Back

Some days I want to go back.

I want to go back to the not knowing.

I want to go back to the days of innocence, the days of guarantees.

I want to submerge myself in the here and now and not think of the tomorrows.

I want to unknow what I know, I want to unsee what I have seen, I want to erase images that are seared on my mind.

Information is a dangerous thing.

Stories and lives are powerful things to peek in on, to witness from afar.

We live in a world of information.

But some days I want to go back.

I want to go back to the not knowing.

My boy came in last night, not able to sleep.

We were always strict NOT IN MY BED parents, here in this house.............back in the days of innocence and guarantees.

Last night I said...............crawl in and we slept side by side, an arm dangling over a waist, a leg intertwined, a head curved into a shoulder...........it was a guarantee for the night.

How I want to hold him forever.

For there was a boy.  Not one I even know.  Rather one I read about in a blog and then followed on Facebook and through Google found information on.

It's been a few days now.  Days which I have followed his story, peeked in on his mom.  One mom checking in on another, anxious at the outcome.........hoping........maybe?  Wishing for something to happen that never will.......but wishing all the same.

This age of information is a tricky one.

It lead me to this story, this mom and her son but not to the ending I wanted.

He died last night.

Thirteen years old.

A soccer player.

Big smile, big cheeks.

Loved by his brother and family.

A brain tumor snatched him from this life.

Today is a day I want to go back.

Back to the not knowing, the innocence, the guarantees.

I want to go back.

Don't Miss It

So I have mentioned before...........THE JOB.

I love it.

The mom job, of course.  But also the churchy job.

I still default and tell people that I am a mom a lot of the time when they ask me what I do.

I don't know why.

I think I value more what I do with my kids than what I do with the outside world.

I think that I feel more "me" as a mom than I do as anything else.

I don't know.

But I do get to meet some amazing people as the result of my job.

People who bless me with their words, with their work, with their life.

Today I got to meet one of those people.

20 years he has worked in this world, it's a family thing.  Passed on from father to son.

He has a passion for serving people.

He has a knowledge of this area and talks of the city with care.

He realizes the need to educate people.  He said that his goal is NOT to keep on meeting with the same people over and over again, enabling them but his goal is to educate and help them and have them not rely so heavily on him, rather they will have learned to help themselves.

He told me he is on call - 24 hours a day.  That we could call him at midnight.  He might be groggy and not as coherent but that he would answer and be ready to help.

He's not taking Christmas off.

He said people are just as vulnerable in the city on Christmas day as any other day - he has a responsibility to them.

He spoke with such an earnestness and passion.

He took more time than he needed to explain things, to teach me.  He went through detail upon detail.

At one point I knew that he had something hard to say and he took such care to be kind.

I was just in awe of this guy.

It was an unexpected gift to my day.

Oh........

And who was the guy, you ask?

Randy, the Roto-Rooter guy.

I was standing there in my ancient Ugg boots, an old bulky blue bathrobe and my dirty winter coat being taken to church by my plumber.

My job?

It's flexible.

I got to stay home for a service call.

Good thing I didn't go to church that day.

I would have missed the message.

Car Talk

Remember those days?

Those days when your kids babbled or cooed or were just learning to speak?

It was cute, right?

And oh..........that first word, the first mama, the first "I love you".......it melts your heart.

But you know what else is great?

Car talk.

I love car talk.

Well, most of the time.

Sometimes the VERBOSITY of my children can get to me........I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THEY GET IT FROM.

But much of the time I love car talk.

It's unguarded talk - they can't look right at me and I can't look right at them.  It's time when we are all in one place with nothing to do - no toys, no screens, no distractions, no work, no other people.  Just me and them.

And so the other night we are in the car and the talk begins.

Fia:  B******** asked me out today

(WHAT THE HECK?!?!  ASKED YOU OUT? ARE YOU SERIOUS?  YOU'RE IN THIRD GRADE?!?  AND THIS IS THE KID THAT HAS BEEN AFTER YOU FOR TWO YEARS NOW!  WE ASKED YOUR TEACHER LAST YEAR TO CHANGE YOUR SEAT BECAUSE HE WOULDN'T LEAVE YOU ALONE!  WHAT THE HECK?!?!)

Me (in an utterly calm voice):  Oh.  (Pause)  What did you say?

(One of THE BEST pieces of advice I have ever gotten was from Suzi - NON-REACTION.  No matter what your kid says to you, what word, what idea, what thought - NON-REACTION.  It has opened a million doors to some of the best conversations I've ever had with my kids)

Fia:  I told him no.

(YES! YES! YES!)

Me:  Oh.  (Pause) Well, that seems like it was a good decision.  Third grade still seems a bit young to be going out with someone.  How did it make you feel when he asked you, though?

Fia:  It kind of freaked me out.

(Good.  It should.  YOU ARE IN THIRD GRADE.  STAY FREAKED OUT A BIT LONGER!!!!)

Me:  What happened next?  What did he do?

Fia:  He asked out a bunch of other girls.  EVEN THE NEW GIRL, Mom.  She just got here, like, last Friday and he asked her out.  Finally A****** asked if he would stop talking if she said yes and he said he would so A***** said yes and he stopped talking.  He still likes me the BEST, though.  He only likes the other girls a little.

(I am starting to see how even though it FREAKED HER OUT that she might still appreciate being the one who is liked best..............hmmmm................might have to have further talks about this.......girl to girl)

Nico (from the far back):  I would tell him NO.  NEVER.  That it is REALLY INAPPROPRIATE.

Like I said.

Car talk.

It's awesome.

Then we came home, had some dinner and Francesca said she was going to put on a dinner show.

So she did.

Splits and all in the kitchen while we ate.

It was really INAPPROPRIATE :)

Promise Me

Promise that it will be me and you.  Me and you against the world together.  Against the children together.  Against the insecurities and the long nights of sleeplessness.  Against the norm, against the ways things "ought" to be.  Against the bad decisions and the hard decisions.  Me and you.  Together.


Promise me.


Promise that your arms will always hold, always encircle, always protect.  That your words will sooth and love and build up.  That your presence will be the always calm in the sometimes storms.


Promise me.


Promise that the person I have to be, the person I choose to be, the person that is on display for the world is not the person I have to be for you.  Promise that you will always love my naked self more than my made-up self.  That stripped down, laid bare Mandy is the best version, your favorite version and you'll treasure it as only yours.


Promise me.


Promise that when I do the grown up version of a kicking and screaming tantrum - when my silence is heavy and my spirit is angry that you'll see past the facade and look to the heart.  That you will recognize the core of who I am and know.  Know that I'm scared, that I'm tired, that I'm frustrated, that I'm anxious, that I'm hurt.  Know that I need you and always will but sometimes choose to push you away.  Forgive me.


Promise me.


Promise that I can throw water at you and say inappropriate 6 year old boy words and sing off key and talk too much and laugh too loud and flick spit in your face and cunningly, sneakily serve you tuna and you will laugh with me.  That we won't ever grow up and be "proper" adults that there will always be some words that are funny, some things that cause us to dissolve in laughter........even if it's just how funny the OTHER person thinks it is.


Promise me.


Promise that we'll talk.  We'll discuss.  We will always dream.  That we will never grow tired of our children's stories, that they will continue to amaze us and challenge us and make us laugh and we will talk of it.  Promise that while silence can be comfortable it never takes over our lives and that we will be the old couple at the restaurant still talking and laughing and dreaming.


Promise me.


Can you?


Please?


Promise me?


I love you.


I promise you.

Weightlessness

I love water.

Not drinking it, of course.

My drink of choice is always Diet Coke.

Always.

But I love being IN the water.

I love the feel of it on my skin.

I love the weightlessness of being immersed in the water.

I love how relaxing it is to feel it pouring over you and sweeping away the cares of the day.

I love water.

Today I was swimming - swimming laps so that I may become a bit more weightless, my body stronger.

And for a moment I didn't love the water.

I didn't love how hard it was to push against the water to propel myself forward.

I didn't love how tired and achy my body felt after I had already been on the treadmill and now was in the water.

I didn't love the obligation of the water.

I didn't love that I would close my eyes and veer out of my lane.

Nothing about the water was weightless or relaxing or delightful.

I was immersed in the OBLIGATION and STRIVING and PUSHING of myself.

I was not immersed in the water.

As I began to realize this I began to push less, I relaxed into each kick, each arm movement and let the water propel me forward.

I began to feel my body give way to the water.

I began to feel the rush of water pass me by........rolling over me and creating that feeling of weightlessness.  I began to glide more than push myself.

My body, rather than achy and tired, felt more and more restored by the water.

And I realized that is how I act towards God sometimes.

I make him an obligation.

Something to push against.

Someone who expects ME to propel myself.

I take my eyes off of Him and I veer and I get mad at being off-course.

I STRIVE and I PUSH and I act out of OBLIGATION.

But, ultimately I am not immersed in HIM.  I am immersed in SELF.

It is when I relax into Him, when I allow HIM to propel me forward, when I allow HIM to restore and renew and allow HIS presence to wash over me.........

Well, then I begin to experience weightlessness.

Weightlessness which comes from not being burdened by the cares of this world.

Weightlessness which comes from being fully loved.

Weightlessness that comes not from obligation but from a desire to be restored.

Weightlessness that comes not from self but from GOD.

Dear Father, let your presence wash over us today.  Let us experience the restoration and weightlessness that comes from fully immersing ourselves in YOU.  Let us be propelled forward not by our own strength but by yours.  

Amen.

My Job

This job?

It's hard.

It comes with so many demands - on my time, on my emotions, on my strength.

It drains me and leaves me empty, at times.

What started out as dreams and imaginings and YES! I can't wait to do this thing........well, that first burst of excitement gives way to the reality of what I signed up to do.

It's just a lot more work than I expected.

There are some days when it's just repetition and sameness and OH MY WORD do these people love to talk.  It's a lot more listening than I imagined.  More care than I imagined.  TONS more patience than I imagined.

By the end of some days I am frustrated and irritated. 

I wonder if what I am doing matters.

I wonder if I made the right decision in taking on this new life, this new job.  

I wonder if everyone wouldn't be better off if life had stayed more of the same.

There are days when I miss my old life.

BUT..........then I think.

I love these people.

I love this environment.

I love the atmosphere.

There are the perks of flexibility, time off when needed (I love the guy I work with - he's incredibly understanding and aware of when I have hit my limit) and I have a lot of creative control and input into what goes on.

It's good.

I DO love it.

And on the bad days?

I remember it's a job.

It's not meant to be fun ALL the time.

I don't do it because it's "fun".

It's work.

It starts off intense, round the clock and then gives way to a lighter load.

It may seem mundane at times BUT................

It's important.

It matters.

It is worth the time and the energy and the effort.

It's worth the hard days and the bad days.

And sometimes I kind of suck at it.

But it's a job.

And that will happen.

I just get up the next day and try again.

I pray more.

I love more.

I give grace more - to myself and those around me.

Why?

Because being a mom is the most important job I will ever have.

Mommy Moments: Part 2

Sometimes I forget.

I forget the lessons I learned in the early days of motherhood.

The why of why I named this blog Mommy Moments instead of Mommy Life.

It's easy to get lost in the ENTIRETY of motherhood, to become overwhelmed by the sheer responsibility of it all.

I get lost in the pure numbers of it all - the minutes spent away, the minutes wasted, the minutes gone wrong, the minutes done wrong, the minutes that seem to slip away sometimes with me barely even noticing that the clock is ticking on the in-house days I have with my babes.

But yet.............there are moments.

Moments of a girl sitting on the edge of a bed, legs crossed, fingers slipping golden hair behind delicate ears and she talks.  She talks endlessly and with the mouth of a child, the tone of a child but the words of someone older.  She talks of art class where there was free art today and she talks on and on.

I ask if she preferred free art or art class when there was a project.  I was certain I knew the answer but I asked to hear the response.

I was right.

Oh my girl.

She likes the art project where there is structure and things you are suppose to do and then you can do your own thing within the boundary of the project.  Free art leaves way too much choice and blanks to fill in.  She talks on about such things - using her own words not mine.  It's lovely to hear and I drink in the moment.

Then there are the moments of my boy............I marvel at his size and his strength every day.  How big he's gotten.  How he has opinions now on hair (bangs always, gel on rare occasions, mostly always trimmed and neat would be the preference) and clothes (always athletic) and girls (he likes the loud ones, the ones that act more like boys and only as friends).

I love that he cuddles in the dark of morning or night, that he seeks out comfort only when we give him space.  Those are the moments I treasure - the whispered conversations with an almost grown boy about school and life and friends and how I love his words and explanations of things.  He sees things that most don't at his age - he names everyone's best friends in class using everyone's last names and explaining the whys of the relationships, he explains his frustrations with getting things wrong and being angry and so much more.

I just marvel at who he is when he lets himself go.

And oh my girl.......the last and the oh so typical of being the last.  The clown, the jokester, the always rumpled, always slightly disorganized last.  Her moments save us from ourselves at times, they save her from complete disaster.

I hear just her voice and I smile.

We've had people ask about her "accent" - her Jersey-like, full of drama accent.  It seems to be fading a bit and I will mourn the day it ends when "purrrrse" becomes the ordinary and clipped "purse" - how I love her words.

But her moments are filled with well-timed phrases - such as when we were cautiously watching "Maleficent" waiting for the kids to be too scared and thinking that we would have to turn it off.  The battle begins and the horses charge and there is yelling and screaming and Maleficent begins to rage and it's all a bit overwhelming and you hear......

"I LOVE her."

And just like that the entire tone of the scene changes for us all and we laugh and any hold the images might have had on any of us is dispelled because of a Jersey-like, full of drama accented girl.

Moments.

Just moments.

But sometimes moments are enough.

Because when viewed through it's entirety motherhood can break you, make you feel not enough, make you question what you do or say or decide.

Motherhood is so hard, at times, because who has it all figured out?

Certainly not me.

BUT.............I have my moments.

Moments that shine.

Moments that last.

Moments that fill me up.

Moments that make me laugh.

Moments to cherish.

Moments to store away.

Moments of greatness.

Moments of perfection.

Moments of sweetness.

Mommy moments.