'Magical'

The youngest sister, with stick straight hair, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and the snaggly grin kids that age usually have, was a constant in our home, partly because of the crush she had on our son, and partly to spend time with me. We baked a lot of cookies together and I was happy to have her tag along, whatever I was up to. Twenty-five years later I can still see her face so clearly.

Their family lived a few houses up the street from us, and I sensed there were challenges. A mother who'd become a mother too soon, other children came along from a variety of fathers, and somewhere in the middle of it all the mom tried to pull herself together and get the education she'd missed out on, all while working mediocre jobs to help pay the bills. I can remember the mom's name, and all three of the girls, but the only thing I recall about the currently residing 'father' was a turtle shell nailed to a tree in the yard from a hunting trip. Not his face or name.

She was the oldest, a child born to a child, and always seemed to want more. To be more. I spent some time with her because she and our oldest were both on the pom pom squad. Time french braiding hair for game night, and gatherings when our house was bursting at the seams with late night squeals (and some squabbles) and giggles and nail polish and hair spray and empty pizza boxes. But really, the two of us didn't talk much. Most of any extra attention and energy I had at that stage of life went to the youngest who would have moved in with us if invited.

I woke up this morning to a message that told me she'd been watching, and wishing 'desperately' that I was her mother during those years. That she was thankful she'd had a chance to watch me, watch our family and how we interacted. To see that families could be different than hers. She referred to a line in a TV show she'd heard recently where the mother was described as 'magical' because she knew what each child needed growing up, and into adulthood, and she saw that in me.

'Magical'? I was stunned. And a bit sad I was so unaware at the time of how much need she had, how I could have poured into her, invited her in, and invested in her. How did I miss that? Maybe raising three of my own, working part time or full time, with a husband who had a demanding career - maybe that's partly to blame for me being so oblivious?

Now grown, with children of her own, she's hungry to be more than a stressed out single mom, struggling to rise above her own personal challenges so that they don't affect her home. Like hers was. She wants her children to know they are her greatest pride, the best 'thing' she will ever do with her life, but she has no idea how to begin.

And she's asking me for answers. The answers I needed in my twenties and thirties.

So for her, here's what I'd say:

#1. You can't give what you don't have. You cannot pour out of an empty vessel. I don't mean the current culture, 'it's all about me', 'I deserve it'. I mean fix yourself first. My mother would have taken a bullet for me, but she struggled on so many levels her entire life, because of the horrible dysfunction she grew up in, and it deeply affected me and my five siblings. Invest in yourself, whether that's counseling, reading a bunch of GOOD books, or finding a mentor. I recommend all three! I was a very young bride and mother, with no clue what I was doing; I can look back and see a lot of mistakes I made. But I did some things right. First and foremost, I made a decision to center my life around not just my belief in Christ, but in His Lordship. I realized walking up an aisle and saying 'sorry' might cover me, but I had to let Him be the boss, let Him lead and then actually follow. When you grow up in survival mode, following anyone doesn't come easy. Sometimes it still doesn't. I was twenty-five years old, divorced and remarried with a young child, and Cub Sweetheart didn't know what on earth had happened, but from that point I was changed, headed in a different direction.

#2. I chose who to surround myself with. I made the decision then that any friend in my inner circle would be someone I wanted to be more like. There is a quote:

“Five years from now, you’re the same person except for the people you’ve met and the books you’ve read.”  John Wooden

I had peripheral friends who I spent time with, but that inner core was made up of who I wanted to be when I grew up. I haven't always done this perfectly, and have been re-reminded of the wisdom of it. Even with small children under foot, I carved out time with these women, and I watched and listened carefully. I still do this today, because I'm still a work in progress, with plenty to learn, whether it's how to present a meal that's being delivered to a friend, or how to host a dinner in our home, or how to listen more than I talk (always a struggle for this middle child in a family of talkers!), or how to live out the next stage of life ahead of me.

And I read! CS still teases me that I'm the only living person to read "How to Breastfeed Your Baby" three times, but I had no idea. I've read almost all of Dave Ramsey's books, as well as Larry Burkette and a few others. I've read Sanity in the Summer, a lot of Dr. Dobson and Kevin Leman, and a newer author my oldest daughter looked to as a mentor on paper, Sally Clarkson. Her books, "Mission of Motherhood" and "Ministry of Motherhood", a well as many others she's written should be in the hands of every new mom, and maybe even more when those babies grow into teenagers. And when they start to leave the nest; Ordering Your Private World, Boundaries (one that needs to be re-read every few years at least), and so many others. I've had a few wonderful mentors, some of those intentional and some I just watched from the sidelines, but by far I was fed through the pages written by godly women further down the path of being a woman, a wife and a mother.

#3 Be a friend to your kids, but first be a mom. I used to tell my kids we could be friends when they grew up, and they have and we are. Back then I told them they'd have a lot of people in their lives who wanted to be their friend, but they only got one mother, and I still stand on that. Don't try to live through your kids' lives. Don't try to be cool. (If you and your teenager share a wardrobe.... just sayin'.) Be that rock they so desperately need. Say no when you should and stand by it, but let 'yes' be your go to unless there's a really good reason to say no. If I could go back, I'd still lean hard on being the parent, but I've also learned if you want a friendship with your adult children you can't start that when they're twenty or so. Which leads to.....

#4 Don't major in the minors. I wish I'd realized then a belly button ring isn't the end of the world, nor wearing mascara a year before I thought they should. I wish I'd cared less about how messy their bedroom was, but rather about what was going on inside that head and heart of theirs. I wish I'd grasped a bunch of boys mooning your daughter from across the street was actually sort of funny (not that I still would let them see me laugh) but maybe I didn't need to have such a hissy fit over it either. And I wish I'd slowed down, and relaxed enough to just enjoy them more. Now that all three of ours are in (or almost in) their 40's, I'd give an awful lot to spend a summer afternoon watching them play in the sandbox from my kitchen window, or sew them Halloween costumes, or stay up late putting together Christmas toys, or ride down the road in the middle of nowhere with the van smelling like rank tennis shoes and three kids asking 'when will we be there'. It truly does all go by so quickly.

#5. I'd give them more grace, and allow them to feel, and tell me, how they were feeling. Always with respect. I can remember grounding one of our kids, and them stomping up the stairs. And I yelled up, 'that's another day for stomping'. And then they slammed their bedroom door and I yelled up, 'that's another day for slamming.' And they said to me, "what CAN I do when I'm mad?' It wasn't always my best move to force them to squelch feelings, not express their frustrations, because being a teenager is a wee bit frustrating as I recall. Sometimes what sounds or looks like keeping the peace is actually just stuffing feelings. So I actually wish I'd allowed them to be more honest about what was going on inside, even when it didn't look or sound pretty.

#6 I'd give myself more grace. Grace to fail. Grace for trying when I was exhausted. Grace for figuring out how to make do when there really wasn't the money to do it well. I wish they'd seen me give myself a little bit more grace so they would know it was okay to do that for themselves as well.

The line about being 'magical' is from a recent episode of a TV show where all three of the kids are in their 40's with messy lives, but the mother is seen as the center force, the true north for all of them, and they're about to lose her to dementia, in the same way I lost my mother five years ago. I remember right after my mother died being so angry for who she was, who she wasn't and the realization that she'd never, ever been truly happy. As these past five years have gone by, I've begun to re-see my mother's life, our relationship, in a different light. I see what she was up against, how ill equipped she was for the battles she had to face, and how hard she tried through it all. I have no illusions that she did it perfectly. She did not. But I have been able to come more to terms with the fact that she did the best she could with what she had for those who mattered most. And I was blessed to be one of them.

I'd add that as #7. Do the very best you can with what you have for those who matter most. That will bless them. You won't have all the answers, but don't let that make you quit. Your job is never over, even after they leave, and whether they 'turn out' or not. You never outgrow needing your mom. 

And I'd encourage her to give her mom a call. Moms never outgrow that either.