The third child turned 16 and has to wait weeks and weeks for a bday letter

 Dear M,

You should be used to this by now, right?

As the third child, you got the clothing hand-me-downs from not just your brother but your cousins, meaning some of your clothing has been well-loved three separate times before you get a chance to wear it. 

It has always been difficult for you to get a word in when your sister and brother are part of the conversation. 

Your childhood journal has the least amount of entries because I was so busy even if I did think, "I need to write this down," by the time I had a moment, I had forgotten what you did or said. 

And now, your milestone 16th birthday came and went and I am writing this letter to you weeks later. I even had to put a reminder in my phone to do it. 

You have, in many respects, raised yourself, in large part from observing your sister and brother and applying it to yourself. You've paid attention to their interactions with me and learned how to fly under the radar---not causing trouble, not having to listen to lectures. 

So what are you like at 16?

Well, you got your driving permit this past summer and have been learning how to drive, even though I'm pretty sure you won't be doing it much or at all on your own until your senior year (even used cars these days are ridiculously expensive). But you don't seem to be bothered or even a little concerned about this. 

Because your brother and sister are so busy with "real" jobs, you are now pretty much the lone worker at the neighborhood petsitting gig, which allows you to earn and save even more money. If anyone takes after his Pa in terms of saving every dollar he earns, it is you (with some competition from your cousin A). I often joke that you will buy a house and your brother will have to rent a room (he inherited from Papaw T his inability to hold a dollar in his pocket without spending it). 

Of my three kids, you are, by far, the snarkiest. 

At dinner this past August, when we were talking about what attributes each of you got from me or dad, you said, "I got my pettiness from mom," which is both hilarious and true. I can still recall when you were about 4 years old on vacation, a server at a restaurant said to you, "If you color your picture in, I'll hang it up." You smiled at her and as she walked away under your breath you mumbled, "No promises." 

You have a gentle spirit, which is why you are the animal whisperer. You have a way with cats and dogs that they seem to love. 

You also have amazing hair! You have grown it long, and I'm fairly certain it makes every girl who sees you very jealous. In your school photo this year, you are definitely giving off 80s hair band / serial killer vibes. I adore that picture of you because it makes me laugh every.single.time. 👇

The closer you get to age 18 and adulthood, the more I wonder about what you will do. You tolerate school but don't love it, and I suspect it is because of all the sitting. You have even remarked to me that you keep your grades up because you know it is expected but you are mostly bored. Now that your brother is doing early graduation, I anticipate you will follow suit. 

I have no clue what you will pursue as a career, but I can't see it being a desk job mostly because of how you feel about school. I think you'll want to do something that will allow you to be up and about. 

Even though I'm uncertain about what your future holds, I am very certain that I love you, and I am so very glad we got you as our bonus 16 years ago. We cannot imagine a life without you in it. 

Love you always,

Momma

Voting age birthday

 Dear G,

I don't know why it is that your older sister's birthdays seem to come slowly, while yours come flying out of nowhere. I suspect it is because she flew solo for almost four years before you came along. Those days dragged on forever sometimes. Once you arrived, and then your brother two years later, life has been on full throttle for me. Time hasn't stopped or even slowed down much since you arrived. 

You've experienced a lot of changes in the past year.

You finished up junior year without issues, although I think this is mostly because the first two years of high school wore you the heck out in terms of drama, and you've decided school is just for learning. You have never been a "joiner," but you had made friendships. Once those seemed to be more trouble than they were worth, you decided to forego those. You get in, you get out, you relax at home. That is your school day.

I can't say I blame you. You are sensitive guy, like your dad, and that is a wonderful thing to be...but maybe primarily as an adult. I am sure it is horrible as a teenager. Most teenage boys are in the thick of machismo---beating their chests to prove they are guys to other guys. None of them have the emotional wherewithal to accept that whatever kind of guy they are is the guy they are, and they have nothing to prove to anyone. (I suspect I need to also relay this memo to a certain Secretary of Defense who seems to think that being a man means no feelings and macho-macho all the time.)

I digress. 

The upshot of avoiding drama is that you're on track to graduate a semester early. You got a job in July, despite all my worrying that it wouldn't happen, and have been working close to 30 hours a week as part of your co-op, plus keeping your grades up in your other classes. Dad and I are really impressed with you!

I'm proud of the way you pack your lunch the night before work and leave your work clothes on the table so you can grab them on your way out. You do an excellent job of staying on top of your responsibilities. And when I see you at work, I see you in a different light, not as your mom but as a customer, as a stranger. It is kind of fun to see you through that lens. I think, "What a handsome young man with a nice smile." 

Your job has given you topics of conversation including the gigantic apple you were amazed to show us and the workplace gossip that you share with us. 

You got your license after a few hiccups, but I think that was anxiety rather than not knowing what you're doing. Trust me, there are plenty of people on the road doing crazy shit, and you're not one of them. I'm proud of you for being careful. Now just watch out for the bozos. 

I enjoy our movie nights together and the conversations that come from those evenings. We've covered a lot of ground, from silent films for your film class to zombie flicks (28 Weeks Later) to war films (All Quiet on the Western Front) to mind-blowers like Tenet. 

I remember several years ago when you couldn't stand the idea of becoming a young man and fought it with everything in you, and now here you are,...a young man. You still have about six more years worth of prefrontal cortex develop on tap, but you have come such a long way from your days of tantrums and unmanageable anxiety. 

I don't know what the next few years will bring in terms of college and jobs and all that. I suspect I will go into them as I have since you were little: a little afraid of how you will do, wondering if it will overwhelm you. But in every situation, my worries were unfounded. I worried about kindergarten, and you did great. Then middle school. Then high school. This isn't to say that there weren't problems and unhappiness; those are part of life. But we managed them together, and we will continue to do that. 

You are a smart guy and, more importantly, you are sensitive and open to ideas. Sure, you still like to dig in your heels about change that you can't control but you are able to take a joke about it. Like when you say you want to move to Sweden as an adult, and I remind you that you hate the idea of me renovating the kitchen because it is too much change but sure...go ahead and change entire countries. 

You are one of a kind, G, and I'm so glad you're ours.

Love you,

Momma

30 years since the hook up

Next month marks 30 years that D and I have been together as a couple. 

Our story started with dental insurance, which is where every romance begins. 

Good lord, I look pale. 

He was finishing his master's degree, and I was wrapping up my bachelor's degree. We had worked for the same company for a bit, seeing each other in the halls or kitchen. I worked part-time as a file clerk, and he worked in the IT department. I thought he was cute---tall, dark, and nerdy. Imagine a young Harold Ramis in Ghostbusters and you've seen D in his late 20s. My co-workers were dying to set us up. 

I think D and I spoke to each other once in the elevator before we "happened" to both go a going-away drinking session for a coworker in accounting who was leaving the company. We all met at a bar, and I spent most of the night chatting with the husband of one of D's coworkers. I'm not sure D said anything to me until we left and walked to our cars. Whatever he said wasn't memorable. 

What was memorable is that two days later, he called me and asked me to go for a walk at a park. I was sitting on my porch reading The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck when my parents told me I had a phone call. (Gawd, just typing that feels ancient---when I didn't have a phone strapped to my hip.)

We met at the dental office parking lot and drove together to the park. We stopped at Ear-X-Tacy, where I refused to let him buy me a Jeff Buckley LP (because then I would owe him something and we weren't having any of that). I remember nothing that we talked about. 

What I do remember is that he asked me out for the following weekend, which is the surefire way to my heart---asking me well in advance to do an activity. I have never liked being treated like a last minute "might as well" by anyone. 

The night of our first "date" date, we went to dinner at the Bristol where D proceeded to not talk much at all. It was awkward, and I remember thinking to myself, "This is probably going nowhere." We then went to see a play called "Angry Housewives," a title I didn't realize was so prescient to what our future would be. I remember when we were leaving, D placed his hand on the middle of my back, whether to keep hold of me in the crowd or steady my way I don't know, but I recall liking the feeling. Still, I didn't know if it made up for the not talking/awkward dinner. 

He drove me home and we took a walk all over the neighborhood in the dark, and like Robert Frost noted, that made all the difference. Something about the darkness allowed D to come out his shell. He told me he watched the film Orlando and enjoyed it, which is the sum total of what I remember us discussing. Oh, and he kissed me before he left. 

Hot and heaviness followed for a year until we got engaged, 29 years ago this month. We married 18 months after that. 

We will soon be having a big to-do of sorts, which I didn't specifically plan for our 30 years of togetherness, but it happens to coincide with it so I'm calling it our "celebration." Of course, it isn't a party---did you not read anything about the quiet dude I hooked myself up with 30 years ago? 

I looked back while composing this to see what else I've written here about marriage, and I've periodically, dating back to our 15th wedding anniversary, written about our relationship, mostly in good terms. It hasn't been all roses, for sure. 

But he's quiet, and I have a hard time being around people who blather on. And he doesn't like sports, which is the other reason he stole my heart besides asking me out for a date a week ahead of time. He's not a messy guy, and he looks good in a beard, and he, more or less, doesn't care what I do. He thinks I'm funny and smart. And I'm assertive enough to politely tell a solicitor we don't want any and goodbye so that D doesn't have to do it when he accidentally is too close to the glass-paneled front door when someone knocks, and he (thinks he) can't really hide. He's still tall and nerdy but now gray all over---still giving off Egon vibes 30 years on. 

May 2, 2025

A belated 21st bday letter (and the last one)

Dear N,

I know you reached the age of majority three years ago, but recently you reached yet another important milestone: 21. 

The only advice I gave to you was not to get so drunk that you got tossed out of Cardinal Stadium (which no longer exists) by the police due to public intoxication, which is what I did very soon after I turned 21. I also suffered a 5-day hangover, an act of stupidity I never, ever repeated. 

The first alcohol you bought as a 21-year-old. 

Over the years, I have tried to instill in you good things, but more importantly, I have tried to model those good things to you in how I live my own life. 

To be kind and compassionate but to also not allow others to manipulate you. 

To be honest but not cruel. 

To stand up for yourself but more importantly stand up for others who may not have the wherewithal to voice something themselves.

To never stop learning but to not allow information to steal your time or joy.

To listen to your inner voice but also learn from the mistakes and wisdom of others.

When I had you, I had a completely bonkers idea of what a mom should be for a child. In my 21 years of parenting, I have chilled out a lot, mostly because I have realized that I am mostly a guide and never a creator. Your life is not, never has been, and never will be, a reflection of my life; nor is my life a reflection on yours. We are both two individuals doing the best we can and hopefully making each other a little better during the journey. 

Several years ago, you told me that you want to have children and give them the kind of childhood you had. You want to stay home with them, and if that is what you want, I hope you are able to make it happen. But I admit a little piece of me thought, "Don't you want more for youself?"

And I felt conflicted by being both honored that you have such good memories of your childhood that you want to do exactly as I did and also somewhat saddened that you don't want more. I hated that I had this little sliver of internal discord. I have thought about it a lot over the years and come to this conclusion:

The best thing I will ever do with my life, and of which I am most proud, is raising three decent humans. 

But when I think of the other things I have done, and will do, I don't know that I jump down to 2 or 3 or 4. I think I jump in terms of decimal points.

Because at 1.1 would be teaching and playing a role in other young people's lives. You know I still, at age 51, have a relationship with my own middle school teacher, Mrs. S, and I suspect with social media, I will be in some kind of contact with my own former students when they are 51. There is something wondrous about being a part of someone's life, watching them spiral out into the world, and knowing that you played a tiny part in that formation. 

At 1.2 I might put establishing a writing career. And 1.3 is managing to sustain a long-term relationship with your dad. And none of those things have anything to do with me being a mother or a stay-at-home mother for the years that I was. 

Suffice it to say, you will figure things out in your own life, and you will struggle with the choices you make and the things life throws at you. But you will continue learning, whether it be from raising your own children, or from watching me live my life. My parents are 82 and 86, and even though they have loads of experience, each new day brings them new things they've never experienced, such as having a first granddaughter who is now 21. I am still learning from my parents and will until they are gone (and likely beyond). 

So, of course, I'm not wiping my hands of you and saying "You're on your own, kid!" But it is nice to be able to step back and watch you live the way you wish. 

With you turning 21, it is also time for these letters to you to end. I went back through these birthday posts, thinking I had written them your entire life, but I could only find them dating back to when you were seven, which is when I think I finally came out a little bit from my motherhood fog. When you were seven, your brothers were four and two, and I came up for a little air. If you have your own children, you will understand this. 

You will always be my favorite girl, 

Momma

Bonus baby's quinceanero (because 15 is hard)

Dear M,

When I look at photos from our family trip to Scotland just a little over a year ago, I am amazed. You seem like such a baby compared to what you are now. I think you have grown a half a foot since that time, although some of that height may be in your hair. 

Worried about mom's driving in Scotland. 

You are, I think, the snarkiest person in our house, a title I've held for a long time and don't hand over easily. Perhaps what makes it so funny is that it is so unexpected given your general reserved demeanor. You don't say much, but when you do it has a sharp bite. You regularly make us roar at the dinner table. [Your birthday picture when you raised your shirt (as a reminder of your "MY NIPPLE" video when you were two) is evidence of this---completely unexpected.]

In August, you started high school with your brother. Each morning when you guys get out of the car, it is interesting to see you walk away. After so many years of you doing "same thing as G," it is clear that you have your distinct styles and personalities. While he is walking with purpose into the building, you have a slow slink; it is a reminder of your entire personality--high on chill.

The transition to high school has been easy. You don't talk much about school, but you also don't complain. You have met or remet some people you used to know in elementary school so that has been good; plus, you seem to have a fairly easy time making friendships. 

You continue to be the cat whisperer and are even willing to pause your dinner to go pet S or S when they flop on the floor. This fall break you got to do something you enjoy---power-washing. I still need to pay you for that (oops). You are always willing to be helpful to me, your grandparents, or really anyone. That is a good quality to have. 

What stuns me about you turning 15 is that in one year I will begin teaching you to drive, a fact that seems impossible. How is my baby getting so big and hitting all these milestones so quickly? It took forever, it seems, to get N to hers. G's have come quicker, and yours have spun me in circles with their speed. 

You were and are my unexpected joy, and I continue to watch you peel back the layers of your personality and become who you are. I'm glad you are my bonus baby.

Love,

Mama

Young and sweet, only 17

 Dear G,

This past week you turned 17.

I've said this before, but I have a harder time believing yours and M's milestones than I do N's. I'm not entirely sure why. I suspect it is because I had three and a half years with just her, when time moved so slowly. Once you and your brother came along, time started moving at lightspeed. 

Plus, N hit her adult size by middle school, while you and your brother continue the normal slow-grow of maleness, in which one week you are tiny, the next you tower above me, and within six months I need a small crane to give you a proper hug. (I have been the smallest  one in the family for awhile now, at least in terms of stature.)

So where is your life in this moment?

Well, you've had a bumpy and busy six months or so. 

You experienced an unpleasant falling out with some friends in the spring, which is good training since these things can and do happen no matter your age. You worked your first job this past summer, which provided you not only a paycheck but the experience of tedium which all jobs have at least some of the time. You took the permit test and have spent about seven hours behind the wheel, which I think has further cemented your desire to one day move to Europe and use their great public transportation system. 

You are taking eight classes this school year, including an AP, a dual-credit, and an online one, and you are very focused on school being for learning, not for socializing. You are your father's son, for sure. 

One thing that has surprised me is your desire to try some new clothing, which might not seem like a big deal but totally is. You come from at least two generations of persnickety clothes-wearers (me and your Nana), and while I will not be sad when I no longer have to be involved with your clothes purchases, I am proud of you for trying new styles and textures. 

We continue to have movie weekends, and it is fun to hear you pronounce virtually of them as being in your Top 10. Fortunately, we have raised you to be willing to laugh at yourself so when we poke fun of you for saying this, you are (mostly) willing to enjoy the joke. 

Even harder for me to believe is the reality that in less than a year you will be an official adult. I don't think either one of us is really prepared for that, but as I've learned, you move at your own pace in your own time. You have come such a long way since the days when you threw temper tantrums--I am thankful every day for the doctors, nurses, and therapists who have helped (and continue to help) you become comfortable in your own skin. 

You have always been sensitive and empathic, and while these are wonderful qualities, they can make it hard to live in this world.  I hope if you've internalized anything in these 17 years, it is that your dad and I love you so much and that we want to help you become the best version of yourself you can be. While the struggles you've experienced haven't always been about happy events and conversations, these have led us to understand you better, you to understand yourself better, and all of us to more firmly solidify our bond. 

Enjoy your new games and your key lime pie!

Momma

Entering your third decade

Dear N,

This morning I mentioned your father's cereal eating habits over the last 26 years, and I phrased it like this:

"The first decade, he ate Raisin Bran. The second decade of our marriage, he ate muesli. We're in the third decade and he's eating Maple Pecan cereal. Who knows what the fourth decade will entail?"

It surprised me that he and I will, before long, enter our fourth decade of marriage, which prompted you to ask whether you are entering your third decade of life. And the answer is YES. 

How crazy for both of us!

I know three decades seems old to you, but I've got three MORE decades of life experience on you; to me, you are still wet behind the ears. I say this, though, knowing that to Nana, I am still wet behind the ears since she has three and a half more decades of experience than I do. It's all relative. 

It sometimes drives you crazy when I make "suggestions" for you to consider in terms of your life, your education, your path forward. It drove me crazy when Nana did the same to me, like when she said "Maybe you should be a teacher" when I was in undergraduate studies. I didn't want to be a teacher. Or I didn't want to be a teacher then. It was only after graduating and working for a while in a dull job that I reconsidered. 

Yesterday, I spoke to our financial advisor, and he asked about you. When I told him I had suggested grant writing as something for you to consider, he laughed and said something on the order of, "There are lies and then there is grant writing." This made me laugh. I know you want to write fantasy, so maybe grant writing will fit into that plan. 

You will do many things in your life. You may decide that something I've suggested is a good fit; you may not. But I would be violating the "mother code" if I didn't share some of what I've learned in those three decades of life I have on you. Plus, sometimes even though we know ourselves best, we also have blindspots or things we need someone to point out to us. 

I hope you know that whatever you do is ok with me (I mean legal whatever you do). You are bright and kind and overall a good, decent person. What more could a parent ask for? 

I hope you also know that I have never thought of you as a reflection of me. You are your own wonderful person. I am also pretty freaking awesome, so I don't need to ride on your youthful coattails or find joy only in what you do. That can be a heavy weight for a young person to carry; the weight of responsibility they feel their parents are forcing on them--the weight to make a certain grade, have a certain job, earn a certain amount of money, live in a certain house, marry a certain type of person. Parents don't do their children favors when they forget that just because something would be their preference doesn't mean it is their children's preference. 

Your 20th year will be full of new things, including entering your junior year of college (mind-boggling). I hope you enjoy them, have fun, learn a few things, make friends and connections, do what makes you content. I love you through it all.

Momma

Musings on the year

Today, after five or six days of only walking in our neighborhood (and being cooped up happily in our house otherwise), I told D I had to see something else. And so beasts of burden it was. It felt appropriate....this cow giving me the side-eye. I feel a little bloated and bovine after slubbing around for days on end and eating entirely too much dairy. 

It is New Year's Eve or Arbitrary Time Delineation Day Eve as I like to call it. Where most people toast in the falseness of a new year, but more importantly, an all new and improved possibility of themselves, a them it is probably not possible to be at least within the mere span of 12 months and certainly not on day two or even the first 30 days of January. 

As much as I dislike all the rubbish around this day and tomorrow, I find myself reflecting on this past calendar year because it has continued what has been several years of milestone-ish events and nausea-inducing whirlwinds (if I think too much about it). 

My dad's open heart surgery in 2019 followed by mom's second breast cancer thereafter (or maybe hers was right before...who can remember). 

COVID in March 2020, followed that summer by Dad's cancer, chemo, radiation, and more surgery and radiation in 2021. 

N turning 18 in early 2022, the two of us going to the Galapagos two months later and that trip followed by her graduation from high school. 

G starting high school.

Our family trip to Scotland this past summer as a celebration of 25 years of marriage (as of late 2022) and me turning 50 (in 2023). 

And now M has applied to the same high school where G attends, so I'm apprehensive about that and anticipating the strangeness of my baby being in 9th grade. 

Around Christmas 2020, I really thought we were going to lose Dad and so I told myself that anything beyond that moment was gravy. Time with him beyond that instant was something unexpected and so I should pay special attention to it. 

As much as I do not like to use terminology like this, the realization felt holy to me and still does. It centered around my dad at that time, but it has expanded to include most everything I do. (Of course, things like earning money have to be done when and how they have to be done.)

I've always been reflective, even since childhood. I was one of those "mature beyond her years" kids, which I think mostly means you're well on your way to needing therapy and a solid antidepressant regimen. But that reflective moment felt deeper than others. 

As much as 2020 was a complete shitshow in so many ways, every year since then has been an effort in me considering time and what I do with mine. Do I want to be busy? Do I want to sit with my thoughts? Do I want to have a relationship with this person or that person? Who gets my valuable and limited time?

Although her poem is tiled The Summer Day, Mary Oliver's line, "what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" has been on my mind almost always since that Christmas 2020. 

Even in the bleak early winter as I roamed through the woods today, on the new year's eve, I found myself thinking how right Oliver's poetic lines have been for me these past years:

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

Same thing as G birthday-wise

Dear M,

My bonus baby is 14 now, and it is hard for me to believe. 

You've changed a lot in the past year, mostly height wise because you are now officially TALLER THAN ME. I'm now the shortest person in the house, which is strange. 

I watch you saunter toward the car during school pickup and am astounded by how different you are from even a year ago. Taller, deeper voice, snarkier comments (which mostly make us laugh). 

You are the hardest of my children for me to figure out. For so many years, whenever I would ask your opinion, you would respond, "Same thing as G." So that's what you got: the same thing. We didn't know what you, M, actually liked.

Now, you have left that line behind, but when we ask you what you like or want, you mostly respond, "I don't know," which is harder for me to comprehend than your previous standard response. 

Like your dad, you struggle with making decisions. You are pretty happy with whatever as long as someone else makes the call. 

So how would I describe you at 14?

• You are a pet whisperer: you have a special way with animals that makes them like you. 
• You like doing work, having recently discovered an affinity for power-washing. (When I think about what job or career you might pursue, I always wonder if it will be something that blends desk-work with being up and about.) 
• You do not like watching movies; it is a miracle if we can get you to watch one with us. 
• You are definitely more like your Pa because he loves to save money and so do you! (G takes after Papaw T who couldn't keep $5 in his pocket without it burning a hole.) 
• You recently told us that your nickname with friends is Benson. It makes me happy to know you have a group of friends who have given you a nickname. 
• You never wear a shirt if you can help it, which makes for some awkward family photos.

I love the dry humor you bring to the table (literally, every night at dinner) and the look you give whenever Dad pulls up a photo on his phone of you as a chunky toddler. That is what I see when I look at you, even though you're now a couple inches above me. 

Hope this year is a good one!

Love you,

Momma

You made it to 16

Dear G,

You just recently turned 16, and I have to admit, I'm a little surprised. Given our struggles when you were younger, I wondered if I wouldn't throttle you long before you reached this milestone. Sometimes I am amazed that the person who towers over me now and has a pretty mature emotional outlook used to be the kid who couldn't control his feelings at all.

I'm not going to say I haven't learned anything from mothering your sister and brother, but being your mom has taught me the most (so far, anyway) because of your struggles. 

One thing I've learned from you is that kids are who they are and there is a lot of awesomeness to be proud of. You have always been a unique thinker, a sensitive person, and those are wonderful traits; we simply had to get your brain settled down enough so that those things could take center stage rather than anxiety. Unfortunately, anxiety feeds off anxiety, so your feelings set my feelings off, and that was never a great combination or experience for either of us. 

Being your mom has made me realize how critical it is to get as much help as soon as possible for kids who struggle so that their struggle doesn't have to become a lifetime one or one that cripples them. I'm thankful we had the resources to do that. I'm thankful we were open to the advice and help of professionals. Our only concern was helping you be happy and comfortable in who you are. 

You've gone through a lot of changes in the past year. You started high school and have done excellent in your classes; you adjusted like a champ. You had a girlfriend and experienced a breakup, which you also handled admirably. 

Because you've always had a very strong identity, I have sometimes felt like I knew exactly what you would do, but yet, as you get older, you increasingly surprise me. Like going to next week's event up in Indiana, which you originally said you didn't want to do (which didn't surprise me), and then changed your mind (which did).  I think it will be a fun experience for you, and I can't wait for you to tell us about it afterwards. 

I like to think that pushing you a little out of your comfort zone throughout your life has given you a sense that you can move out of it on your own even without our prodding. You did great on our family trip to Scotland and surprised me there, too, with loving haggis and climbing up to the Old Man of Storr, which I thought for sure you would complain about both. 

Another thing that has surprised me is your newfound desire to watch movies, which either you, me, and Dad or you and Dad have been doing at least once every weekend since June. It is so funny to see you discover films that we love (like Inception) or to hear you and your dad go on and on about Stanley Kubrick or space travel after watching 2001: A Space Odyssey. 

You have always been a bright, thoughtful, conscientious kid, but you are adding maturity to that which only makes you better. We are excited to watch you grow and change even more in the next 12 months. 

Love you,

Momma

Would you shut up already?

Well, I knew it had been awhile since I blogged but February??

My word. I've been a busy lady, I guess. 

I could review all that busyness, but this is not the time nor the place.

I'm talking about our family trip to Scotland.

It has become clear to me over the past couple years that when it comes to travel, I get a wild hair (from where, I don't know) and just run with it. 

I had never had any thought of going to the Galapagos, but when I heard about it from N's high school in October 2020 (for an April 2022 trip), I just thought, "Let's do it." 

So we did. And it was awesome. 

D and I had briefly talked about taking the kids to Boston because G had mentioned something about it from an interest in a video game (which inspired our trip with the kids to Las Vegas in 2021). With G being the most difficult to please (in all respects) out of the family, we sort of let his interests guide our plans. At one point, sometime in early 2022, I guess, I asked him, "Would you prefer to go to Boston or Scotland?"

Smart boy said "Scotland."

Why did Scotland pop into my head? It's cool there, generally, which has become the primary factor in where we go. G hates hot weather, and as an almost 50-year-old woman, I don't need any additional help being hot, so cooler is absolutely alright with me. 

But did I have a burning desire to visit Scotland? Not especially. 

Still, the words had come out of my mouth, so I proceeded to plan a trip last summer. 

Sometimes I think my unconscious brain is busy working while my conscious brain just dithers about because D and I did celebrate 25 years of marriage last fall. Why not make this trip the June after our anniversary a milestone holiday? And we took the kids because they are not quite old enough to be totally solo for 10 days, and our parents are just a little too old to be dealing with not quite old enough kids for 10 days. 

I worked with Tenon Tours to plan the trip and was very happy with how everything turned out. Could we have done it for less money? Certainly, but part of what we wanted was to spend a night in a castle, and that wasn't cheap. They selected a manor house for us to stay in for two nights, and that was an amazing experience. We got to do a falconry experience was that phenomenal. 

At the manor house, while playing pool, M said, "This place is really cool, but if I stayed in places like this all the time, it wouldn't be special." And I think that sums up this trip for us. 

We visited the following towns/villages/cities in Scotland: Edinburgh, Kingussie, Forres, Inverness, Findhorn, Portree, Glencoe, Ballachulish, Fort William, Mallaig, Stirling, and Falkirk. And we saw so many amazing things. 

It has been a complete drag to come back to real life. Real life is so dull. (I say or think this and then fight the shame/guilt that reminds me that I am so privileged to be able to go on such a trip and then come home and complain about my very easy existence.) I have been posting photos on social media (partly because it brings me joy and I do like sharing it with others; I try not to be too insufferable by posting only a few photos, not big photo dumps of 45 pics.) I feel certain at least several people I know are thinking, Would you can it?

Still, the most wonderful part of the trip was spending time with my family at a time when we spend less time together. In some ways, this may have been a last hurrah for us (I hope not, but life changes whether you want it to or not.)

Some highlights of small moments: 

Apparently, at one point I said, "Ice cream is calling my name," and my kids have now made that one of  the "mom" phrases they make fun of me about. 

They also made fun of me because every time D has a camera in his hands, I ask, "Are you taping me?" And he always gets me on tape asking that question. (After 25 years, you kind of know someone.)

The kids, while D and I were checking into our hotel in Glencoe, made several videos in which the boys spoke as their alter egos, Eugene and Theodore. Theodore (G) gave Eugene (M) a hug which made Eugene fart, causing uproarious laughter that was caught on video. 

N, in her excitement over being able to drink legally as a 19-year-old in Scotland, ordered the typical beverage that everyone orders at an Italian small plate restaurant: a margarita. 

G's socks stunk so badly that all their shared rooms smelled like corn chips until I could find a laundry on the Isle of Skye. 

The best thing I have discovered about getting away from real life is that it takes away all the distractions that keep me from noticing my kids---the laundry, the paperwork, the phone calls, the vacuuming. It makes me focus on the moment. And we're getting short time on moments when I have the opportunity to notice them. 

Last year of teens

Dear N,

You have now embarked on your last year as an official teen, although your life is already very different from what it was a short 12 months ago.

It has been a strange year because you are learning how to navigate life as an adult, and I am learning how to not be a part of everything. This is not bad, for either of us. I have not once missed field hockey or high school events; it is totally ok that I'm not getting emails from school or having to fill out forms for you. This is the progression that every parent (every rational one, anyway) welcomes.  

I think you've adjusted to college. You were anxious your first semester, but you managed to pull all As and seem much more relaxed about second semester. You are enjoying your Philosophy in Science Fiction class (which I, your ever wise mom, recommended you take). It is fun for me and your dad to hear you talk about your classes. College can be a really cool time for you to figure yourself out (or at least begin a process that, if you're anything like me, will take until you're about 25 before you have a clearer sense of what you really want). 

You have gone through the friendship transition that takes place for most people after high school. Everyone goes in different directions, and you learn to make new friends or hang out with yourself for awhile. Those friendships were meaningful and served their place and time, but they often fade away. It can feel sad, but it can also feel liberating. I think for you it felt like both. 

I hope you know that I think you're a pretty marvelous young woman. You're bright and friendly, responsible and good-natured. You're the type of person it is easy to be around. You are, like me, a little addicted to books, but if this is your worst habit, I'm a lucky mom. We share weird cat videos via Instagram all the time; it is our love language, I think. I'm excited to go to Scotland with you and the rest of the gang this summer to explore and see some amazing things. I love that we are travel buddies, with you always happy to send me suggestions for the "next place."

Continue to work hard, be yourself, and try to think things through to their logical progression (which can be hard when that prefrontal cortex is still cooking). 

I'm really glad you came into my life 19 years ago.

I love you,

Momma

17th birthday letter

Dear N,

This week you will have your 17th birthday and yet I can still remember so clearly setting you on the floor in your portable car seat the night that your dad and I brought you home from the hospital.

I remember thinking, "I don't know what in the fuck I'm doing."

And 17 years still later, I still don't know what in the fuck I'm doing. 

You change and I change and life changes around us. 

What hasn't changed is that I'm still winging it. 

You never really got to celebrate your 16th birthday because your birthday always comes in the thick of Girl Scout cookie booth season (late Feb-mid March). 

By the time that was ending last year, COVID had hit, and we were quarantining.

This was your cupcake when we finally got to celebrate with family. 

Your 16th birthday gift was to see Elton John in concert, which was canceled and is "supposed" to happen in spring 2022. 

We shall see. 

Your field hockey season was weird.

Your junior year of high school has been weird.

And on top of all that, we've dealt with Pa's cancer, surgeries, and treatment. 

I can't say this has been an especially easy year for our family.

I have been thinking a lot about being a mother to you as I'm also thinking about being a daughter to my own parents.

As I'm seeing you grow up, I'm seeing them grow old.

[I realize I'm talking about me at the moment which is SO NOT COOL in a birthday letter but bear with me.]

It occurred to me one day recently that having a child means subjecting that child to loss. 

Yes, I know, this is a DUH moment because life is all about loss and sadness but that is not at all what people think about when they find out they are having a wanted child. 

But a big loss/sadness is watching your parents become older, become different from the strong people they used to be. They are still themselves but smaller, weaker, more fatigued, more fragile. 

Having a child means subjecting that child to having to become an adult, and even though your dad and I had you and bought a house and have bank accounts and do grown-up stuff, we're still children as long as our parents are around. 

So in thinking about when you were born, I thought about how we made the decision (unknowingly) that you would suffer, be sad, experience loss. 

As I'm watching my parents get older, I'm looking at you and feeling thankful that I see my beautiful and funny and kind and a little-bit-weird daughter who helps balance out the sadness I feel in my own role as a daughter right now.

 

Today, when I sat chatting with Nana, she told me about her own mom getting older years and years ago. Grandma's eyes were so poor she had the thickest glasses the eye doctor could make plus a magnifying glass to read the paper. 

Nana told me that her mom said to her, "What if I go blind?"

And Nana said, "Well, I guess you'll just bump into stuff."

And I laughed.

Nana didn't say that to her mom really (those were her thoughts at the time), but it sounded like something I would say, and it occurred to me that, unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) for you, you come from at least 2 generations of women who are funny and have close relationships with their own moms. 

I hope that this 17th year is as happy as it can be given all the crap going on around us. 

Your life will not be always happy and joyous which is what every parent imagines their baby's life will be on the night they bring them home from the hospital. 

Every parent expects the world to crack wide open for their child and every parent experiences the harsh realization that this will not happen. 

Their child will be human; flawed and full of foibles. 

The world will not always or even often be kind. 

Your life will be happy and sad and frustrating and easy at all different times and in lots of different ways.  

I hope that throughout your life you are able to enjoy the happy and easy and sit with the sad and frustrating, knowing that all of these things will ebb and flow. 

I hope throughout your life you know I have always loved you. 

Momma

The gratefulness that comes with delaying gratification

I have two parents who modeled for me the internal power that comes with delaying gratification. 

I don't know if this stemmed from their own experiences as being one of five or six children in their respective families of origin. I don't know if it stemmed from both being brought up relatively poor. I don't know if it was because of their Catholic faith. I don't know if they simply have personalities that made delaying gratification easier. 

Whatever the reason, my parents modeled an ability to look long-term, weigh decisions carefully, and not get everything they may have wanted when they wanted it. My brother and I did not get everything we wanted when we wanted it. My parents were pretty good at saying "no."

Now, at the time, I hated this. I didn't understand why we couldn't get call-waiting back when that was a newfangled feature on landlines. I didn't understand why we couldn't get MTV when all my friends had it. I didn't understand why my parents wouldn't buy me the name brand shoes I wanted. 

But my parents lived within their means and valued education over all else. One of the greatest gifts they gave me as a result of delaying our familial gratification was a college education with no loans or debt for any of us. 

Because they said no, as an adult I appreciated and respected delaying my gratification. This doesn't mean I LIKED it. Delaying gratification sucks, more or less. 

When D and I got engaged, I told him we would not marry until he finished his master's degree. He had been sitting on his thesis for a while, and I was determined he would finish it. So we set our wedding date 18 months out. We didn't get an apartment together but lived in our parents' homes to save money for a down payment on a house. We decided to live only on his salary and get whatever house we could afford on that so that we could save everything I made. 

All of these decisions were efforts in delaying gratification for a bigger and hopefully better outcome. If he completed his master's, he would hopefully make more money long term. It would hopefully provide more stability. If we lived with our parents, we could save more money for a down-payment. If we lived on one salary, it would make it possible for us to save a lot and me to stay home with our children without too much adjustment down the line if we ever had a family. 

But delaying gratification means not getting exactly what you want and definitely not when you want it. Living with our parents was not fun for two madly in love people who just wanted to have lots of sex with each other. Living on one salary meant we had to budget and give up getting material things we might have gotten on two salaries. (But it did allow me to have the money to put towards a master's degree.)

Ultimately, being taught to delay my gratification made me a person who is able to take a long view and not get my panties in a twist if I can't have stuff instantaneously. 

It makes it easier for me to not lose my mind by not having Thanksgiving (and likely Christmas) with extended family (or even closer family). 

Delaying gratification actually gives me a greater sense of gratefulness for all the other holidays I have completely taken for granted because we just did those without thinking. Being together for Thanksgiving and Christmas is just.what.we.did. 

There is an ache because we can't do the "normal," but that ache is also what drives my sense of thankfulness. If we decided to all be together, I wouldn't have that ache, which means I wouldn't have that poignant feeling of appreciating the abundance of the past and hoping that next year, perhaps because we have erred on the side of extreme caution, we can all safely be together again without anyone missing.  

November thankfulness, Days 1-17

Usually, I try to post one thing each day in November that I'm thankful for, and I always try to find the most unusual things I can find.

I do this because it is all too easy to be thankful for the obvious. It doesn't take a whole lot of thought to feel thankful for my family and good health. I try to pay attention to the things that I typically ignore that, though small and seemingly insignificant, bring me pleasure or joy or a sense of wonder.

Though numbered these aren't in any particular order:

1--I'm thankful my uncle, who passed away earlier this year, wanted me to have the V family history and entrusted me with it. He knew I was interested and would take care of it. I hope to one day find out where the family originated, though the local settlers came to KY in 1779 from Pennsylvania. Where did they live before that?

2--I'm thankful for good-smelling candles and hand soaps. I normally do not hoard candles or soaps (or anything if I can help it), but I have found considerable comfort since COVID began lighting candles and smelling nice scents when I wash my hands, which is a lot. 

3--I'm thankful for having time at home with our stupid cats. Normally we are running a lot during the school year, but online school is giving us lots of snuggle time with these goobers. A whole lot of frustration is averted or minimized when you get to see cuteness. 

4--I'm thankful for G's therapist. Though the pandemic took the remarkable strides G made between fall of 2019 and Feb of 2020 and more or less dumped them down the drain, being able to have periodic telehealth appointments with Dr. S helps keep G on track as much as anyone can be on track during a worldwide pandemic.

5--I'm thankful that the pandemic gave me time in the spring to learn how to crochet. I find it very calming. I listen to my audiobook and work with my hands. It is very meditative. I would not have done this were it not for quarantining.

6--I'm thankful that G wanted to clean and rearrange his room yesterday because it launched me into a day of purging. It feels very, very good to get rid of stuff. It feels very good to think about whether items I own are things I actually use or wear. Do I love them? Do they just take up stuff? Are they junk to me? 

7--I'm thankful that I can read. While I may not read 100 books this year, as I did last year, I'll be pretty close. Reading has been hard this year because of my frequent doomscrolling between pandemic news, social unrest news, and election news. Still, I'm glad it provides me a means of some escape.

8--I'm thankful N got her first job this summer. While she has long had a neighborhood pet-sitting business (which her brothers are now doing more than she is), this job has helped build her confidence and real-world experience. 

9--I'm thankful I could sub for someone who had breast cancer surgery. More importantly, I'm thankful I could sub for this person because I hated this person when I was a kid. It reminds me that a childhood perspective can be sometimes flawed and/or limited. It helps remind me that hanging onto childhood animosity can be stupid and limiting. 

10--I'm thankful I was COVID negative, at least as of last Tuesday. I do not know if that will continue to be the case (especially since another uncle died, and I went to the funeral home). We all wore masks and tried to distance, but you never know. 

11--I'm thankful for my OCD because it prepared me to be vigilant during a pandemic. Prior to COVID, I carried 3 hand sanitizers in my bag. Now I carry 4. I had trained myself to not touch my face. OCD generally sucks, but not when it comes to pandemic lifestyle changes. I handwash like a BOSS. 

12--I'm thankful to be listening to music more. I have recently re-upped songs to my playlist that I had forgotten. When everything is "meh," a little Violent Femmes and Beastie Boys send my energy back to middle school levels (at least temporarily; who can sustain that junk at age 47).

13--I'm thankful for texting and Facetime. With COVID rates rising (I originally spelled rats; Freudian, I think), we're trying to keep away from grandparents. It DOES suck to not see them, but I think about pioneers and families that traveled to California from Japan who NEVER SAW THEIR FAMILIES EVER AGAIN. They didn't have reliable mail service; heck, many pioneers didn't know how to write at all. As much as people complain about "kids" not knowing how to delay their gratification, I think we've got an entire society that sucks at it. (Grown-ups, I'm talking to your asses.)

14--I'm thankful for the public library system. They do curbside pickups now, and since reopening have been a lifesaver for me and the kids. I tell them regularly how much I appreciate them making books available.

15--I'm thankful I've let go of this notion that I have to stay "socially connected" to people I really and truly have zero relationship with or who I actually (and actively) dislike. To stay "friends" with someone you genuinely don't like and don't spend time with and who actively makes your life unpleasant when they post stuff is bonafide dumb. It took me entirely too long to recognize that. 

16--I'm thankful I'm don't have to be an "always right" parent. I'm often wrong, and it is much better to admit that (both to myself and my kids). Just because something is "right" for me doesn't mean it is "right" for my kids. It seems like recognizing that before they are adults makes life easier. That doesn't mean we always agree, but we always discuss. 

17--I'm thankful for hand-me-down clothes from my children. I recently acquired an old Stranger Things t-shirt, a pair of leggings, and a perfect cardigan wrap. 

I'm starting to feel differently about death

I have always been fascinated by death, and I doubt that will ever change. I have also always been terrified of death, although that bit seems to be changing. And yet, I've always understood suicide--the need/desire to end it all, to just be free of consciousness forever. 

The actual physicality of dying and decay is intriguing. 

This past summer I read Mary Roach's book Stiff, and I couldn't read it fast enough. I didn't know this place existed until I read this book. I regularly tell G that he should be a forensic doctor because he loves to poke at dead things or cut into preserved corpses (of worms, fish, etc). N has an interest in forensics, too. M gets "sicky" easily, so he will be the one who opts out of anything remotely related to blood and bone.

I have been reading the kids the His Dark Materials trilogy by Philip Pullman for the past several months. I read this series probably 20 years ago before I had children, so I had forgotten a TON. 

The other night, though, we got to the point in The Amber Spyglass, where Lyra meets her Death, and I loved the idea that from the moment a person is born, their death essentially hangs with them through every experience, ready when the time comes to take their hand and gently escort them into the great beyond. Essentially, the death functions similarly to the soul. In this book, both are personified. 

I don't know what I believe about death...what happens after, although my biggest sense is nothing. You simply don't exist anymore. Just as my consciousness of life didn't happen at the moment of my birth, and I remember nothing of the "before" or my birth or the several years after my birth, I think death will be the same. 

A while back I listened to an audiobook by Barbara Ehrenreich titled Natural Causes, and there was a part that struck me:

"You can think of death as a tragic interruption of your life... or, more realistically, you can think of life as an interruption of an eternity of personal nonexistence, and see it as a brief opportunity to observe and interact with the living, ever-surprising world around us."

I think it is pretty normal to feel scared of death when you're young, but the older I get, the more I understand that death can begin to feel like a relief. This doesn't mean you don't want to live anymore, but it means that due to the physical burdens of living (fatigue, disease, aging bones and muscles, etc.), you are tired. There is a point when many people if they live long enough are simply exhausted. They don't actively wish to die but they are okay with the prospect of eternal "sleep" and rest. 

And yet, I also understand the desire to not exist anymore as a young person due to the confusion and the angst and the general unmoored feelings that a person can have when they are still raging at figuring things out or if depression has taken hold of them. 

Several years ago I spoke to a mom whose son was having suicidal thoughts, and she had never had those herself. She couldn't wrap her head around the idea, and so I explained to her that I had sort of always had suicidal thoughts. It was as strange to me to imagine a person never having such thoughts as it was to her to imagine someone having them at all. 

My dad's diagnosis with face/neck cancer this summer and his current chemotherapy (which is preventative since his cancer has not metastasized) has me tuned into mortality. For this to coincide with a pandemic that has taken over 200,000 lives makes it even scarier. 

I don't like to think of my parents dying, and yet being forced to reckon with it provides a silver lining. Last year when Dad had his open-heart surgery to repair a valve and was still in the hospital, I helped him out of bed one day and bathed his back while my mom went home to shower. I am not a sentimental person, but this was a profoundly important experience for me (and why are my eyes getting bleary right now.) 

Sorry. Needed a tissue. 

Helping my dad in that moment was one of the most meaningful experiences in my life, right up there with marrying and having children. Seeing my dad vulnerable was a gift. 

Damn. More tissues. 

Seeing my dad vulnerable then was a gift. Seeing my dad vulnerable now during his cancer is a gift.

It is not a gift I expected or want at all. AT ALL.

But to see it only as a burden and sadness misses a large part of the picture of what it means to be human and have a meaningful life. 

Nothing rhymes with 11

Dear M,

My bonus baby monkey boy is 11 now, and that is hard to believe. 

You've have changed a lot in the past year. 

Not only did your braces (Phase I) come off, you have finally, FINALLY been separating yourself a bit from your brother. You are no longer ruled so much by "Same thing as G" as you once were.

Your snark is definitely developing which is frequently hilarious for all of us. 

You continue to be the one person in the family who mispronounces words in your own unique way, usually putting accents on unique syllables. When we saw the movie "Gemini Man" listed on Netflix, you said "Gem-een-nee." We still laugh at the way you called a neighborhood dog Mur-reeeee a couple years ago (Murray). 

Like other 11-year-old boys, you are way into farting. Fortunately, you have not yet entered the "stinking from all areas and orifices" stage. You still pretty willingly take baths. 

Your 5th-grade year certainly looks different with doing virtual school, but you have been so responsible and attentive to your work which makes me proud. I'm not sure what you'll be when you grow up, but based on how much I have to tug things out of you, I'm not certain writing will be your top career prospect. And we know you get sicky from all things blood, bruise, and wound-oriented so nursing or doctoring are out. 

One day when we walked to the new construction in the back of the neighborhood, you said it might be fun to build houses. We will see, I guess.

You continue to be the cat whisperer in the house, at least to the one with white paws. She will follow you anywhere and everywhere. Up the stairs, down the stairs; it doesn't matter. She often sleeps at the end of your bed or lies on your desk to keep you company. 

You've discovered how fun it is to take pics on my phone and you regularly go without a shirt, no matter the weather. Often you do both at the same time.

I hope you have a good year even though coming up to 11 has been all pandemic(y) and not super great. Fortunately, you've got a positive attitude and sense of humor which will help you manage whatever life throws at you. 

I love you bunches, my favorite ear twiddler.

Momma

He's mostly unclean, and now he's 13

 Dear G,

You are now in the greasy stage of your life. 

Thirteen years ago, you were in what I call the "wormy" stage of life when you just wiggled and slept and didn't do anything to make me think you were a vertebrate. 

You were a worm, but a cute and chubby one. 

Anyway, now at 13 (officially) your hair is literally so greasy that I refuse to hug you some days until or unless you take a bath and wash it. 

You are approximately 2 inches shorter than me now when barefooted and you are rock solid. I know this because when you sometimes come downstairs in the morning and sit on my lap, it is like a gigantic boulder of butt muscle has planted itself on my thighs.  I know this will only get worse the bigger and taller you get. 

But it will one day make for some hilarious photo recreations. 

You are more and more a young man. (With nice hair, I must say.)

Last week you got braces, which you wanted to go ahead and get done because as you said, "7th grade sucks anyway."

The older you get, the more like your dad you become.

Like the pandemic and online school has totally been NBD for you. You and your dad are both like, "What? Talk to people? Like....in real life?" Staying at home and playing video games is what you were born to do. 

The pandemic did put a huge kink in all the work you had done with your OCD therapy, but you are doing ok. The two of us went out to buy you new shoes last weekend and we finished in 30 minutes. And neither of us yelled or came out bloody. It was a miracle!

You also got new shorts and shirts (size men's small) this summer and have worn them without incident.

Sometimes you are a giant pain in the butt, but we realized at some point that without you in the family, we would have like zero memorable stories from vacations and stuff.

If it wasn't for you getting your hand stuck in the lobster statue in Edisto Island, we might not even remember that trip, for example.

If you hadn't thrown yourself dramatically on large rocks in the Rocky Mountains because we made you hike and you were overwhelmed (and also a drama queen), we'd have no hilarious pictures to look at now.  

And this summer you were the only one to catch a big-ass fish when we had our family vacation!

You have always, always forged your own unique path, which has been a lot of a headache and also funny, but usually only when we're past it. 

Except for this which always was and always will be hilarious. 

(Gangnam Style, yo)

Being your mom has made me learn a lot about patience and anxiety and the need to be chill since together we are both very low on chill. 

Being your mom has helped me be a better person, I think. 

I'm so proud of the young man you are becoming, and I hope I can guide you to be genuinely yourself in a world that likes to pigeonhole people. 

I love you, weirdo.

Momma