Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

Yesterday I came home after a 5 day trip with Jackson out east to play lacrosse. We had risen at 3 am to fly home, I was exhausted. Not just from travel, but from the weight of life. But the fridge was unbelievably bare (does no one know the way to the grocery store but me?). Grocery shopping isn't my favorite job to begin with, let alone on little to no sleep and without a list - and I was too tired to make one.  Two full carts later I landed in the check out isle ... working quickly to unload my cart, feeling the eyes of those behind me wondering what the hell I was doing with so much food. I assumed they were irritated that I would be taking so long. I apologized to the gentleman behind me -- he was there with his grown son -- for having so much to unload. He smiled and said, "You don't worry about it. Not a problem at all." We continued chatting -- he laughing with me at the trials of feeding teenage boys.  At some point he started unloading groceries fr...

I know he's not on third ... it's the best I could do today. :) Let's see if I can make this make sense ... I am not at all sure that I can.  I haven't written in a long time. A couple weeks before Coop graduated was my last entry ... and it's been over a month since then.  In part, I have found myself at a space in life where the story I am living is not mine to tell. Things happen in our lives that impact us greatly, but for which we do not own the copyright. That's where I am. It makes it difficult to write, because what I want -- need -- to write about isn't mine.  What I can write about is a train of thought that has taken several weeks to form. The idea, floating in my mind, my thoughts mulling it over like my fingers would a worry stone. I feel its edges and learn its curves. It makes sense in my mind, the translation may be lost. It is wrapped in the events of the past 6 weeks, both personal and public, and it has brought me clarity, i...

I should love this photo. Just a quick snapshot of brothers. Of math homework. Of team work. I see that in their faces and in their postures. But it's also a photo of frustration, of disappointment, of indifference. It's the portrait of homework in our home.   I was reading an article today from a teacher who had fostered self choice when kid's selected books in her classroom. Her guidance and courage in allowing them to choose their own adventures fostered a love of reading, it created readers and lovers of learning! It was lovely, well written (you can read it here)  and full of excitement and passion for kids, for reading, for education. As much as I loved her words, her love of her craft, I felt sad. I felt a bit ripped off.  We have had some teachers with true passion, a flare and a fire in their bellies they willingly shared in hopes of igniting that same fire for learning in my boys. We have had others who came, did their job and went home, offering an...

It's one of those days.  A day where the clouds and the rain seep into my bones and the nostalgia of these past months makes me weep. I walked by a picture of Cooper today as a baby.  It stopped me in my tracks, sucking me into the time sucking whole of memories and whispers of where the time went. I am trying to move toward the after, trying to move toward a space where the thought of him leaving doesn't move me to tears and physically hurt. I could wish it didn't, but it does. I am embarrassed. I have friends who lost their daughter this past year. I have friends who are fighting cancer and life threatening health issues. I have dear friends who are grieving failed marriages and some who are facing financial catastrophes. And yet. I can't move past the grief I feel. I read on a Facebook post somewhere these past few months that your child leaving for college isn't everything. But it isn't nothing, either. It's something. I am trying to tame this som...

When I was still coaching skating, my boys were young. In fact, I retired shortly after Aiden was born and Cooper went into first grade. While I have an infinite number of wonderful memories, one that comes back to me often was an off handed comment a mother of a school aged skater said to me.  Her son was new to private lessons and she was visibly anxious, nervous. I wasn't her son's coach, but we were chatting while the Zamboni did its job and she said, "It's hard to put him out on the ice with someone I hardly know. It's like opening up his little brain and letting someone dump into it whatever they want. I have no control over it." I'm paraphrasing of course, it was nearly 15 years ago, but the sentiment was powerful for me. I regarded her words as a coach, being careful my instructions were chosen wisely, making certain my criticisms were coupled with encouragement. It wasn't until my own sons went to school that I took those words to heart ...

Jackson was put on this earth to challenge me, not always (if ever) an in-your-face-teenage-boy-challenge, but a subtle request to do better. He challenges me to be my best, to follow my moral compass, to not only seek justice but to redefine it, to find it hiding in the nooks and crannies of life as we live it. Don't get me wrong, he challenges me in other ways as well -- many of them -- but none as important as his quiet request for me to do better.  He asks me to go hunting, he invites me to swim with sharks, he begs me to try hot sauce. He talks me into wake surfing and wants me to climb rocks with him when we hike.  He is the definition of "getting out of your box", in fact, he dances on his daily. I remember, very clearly, the day I knew for certain that Jackson would no longer be "the baby" and would move up a notch in the design of our family. He and his brother were running out the door, heading to Grandma's house. I knew a pregnancy test wa...

I typically stay off of the "community" Facebook page for our little town. I find it mostly uplifting, but also find the complaining and lack of compassion at times too much to deal with. After all, I shouldn't walk away from reading my news feed irritated at random strangers for their narrow minded views, or their disagreement with my sensibilities. So, I usually stay away. The other day though, a post caught my eye. It was written by a father who had witnessed (with his daughter) the rather unkind taunting of a girl his daughter's age by a group of three same-aged girls in a public restaurant. The point of the post was to draw attention to bullying, to draw parent's attention to their children's behavior -- as it seemed during the interaction that the trio of girls were with an adult who seemed unaware of what was transpiring. It was a well-meaning, well-intentioned post -- and as I skimmed the comments waiting to pick up Aiden after school I remember...