Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

I'm trying to find balance. I'm trying to find a place where hanging on and letting go can play nice in the pool. I called the high school guidance counselor this morning. Cooper filled out several college apps over the past few weeks--I have done little more than proof read for him. He has handled it, finding web sites, making decisions, gathering information. He ran into a glitch with his Saginaw Valley app. The college's website was causing a few errors in the submission process and he was hesitant to send it in. I offered to call for him and help him get it settled. And then I second guessed myself. After all it was during school hours. He can't call then. And it needs to be done. We need to cross it off the list. I called. They were wonderful, helped us -- me -- figure out the issue and even waived our application fee for my trouble. And then I second guessed myself. Should I have let him call? He would have had the feeling of gratefulness that I di...

                                               Energy Flows Where Attention Goes While preparing for savasana in my yoga class on Monday morning my instructor quoted one of the seven Hawaiian--Huna--life principles for us to meditate and focus on during our corpse pose relaxation/meditation.  My practice that day had been a struggle--my back was giving me fits and I was ready to settle into my mat and not move. I heard his words, "energy flows where attention goes" and while they struck me in the moment--which often happens for me and words--I was tired. I was discouraged. I was hurting. I filed them in the back of my mind and settled into a restless savanna. Today, his words came leaping into my mind as I headed out the door for my walk. I quickly googled the phrase before I left--there are many interpretations--and repeated it over and over in my mind tryi...

                                                                 Photo Credit Linda Swantek When I was younger--perhaps 13 or 14--I vividly remember walking out to our mailbox, giddy with life. I was happy, skating was good, my friends were good, my grades were good, my parents were good.  The sun was warm on my shoulders, my heart was light.  Life was good that day. The memory coats my heart like thick honey, not so much for the steps I took toward the mailbox, but rather the comfort I found in finding--the sweet spot. My worries were nil, my small, young life was in a place where I was comforted by what was around me, not anxious or worried or sad.  For years after that, I used that moment as a litmus test--a measuring stick of sorts--how happy am I now compared to the day I walked to the mailbox?...

Parenting magazine used to come to my house. A monthly edition - right to my mailbox! Any downtime I had was spent reading tidbits that applied to my new role as momma. From that magazine I got the idea to stow away a small disposable camera in different areas of the house - so that I would always be ready to snap a photo of my boys milestones. No missing Jackson's first steps because I couldn't find my camera! Can you imagine! It seems archaic now - with a smart phone in every pocket of jeans walking around this house - that I would have ever feared missing a first word, a first step, a cute pose.  If social media had been around when the boys were little I would have been the first to post the photo I took of them out in the front yard - naked except for cowboy boots - covered in mud after an excursion of frog hunting ... "Look at my crazy boys!" I would have posted. "I wouldn't trade them for the world ..." I would have added. I would have po...

Sleep was hard to come by when my boys were little. Not always because their little motors wouldn't idle, often because mine would cease to rest. My fears, bite size during the day, became larger than life when dusk turned to night. Resting my head on my pillow signaled instant panic, my eyes stretching open to grasp any ray of light, my heart pounding. My nightly safety rounds, looking in on each little body, laying a hand on their chest to be sure their quiet breath was still rising and falling, did little to abate my anxiety. I took to laying on the floor next to their beds, traveling under the darkness from room to room. Laying in wait for the danger in my mind to explode into my life, hurt my boys and destroy me.  My anxiety was particularly difficult after Aiden was born - I struggled with post partum depression featuring anxiety and panic attacks. My lack of sleep fed my demons, the more tired I became the larger the dangers would loom. As day broke, I could find my f...

Last week I saw a woman walking through  the grocery store - dragging her tired two year old behind her. He was protesting, she was insisting. It was late. He started crying. Momma lost her patience and picked him up scolding him for his meltdown. Her cheeks were flushed, she was embarrassed. He screamed and arched his back, begging to be put back down. Her toddler acting up in isle 3 at 9:00 at night felt like a clear reflection of her expertise as a mother. The voice in my head kept saying, "Just take him home.  Wrap him up in his favorite blankie, snuggle him till he falls asleep in your arms. A heavy, sweaty, snotty nosed, dirty pile of heaven." I didn't say anything. I just smiled and sent her all the patience I had to spare. I remember so clearly, being her. I remember dragging the boys through Kroger, the task of grocery shopping sucking the life out of me. I wish I would have known then what I know now. I wish I would have known that eventually I could ...

"My Bible study question talked about the country of Israel needing rest from war injustice, spiritual turmoil, etc. Then asked what kinds of rest I need. For some reason I thought of you and am hoping you are getting the rest you need." I was sitting in the Meijer parking lot collecting my purse and thoughts when this text chimed through. As I read, my eyes filled with tears. I am so tired. I do need rest.  More so my tears came because I was so grateful to have a friend in tune enough with me - and God - that she reached out. Loving me from her words. I was physically stricken when I read it. How did I not realize how tired I was? How did I not know that putting one foot in front of the other had become so difficult. I cried for a little while in my car alone. Sunglasses on. Overwhelmed with my list for the day, the gravity of some parenting choices I had made lately, pondering a few situations and wondering how I could have avoided or changed them. I gathered my worn o...