolster his ego, or to offer him up to be canonized as a saint (sorry Dad, I love you but I don't want your head to swell up too much).  More so I believe my Father is the living example of what Tolstoy meant.  To be happy, all my Father has to do is be.   It is in this way I hope to be most like my parents.  

Independent Woman

I have had a job my entire adult life.  From my mid twenties to my mid thirties I was what one might call a "corporate ladder climber".  My career came first and was only ahead of furthering my education to ensure I had the pedigree to continue to climb that proverbial ladder.  For many years I held a corporate career, was a wife, and a mother.  I was the primary income for my household and took great pride in what I had achieved.  Many people would look at my life and say I lived ideal life of the modern independent woman.

This past summer I had an interesting conversation with a close friend.  I was telling her that my husband and I decided to rearrange my schedule so I could be available to be home with our children after they were done with school.  My girlfriend looked at me and said, "Are you sure this is what you want?  To loose your independence?  To put your career on the back burner?"  At first I got riled up.  I kept thinking, she was right that I was giving up way too much to make this work.  I was part of the elite few who brought home a six figure salary before turning thirty and I was still under forty.  I was giving up my ability to be who I had worked so hard to be, independent! 

As the school year got closer, I became nervous.  I started to resent the choice I had made to rearrange my work schedule.  I felt panicked and started to plan out how I would tell my husband that this wasn't what I had wanted and we would have to put the kids into after school care.  I was dreading this conversation as I knew we had already discussed this in depth and decided it was the right choice as we both feel our priorities should be God, spouse, children, parents, family .... everything else, including my career.  

Before I realized it the school year had started and I had not had the conversation about reducing my work schedule with my husband.  I don't know if it was nerves, or anxiety, or what but I never found quite the right moment to disappoint my husband.  The first day I was scheduled to pick up the kids I found myself watching the clock.  2:15, 2:16, 2:17 ..... 2:30 ... ugh I have to go leave or I will be late.  Driving to the girls school I found myself praying to God to give me the patience to deal with snack time, homework questions, crazy noises, silly songs, and the "what's for dinner" borage.  I sat in the parking lot watching my ipad waiting for the kids to arrive.  The first one out of the door was our Lovely Lindsey Lu.  She ran to the car, all smiles and excited to be going home and not to after school care.  Next followed our teenage daughter Brea and she was VERY happy not to be going to after school care.  Niki was the last girl to arrive and she easy going but was happy to be able to get home for a snack.  We drove to their brothers school to pick him up and he was so excited to see his sisters he squealed with delight!  He jumped all the way to the car with excitement.  

At home everyone was excited to tell me about their day.  What they had learned, what their friends had done over the summer, how much they liked their teachers, and what they were doing with their friends this year.  Snack time came and went without a fuss.  I made dinner while the kids did their homework and asked me questions about their homework.  What I had thought would be overwhelming and awful turned out to be one of the most rewarding and wonderful days.

That night after I tucked Thomas into bed and the girls went home to their mother's house I started to realize. The dictionary defines independence as "not influenced or controlled by others in matters of opinion, conduct, etc., thinking or acting for oneself. Not dependent or contingent upon something else for existence".  To me this had meant I needed to be able to do it all on my own.  What I have come to realize is that true independence doesn't mean doing it all in spite of it all. Translation: by not working and focusing on my career I would lose my identity as an individual but rather that true independence is the ability to choose which one you want to do based on your guiding principals, your personal tenants, your morals and values.

It is in this time I realized that whether you work outside the home, or at home, you are contributing to the greater good of the world.  It is when the choice is taken away from us that we loose our independence.  Although my priorities had recently been refocused on my children and family, I was still independent, what I had learned to do was to be a good partner, a good team player.  In this I truly am becoming like my parents.

Mother T2

As I have grown into the person I am today one of the things my heart has been committed to is trying to always do what is right and what is kind, which isn't always the easiest most enjoyable route.  Especially when you have my parents who are good to the core.  My Father often refers to my Mother as Mother Teresa 2.  While he is being a bit cheeky when he says this, there is much truth to his loving nickname for my Mom.  

When I think of my Mother I think of the following quote from Mother Teresa, the original:

“People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway.If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway.The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway.Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway. For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.” ― Mother Teresa

Until this week the words were just that, words said by a tremendously great woman.  In the same way my Mother lives her life always seemed aspirational but not real.  How can anyone live their life and truly care about each person they encounter?  To me both seemed lofty, dreamy, and beautiful but virtually impossible to live.

I have always been hesitant to get involved at our girls school.  The school is an ELS Lutheran school and I am a devout Roman Catholic. It is connected directly with the church their mother still attends and I have always felt it would make the girls, their mother, and honestly, myself, feel very uncomfortable if I were to get involved.  For these and many other reasons the idea of actively involving myself in the girls school would present more problems than answers, so I kept to myself and contributed from afar.  

This year our Lovely Lindsey Lu started 3rd grade.  She loves to go to school, to be engaged in learning, to see her friends, and to do well.  Her class needed volunteers to help with their literature hour.  She asked my husband if he would volunteer to help and given his schedule at work it is almost impossible.  He did direct her to ask me.  When you have those beautiful blue eyes looking up at you, wanting so badly for you to say "YES", how can you say no?  So I said yes.

The first Friday I volunteered Lindsey Lu was so happy to see me it brought tears to my eyes.  She was excited to have one of her people there.  I forget how much it means to kids when their parents take the time to volunteer and get involved.  At the end of the hour I spent helping the class work through their reading books Lindsey gave me the biggest hug.  It was the kind of hug that communicates how much a child loves you without using a single word.  It was the kind of hug a parent never forgets.  It is the kind of hug memories are made of.  After the session I met the other mom who had volunteered with me for coffee so we could work out a schedule.  We shared normal chit chat and funny stories, but one thing she said will stick with me forever.  She said "the thing I really liked about you when I first met you was that you didn't speak badly about the girls mother when it would be so easy to do".  It was the first time I recognized myself as living the words of Mother Teresa "If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway".

The following week I sent out our annual "Summer Fun" cards to our family.  It is a greeting card, just like a Christmas card, filled with photos of our kids having fun at the lake and enjoying the warm weather and sunshine.  Whenever I send out cards I always send a card to the girls Mother, to their maternal Grandparents, and to their Aunt and Uncle.  I used to imagine they got tossed out or were more of a nuisance than a welcome piece of mail, but I kept sending them out because the idea behind them is to keep family updated on the kids.  And since the girls Mother, her parents and siblings are part of their family, they all make the mailing list.  

I went to the mailbox on Wednesday and much to my surprise there was a card from the girls maternal Grandmother.  As I walked to the house terrible thoughts ran through my head.  Was she going to be asking me to stop sending them mail.  Was going to she tell me to back off and quit being such a goody two shoes?  Was she going to give me a piece of her mind?  All made me feel sick to my stomach.  My heart sank.  What had been done with the best of intentions was perhaps not received as such.As I opened the envelope my heart was racing.  I was surprised to read such a loving message.  She was ever so appreciative for the cards and pictures we had sent.  My heart smiled and my soul rejoiced.  This card, this little piece of paper with black ink on it, spoke more to my spirit than to my head.  It reminded me that choosing to look beyond being a step-parent and just being a parent was the right choice.  And while it wasn't easy to get my head and heart around the idea of the girls maternal family being part of our family.  In receiving this card from my husband's ex-wife's mother I realized that I was living the dream of emulating my Mother's kind heart through the instructive words of Mother Teresa, "The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway".  It finally became clear to me that accepting their place in our family was not only the right thing to do, but it was  possible to be kind without recognition or reward.  

Doing what is right and being kind is a conscious choice we make.  It is often easier to be mean.  To tease someone.  To use our jealousy or anger to justify speaking badly about others.   To ignore the parts we wish would go away.  It is in choosing to do what is right and what is kind, even if it isn't the easier route, that I am truly becoming my parents.  

en la vida tenemos una oportunidad de llenarnos de la felicidad

Between the age of 15 to about 24 I was truly someone only my mother could love.  I was moody.  Mean.  Difficult.  Selfish.  I was young and completely focused on my belly button - meaning only looking at myself.  No amount of catechism classes, girl scout meetings, music lessons, or summer camps could balance out the rage that was building up inside me.  It wasn't until I became a mom that I truly understood just how selfish and unkind I had been.

I am now on the opposite side of the equation.  My oldest daughter is 13.  She is beautiful by every definition of the word.  She is smart and loving, but she is still a teenager.  She is learning to cope with the new surge of hormones that seem to invade her body at the oddest times.  She is learning how to navigate adult concepts and emotions.  She is trying to figure out who she is and who she wants to become.  She is testing boundaries and limits to see how far they go.  As with any teenage girl it can be difficult to stand on the outside looking in and understand what is happening.  Often times you are left wondering who turned on the "crazy" switch?  And where is the "OFF" button.  It is in those moments that I channel my Mother's good nature and kindness.  It is in those moments I stretch to look outside of myself and try to see where my daughter is coming from.  It is those moments I seek to extend my arms for a hug rather than raise my voice to scold.

Two weeks ago we went to our cabin to visit my parents and to spend some time away from all of the hustle and bustle.  Normally, when we visit my folks I wake up early and spend the first few hours of the morning talking to my Father.  Just Dad and I taking on the world over a cup of coffee.  This time my eldest daughter joined us each morning.  She would get up about a half hour after I did.  She would sit next to her Grandpa and he would tease her about her favorite stuffed animal "Duckles".  She would talk to us about "stuff" - movies, music, food, school, hopes, dreams - anything you can think of.  It is in these morning conversations that I can really see who my daughter is becoming.

They say what goes around comes around, but don't we all just go around once?  We have this one life, this one chance to be happy, to live, to be the only person we were meant to be - ourselves.  Our children may not be who we wish them to be.  Who we envisioned they would be.  They will be who they are supposed to be and as parents we hope our children will become better people than we are.  It is truly a gift to watch my daughter come into her own.  She is all the best parts of me, of her Father, of her Mother, and of her Grandparents.  She is all of the good in each of us wrapped up in one person.  I am constantly amazed and delighted by who she is becoming and in this way I know I am becoming more like my parents each day.

To Forgive Is To Forget

I am often in the position of standing in a singular moment in awe of what the world has to offer. For the longest time I wondered how my parents could forgive and let go. Having grown up watching my parents give whatever they had to those who needed it, seemingly without a return on their investment, I have often wondered how do they not resent giving so much and not receiving in return an equal or greater amount (I am not speaking in monetary terms here).

Yesterday I discovered the reason why. I was sitting in mass next to my husband after a perfect morning. Sleeping in, making breakfast for my boys (the girls were at their mothers), being at mass together as a family and still bothered by issues from times in the long and recent past. When I returned from the pity party I was having for myself in my head I realized Father Steve was giving his homily. He was talking about forgiveness. Forgiveness, he said, must be coupled with forgetfulness. One must forgive and forget. His words were profound. If you have to spend the energy to hold on to the issue and catalog it away, have you really forgiven that person?

It made me realize we are always taught to forgive, but no one tells us to then forget, to let it go, release it into the universe. This realization answered the question I had pondered about my parents for so many years. They are able to forgive because they are able to forget. They don't hold on to how painful it was to hear your child tell you they hate you, or how sad it made them when their friends didn't call when Mom was so sick, or how hard it was to have to stop working because their body gave out before their minds (this last point is still debated over dinner, the losing their mind, not the forgiveness part). They were able to forgive because they were able to forget. And in forgiving and forgetting they have been able to embrace the next phase of their life without a huge sense of loss but an appreciation for what they have.

It is in this way I hope I will become most like my parents.

Honesty - Is it always the best policy?

We teach our children that "honesty is the best policy", that the truth will set them free.  Yet do our actions support those teachings?  If our children muster up the courage to tell us something, something they feel or experience that we may not want to hear, or are angered to know, are we open to hearing what they have to say?

As a child I remember telling my parents many things I'm sure they did not want to hear.  I remember telling my Mom I thought she loved my sister more because she spent more time with her.  I remember telling her I hated that she was sick when I was growing up (like, she chose to be sick???). I also remember her listening to me, validating my feelings, and then talking through them with me.  It takes great courage for a child to tell the truth.  It takes even greater courage for a parent to accept that truth and not dismiss the feelings of their child, especially if those truths are aimed to hurt you.

If we cannot appreciate and place value on what our children tell us then is honesty truly the best policy?  Does the truth set them free or does it just add another shackle to the chains that keep them tied to the fear of telling us the truth?

If your child is brave enough to tell you something, listen.  Don't respond, just listen.  Evaluate and think about what they are saying.  Then if it warrants it talk about it with your child.  It takes an enormous amount of courage to tell the truth.  As the parent, the adult, you have the option to let the truth set your child free or make them fearful of the truth for the rest of their life.