I have decided to end my blog. Not my writing, just my blog. With the kids all grown, I think it’s time the shoe must go on…to other writing projects, other stories and other endeavors.
I want to thank all my subscribers and readers. Thank you for all the comments and encouragement over the past 13 years. I’ve had a lot of fun writing From The Shoe. Thanks to the friends who helped proofread and edit my blog posts. You know who you are. 🙂
It’s funny, I no longer feel like a mom. With the kids grown and living their lives, my role as mother has formally ended. They don’t need me like that anymore.
I know I am still their mom, and will always be, but the work of a mother with minor children is over. And most of my columns were about raising a bunch of wild and crazy kids. I’d like to write different things now. We’ll see where the shoe goes.
I am in uncharted waters. I have never been this old. I haven’t been this alone (not lonely) just alone, on my own, in nearly 40 years. I look at how my folks navigated retirement and pre-old age, and still can find no map. They were well-rooted, grounded people unlike their hapless hare of a daughter. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths” will have to be my compass, the One Quiet Star. He is definitely trustworthy.
Nearly 40 years ago, I embarked on another unknown journey after I graduated from college. Then, too, I looked to the One Quiet Star. The Star I first saw through a bedroom window in my parents’ house when I was a teenager. I wished upon it. This was before I knew its Maker. I saw it that first semester at St. Mary’s sitting on a cold concrete stair looking at the blue-orange western sky, and it was brilliant. It comforted me as I started my last leg of college work at a new school.
I saw that Star in the San Pablo sun-setting sky amidst the happy chaos of rambunctious little kids, and even through the sad times when the course took an abrupt turn. It hung over the tempestuous Pacific during those difficult years. I see it from the back porch of my house, still guiding me on the journey I set out on in 1979 when I decided to follow Jesus. And even this past week, as I traveled home from the mid-west, the One Quiet Star shone almost as bright as the Strawberry Moon somewhere in the California desert, reminding me again of Who walks with me.
I am not going to worry like I used to about where I’d end up. Now, I am trying to be content in this moment, this day, this place, and with those who are around me now. Because I know, it’s not gonna last. One day, probably soon, the last of the kids will fly. Then the house will be really quiet. So, I want to continue “to be a pilgrim on the right journey, never to lose sight of the One Quiet Star on the horizon” wherever It may lead.
One of the Helicopter Mom’s greatest tools is texting. I know many would say the Life 360 App is the best, but, I confess, I have never used it. I’m still old school. I still remember the days when my parents had no idea where I was and what I was doing. And, primarily, for that reason, and the fact that if I used that app, I would be a wreck, I have refused to use it. But my kids use it for each other, so when I am tempted to know where someone is, I tread the unpredictable waters and inquire from one of the kids. But I was a habitual heli-texter. Yes, you heard me right…”was”. I am proud to announce most of my heli-texting days are probably over.
Heli-texting, what the…heck is that? Well, I made up the word last night. Backstory… I live with three nocturnal creatures…my daughters. They go out every night, even after a long day at work or at school. And one of them is like a four o’clocker…almost always a very late night. Horrible conditions in which to quit heli-texting. I don’t know where they are. I have been long exiled into the “need-to-know basis” territory. Much to my chagrin.
Anyway, last night, I was home all alone, all the creatures, even the ones next door, were out. I didn’t know where most of them were. I had been working on ditching heli-texting for almost a month, but I did panic a little last night before I went to bed because one of the kids said they were coming home before going out again. Didn’t come home, didn’t text. So general anxiety panic disorder (GAPD) set in. (I made that up too.) And I fell off the wagon, and began to type out a text, copy it and sent to each of my offspring. To which I got two answers. Then I finally heard noises downstairs from one of those nocturnal creatures who had returned home. I went to check it out. I asked, “Where is everyone?” One of the persons present told me of a potentially harried tale while the other person present tried to throttle him. And all I said, “If they’re home safe, I don’t care.” And I added, “Hey, haven’t you even noticed I haven’t’ been “heli-texting” anymore?” To which, my daughter replied, “Hella texting?” “No, heli-texting…helicopter texting. Hey, I just made up that word.” She wasn’t too impressed. I went back to bed and went to sleep.
Heli-texting, or known as hella-texting apparently in the Bay Area, is helicopter parenting via text. That’s it. It’s blowing up their phones. I even googled heli-texting and couldn’t find any match for that word. Therefore, I hereby unofficially patent the word and take ownership. And why not? I am an expert…albeit a retired one.
I wrote a blog, “Hope For The Helicopter Mom”, about an incident when my oldest son tried to check my rampant heli-texting. Heading over to the City back when he was like 17, he told me I only get five texts. I sweated through the evening and he arrived home safe and sound just using five texts. But that was twenty years ago, it’s only recently that I’ve quit heli-texting.
A few weeks ago, I don’t remember exactly what happened, but as I’ve tried to emotionally distance myself from my grown kids and put the mothering to rest, I decided to quit bugging them via text. Just quit bugging entirely. They’re grown, they’re doing their own things (nail biting) and unless they loop me in, I’ve got to find something else to do. In a conversation on a podcast, the interviewer reiterated some of Jordan Peterson’s words to him: “I heard you recently talk about a mother’s ability to let her child go out into the world knowing that they’re still vulnerable and that it’s now down to them and the world to look after them, that’s one of the bravest things…” To which Jordan Peterson finished the thought, “It’s the female crucifixion.” He went on to describe the Pieta and Mary’s grief after the crucifixion.
Yes!! Letting them go, go out into the world – a place you know is dangerous and evil as well as beautiful and glorious – knowing they are so young and inexperienced is likened to something as traumatic as a crucifixion. Letting them go has been that hard. And what keeps me on track to not worry, be anxious or fretful is that, as a Christian, I am called to JOY, PEACE, LOVE and HOPE, things that cannot survive in the hazardous environment of fear.
Lest you think I’ve arrived at total acquiescence and indifference to my kids’ independence and activities, I do still peak out the bathroom window after I wake up and count the cars, and, sigh a heartfelt “Thank You, Lord.” So what am I supposed to do now? Read my last blog post here.
“I am old now…” like Orual in C. S. Lewis’ “Til We Have Faces. And like Orual, I have “this lean carrion that still has to be washed and fed and have clothes hung about it daily with so many changes,” well not so lean. Perhaps one of my new dreams is to get back into some better health. My old roommate from 1978 sent me photos from the “good old days”. I was trim, pretty and had all of my original teeth. I was even pretty athletic, maybe I can get back to that “lean carrion.”
One of my first dreams was to get married and have a big family. I wrote about wanting lots of kids, running around with animals, laughter, baking and fun. I wanted to raise them with a knowledge of the Lord so when they were adults they would chose His way. Most of that dream came true. The reality, though, was a little different than what I had imagined. But I did it…and I did it to the best of my ability with the tools I had. The regrets I have, I can live with.
My second dream was to get a house for my kids, especially after our lives exploded by divorce. I was obsessed for years, I was determined to find a place of our own one day, at least for the kids who were still with me. I was a regular on Redfin, scouring the site for houses I could afford. It took years to build my credit, and income to get to a place where I could buy. And finally, a couple years ago, thanks to my Mom and Dad, I had the new house, but before I knew it, the kids were all grown.
Some of them still live with me and enjoy this beautiful home…and I am grateful for the time I have left with these adult kids. Sometimes they will even hang out with me, like when a couple of the kids went to Paint Night with me or when one introduced me to a cool Irish pub in Berkeley last March. A couple even came with me to Vegas to see Barry Manilow back in 2023. Even though I see them daily and hang out sometimes, I feel a little like an outcast. They are into their own lives now, which is perfectly natural. But, nonetheless, I do think I may be suffering from a little post-maternal depression. It’s tough letting these guys go.
I am grateful though and glad that they like to hang out with each other. They are each others homies, well some of them are. There was a time when THEY were my homies (literally), they were my best buds and I hung out with them all the time. They were even my “Get Out of Social Events Free” card. Handy when you’re an introvert with social anxiety. They did everything I did, pretty much. Then they grew up. I’m not their homie anymore. That part of the dream of raising a big family is over. Boy, it seemed to go by fast.
Now, what am I gonna do? I have to work for a while longer…but soon I will retire. My imagination has withered, I can’t think of anything to do. Probably because most of the folks I hung out with for the past 35 years are otherwise engaged. All of the things I’ve wanted the past three decades had to do with the kids. And, now, poof! They don’t need me anymore.
But…what did C.S. Lewis purportedly say, according to that beacon of reliability, the Internet, “You are never too old to set a new goal or to dream a new dream.” I guess the Shoelady needs to find a new dream and a new goal.
I guess I could continue writing. I’ve had some success with my little screenplays. I could still do that. Writing is tough though, I spend a lot of time wrestling the self-doubt demons. I am determined to sell at least one story to Woman’s World Magazine. Si, se puede!
I should also probably be more active and get into better shape like those old 1978 photos, sans the beer. Especially if I am going to do the next thing.
I’ve had this dream of traveling around the world. Inspired by a photo taken of me by my friend on our Alaskan Cruise. “Shoelady Shoots the World” is the idea. Since I don’t drive freeways or fly, this world tour will be trains, boats and taxis. It’s a great idea, right? But I’m afraid I’ve become somewhat of an agoraphobe. I’m getting very comfortable in my room with my own library, my spa-like tub and my washing machine unit. I don’t even need to go downstairs and try to mix with the cool kids. Me and Columbo are having a good time up here.
But, then I remember the trip to Rome in 1996, my mother was pushing 67 (my age when I retire) and she was awesome. Running here and there, from the Coliseum, to the Catacombs along cobblestone streets and even chasing down the Pope in his Popemobile. I could do that, well maybe not chase down the Pope. I don’t have to resign myself to who knows how many years of Columbo reruns and self-pity parties. Come on, Donna. Dream better, dream wider, dream bigger.
My co-worker, who is a year older than I and wants to retire about the same time, was recently telling me about some trips he and his wife have booked. He even mentioned that they may plan a Christmas Markets trip to Europe. I googled the markets….oh my, cool weather, holiday lights, baked goods and hot chocolate smack dab in the middle of Europe. Europe, a place I’ve wanted to revisit when I’d have more time. Cathedrals, libraries, art museums…what’s not to love? Could I do that? That’s certainly new dream material, right?? Maybe my World Tour will take shape. After Europe, then Asia…Istanbul, the Holy Land, maybe India, Australia…my imagination can go wild.
There was a poem from one of my devotionals that was timely when I was just about to start working full time (about 12 years ago). I had to put my youngest into after school care and manage the after school activities of the other five kids who were still school age. I was terrified, but it was a great opportunity, and a stepping stone to providing for my family.
“Step out on the waves
that would crush you!
Step out in the storm
that would hush you!
And you will find,
As you touch the crest
You feared so much,
And walked on its breast,
There was One walking there,
The whole night through,
Walking, watching,
Waiting — FOR YOU!”
Dare I ride that wave again? Dare I dream of going to places I’ve wanted to see for decades? Dare I trust the Lord to guide continually, even in this endeavor, this new dream, this new goal?
What say you? (heehee a little LOTR reference) 🙂
So to be sure of what to desire in the future, I will cling to Psalm 37:4: “Delight yourself in the Lord; and He will give you the desires of your heart.” I will each day try my best to delight in Him, in prayer, in Bible reading and in trying to work out this faith in my daily life. As a co-worker, as a “mom/roommate”, as a woman stepping out onto another wave. The pastor in a recent sermon recounted a time where he called out to the Lord in prayer: “God, I want more of You. I don’t know what I’m looking for, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just need Your Presence here.” Although he recounts this as his point of conversion, I like the prayer as I enter a new season of my life. I want more of Him…I want to delight in Him…and then He will reveal to me the true desires of my heart. Amen.
Images generated in Canva AI. Canva AI is too much fun.
My youngest turns 20 today. So, that’s a wrap, right? Pretty much. All the days of finding shoes, making breakfast and driving to various and sundry places (SF Bayshore District at midnight, for one) comes quietly to an end, like the slow fade out at the end of a movie.
What was I thinking having ten kids…ten kids in seventeen years? Really! Not only do I blame my ex-husband (who wanted the decuplet), but also Frances Hodgson Burnett for writing about Dickon’s family in such a way that enticed me to dream of a small home overflowing with children, love, laughter, baking and animals. Alas, “the best laid plans of mice and men”…literature should have warning labels.
After the divorce, it was my primary motivation, responsibility and obsession to finish rearing this motley crew of characters – the main characters in my story – and provide as best I could a decent education, healthcare and some spiritual direction. To help them overcome the inevitable emotional hurdles they would face in the wake of a broken home, in the wake of a father who left and in the wake of a mother who stayed, but was herself very flawed.
One by one they graduated or flew the coop. One by one they found their footing and began to tread their path. One by one they no longer needed me. But I still needed them. I still needed to be needed. What was I to do now?
It wasn’t the fifteen years of inadequate sleep, nor the refereeing between squabbling siblings, nor even the hand ringing, tums popping nights as I waited up for them to come home, but it was when they declared their independence from me, that was the hard, painful pill to swallow. My characters were leaving the show. My show. Me.
Now, I know I was only a temporary guardian of these souls. I know that they were not going to remain with me forever. But I didn’t know it would go by so fast, nor did I know that the end would seem so abrupt and nor did I anticipate the emotional impact that would leave me feeling very ALONE. “And only I am left on stage to end the play.”
They’ve started their stories, their own shows as they should. They’ve taken center stage. I am just a supporting character. I remember being their age and what I wanted to do. That was all I thought about. I didn’t think about my parents and what emotional experience they may be having when their children grew up and moved out.
What WAS I thinking? Even though My Secret Garden dream didn’t come about as I’d hoped, I’m thankful for my ten kids. We had lots of laughter, a small home crammed with kids, puppies, chickens, friends, cats and hole-digging, fort-building and bread making. Yes, of course, there were dark times, obviously; but despite them, my children gave me so much joy. Now, they give me grandchildren….compound joy! I am very blessed. And I hope and pray that their childhood will serve them well. Kids, break a leg!
So, what am I thinking now? Ride (or write) away into the senescent sunset? No, I don’t think so. Lord willing, I think there may still be a second act left in me. Break a leg, Donna!
Just an update on my screenwriting endeavors. My friend, Nikki Hevesy, made a short film this past year. Earlier this spring, I began helping her with entries to various film festivals. I noticed some of these festivals had corresponding screenwriting contests.
The 168 Film Festival has a writing competition called the Write of Passage. It is a speed writing contest. Each year the competition has a theme upon which a Bible verse is based. The Bible verse is the prompt to a 7 day screenwriting contest. You have 7 days to complete a screenplay of 12 pages or less. What’s great about this competition is that you are assigned a mentor who guides, teaches and helps you perfect your script. Over the past ten years or so, I have entered, and subsequently, amassed a collection of about ten short screenplays.
So, as I was helping Nikki, I began to enter some of my short scripts in various contests. I got a very good response from quarterfinalist to finalist to … finally … today, a win.
The best I had done in the Write of Passage Contest was Finalist…so this is new territory. I hope this win and maybe future wins will open doors to a Shoelady Sequel….since my stint as a mom of ten kids is over, at least the child rearing.
“Look among the nations and see; wonder and be astounded. For I am doing a work in your days that you would not believe if told.” – Habakkuk 1:5
I was recovering from COVID last month. COVID was kinda scary. I was sick last fall – non-COVID – and wasn’t worried about recovering. But with COVID, I didn’t know what was gonna happen. I was pretty sick for a few days, and slowly, got my strength and health back. But I did get somewhat depressed. I was holed up in my room for days, couldn’t really go anywhere and got bored of watching TV. I began to feel despairing. I felt that there wasn’t anything left to do. Hopeless, if you will.
Then there has been some domestic turbulence since we landed into our new house, and that grieved me. And maybe some subsequent grief from my parents’ passing still tugged at my heart. You know when you’re sick, your mother is the only one who can take care of you, who wants to take care of you. And, possibly, the fact that my youngest turned 18 last year, and she and the others no longer needed me. Probably all of these combined with being sick had me feeling down in the dumps. I mean “depths of despair” dumps.
On top of all that, I’m the kind of person that looks forward to things. I had been looking forward to buying a house for a long time. I spent a lot of time browsing through Redfin. And then the big moment came when I took the plunge and bought a nice house. And now that I’ve committed to staying in one place for awhile, all that energy I expended looking and dreaming for the next thing (which, of course, was greener grass syndrome) needs to be redirected because the next thing is here. And now I have to deal with the reality of these choices. And that’s not a bad thing, but it is an uncomfortable thing. It is a different thing, a thing I’m not used to. I always liked feeling that I had an exit plan. Even though I’m not going anywhere soon, Lord willing, I am still feeling Unmoored.
So here I am in this funk when I hear David Crosby died two weeks ago. I wasn’t a big fan of his, I don’t think I even liked him. I heard he was a difficult kind of character. But I did like CSN and CSN&Y, had most of their albums, and listened often when I was young. I was too young to be a real hippie, but, in the ’70’s, I did appreciate the folk music of the ’60’s. “Teach Your Children” was my graduating class song. I, eventually, became a real Neil Young fan. All my kids know “Four Strong Winds”.
From this great music that I listened to in my youth, a branch broke out which became the Contemporary Christian Music movement. A natural by-product of the Jesus Revolution of the ’60’s and ’70’s. So significant was this movement that even the great Bob Dylan dabbled in it for a time. Many of the artists at that time became Christians.
So while I was down the CSN and David Crosby rabbit hole, I remembered the music I listened to when I was a new Christian. I remembered Barry McGuire. He had been entrenched in the whole ’60’s scene and was famous for his songs “Green, Green” (which I learned in my favorite Sixth Grade class) and “Eve of Destruction”. Although I was faintly familiar with his folk music, it was his music after he became a Christian that impacted my life…even to this day. His “Cosmic Cowboy” album was one of my first Christian music records along with Don Francisco’s “He’s Alive” and John Michael Talbot’s “Come to the Quiet”. This music was so much a part of a happy time of my life. I loved most of the songs on “Cosmic Cowboy”. I remembered particularly “Mystery of Life”. Folky, beautiful and filled with Christian truths that compels one to worship.
So, I switched over to his music and relistened to some of these old favorites of mine. And guess what? While I remembered those fun times as a young Christian adult, I remembered the joy and excitement of having found Christ. Even though I was raised in a Christian household, no one exhibited the joy I found as a young woman. This relationship with Christ has been the living constant of my life for the past 43 years.
Oh, Mystery of Life I’ve seen Your rivers flowin’ Rollin’ through the windows Out along the edge of time Looms of living light Your solar winds come blowin’ Weavin’ through the patterns Scattered here within my mind
Behind the brush, the Master Painter Picks the colors that He uses Red and gold, green and blue Colors just for me an’ you Why, every pattern has a meanin’ That the Pattern Maker chooses Every line is so revealing Givin’ us a special clue.
Oh, Mystеry of Life I’ve seen Your rivers flowin’ Rollin’ through thе windows Out along the edge of time Looms of living light Your solar winds come blowin’ Weavin’ through the patterns Scattered here within my mind
Everywhere His hand has written Everywhere I see His name Through the skies across the mountains Thunderin’ lightnin’ fallin’ rain From His hand all life is molded In His breath a livin’ flame He lit the stars and gave His Son Through Him all life has come
Writers: Barry McGuire, Mike Deasy
I listened and listened to these old songs, and I remembered the woman I was in those years, before I was married, before I had kids, before the waves of difficulties swept over me. And I began to hope again, I began to feel that joy again as I remembered Him Who is the same yesterday, today and forever. Like being reintroduced to my First Love.
The point is, is that through difficult times, through unknown times and times of uncertainty when our anchor feels wobbly or untethered, there are devices, there are tools to help us get through.
There are the Scriptures, of course, which always re-anchor us to our foundation. And then there’s our music, the soundtrack of our individual lives, before and after Christ. And those songs that somehow, in that wonderful power of art that taught us about ourselves and revealed ourselves to ourselves, they can renew us during dark times, hopeless times and unsettled times.
Helicopter graphic by the incomparable Breena Nuñez
I’ve been a mom for almost 35 years. I passed Helicopter Parenting 101 with flying colors. My friend admirably remarked once that, “You always know where your kids are!” I was proud of that….but it’s time to retire the whirlybird. My youngest just graduated from high school last week, and promptly moved to LA. What!!!???
I thought I was doing well…trying not to care where they were or when they’re gonna be coming home. Trying to mind my own business (which for three and a half decades was them). But tonight, a friend of my daughter’s was over and they were going out….I “kneejerked” suggested they get something for their brother….their brother who is 28 years old….”a grown man” he always reminds me. Shoot, I can’t undo my meddling or their embarrassment.
So….I am going to retire the helicopter, and entrust these birdies to God. Y’all pray for me because worrying and fretting is in my nature, I inherited it from the best – my dad. We are so thankful he never had a cell phone. But he did just fine with a landline. We all have stories of him tracking someone down who he was worried about. I think Katie has the best stories, he called hospitals, police departments and the CHP looking for her once.
Uhm…I haven’t gone that far…except, maybe, when Eva and Nonnie missed their train stop in San Bruno. They were young, about 14. They both had phones, and both their phones, of course, had died. And it was 10:00 at night. A perfect worrying storm. How I lived through those years, I don’t know. A good and gracious God, no doubt, helped his anxious daughter.
Anyway, I am waiting at the train for these two girls. The 10:00 train, heading towards the City (the only real City – San Francisco) comes…and goes. No girls get off. Huh? Oh no…
I don’t have my phone because I left it with Espi at the house in case they called. OK, maybe they’re getting off at South City. So, I race over there. Nobody is to be found in that scary, desolate station.
So as I was beginning to hyperventilate, I run over to the nearby 7-11 and call Espi to find out if she had heard from Eva. She responds, “Yeah…all she said was that the next station is ‘Bayshore'”.
Oh crap….
Anyone familiar with San Francisco knows that the Bayshore area off 101 isn’t the best neighborhood, especially for two young teenagers, and most especially at night. It’s almost 11:00 now. I race over to the Bayshore station which is not far from a few, uhm, well, uhm, unsavory areas of the City. There is NO ONE there. It’s a large, dark station and I don’t even know where they would’ve even gotten off at. It’s almost 11:30. My blood pressure is climbing. I don’t know what to do.
I run back to San Bruno to my trusty pay phone at 7-11, and call Espi again for any update. None. So what could I do, but go full blown Dad Mode. I call the police, I call the San Francisco Police, the South San Francisco Police and the San Bruno Police. Did I miss anyone? Each of those agencies went and looked for two teenage girls at their respective stations and found no one.
So I go back to the San Bruno station and wait in the parking lot trying to figure out what to do next, fighting off the worst that possibly could go wrong. Not long after midnight, the last train pulls into the station, the train from the City, and off pops our girls.
And in an indignant, but relieved, imitation of my father, I take a deep breath and ask pointedly, “Where the hell have you guys been?”
They weren’t too keen on all the story details when I told them on our way home. Well, too *&^##! bad.
I should’ve ditched the helicopter then…yet, I still had another decade of mothering to go. But, it’s time now to retire the worry, the anxiety and the overseeing. They are on their own. Mission accomplished.
It’s time to let them go, let them go out “the gate” and live their own lives. Their lives which were so much a part of mine. I knew from the beginning I was only a temporary guardian, and that role is complete now. Though they were the stars of my show, I must be happy to be only a supporting character in theirs. It’s okay.
I’m looking forward to a new future…with new experiences and new freedoms. But I will always miss my littles, and I will continue to watch – and pray – from afar, just not overhead.
I’m not at the official empty nest season yet; I still have a couple perched to fly as well as a couple still needing nesting. But many of my birds have, indeed, flown. The season has started.
In 2005, when we left our home in San Pablo to live in El Sobrante, all ten were under the same roof. One birdie flew away for a bit, but came back, bringing a new bird to our family. He nested with the brothers. So for a time, the nest held 11 chicks. The nest was hustling and bustling with all the chicks and their friends.There was constant band playing from the garage, little kids running after chickens in the yard, fighting, bickering, eating, laughing…our last time as a family together. For me those three years were a refuge from the dark times we left. Getting ready for the three holiday seasons we spent there was the funniest part of the year.
“I miss you most of all, my darling(s) when autumn leaves start to fall.”
In 2008, circumstances caused this nest to be vacated, to be vacated immediately. That was the last time all my birds were together. Two birds moved away from me. I took eight with me to the Peninsula. But eventually, two more would fly away, and for awhile I had six. But the carousel goes round and round, two more would graduate. Then a third. One flew off last year and another moved elsewhere this spring. We are down to four. Two of them are adults, perched. I’m not going to nudge them like a good mother eagle would do.
I don’t know how I did all that. I don’t think I did it (mothering) very well. But I know I loved it, I loved the little kids, the crazy, the boundless energy, the joy in the midst of pain, I loved them. I still do. But I miss them most of all when autumn leaves begin to fall.
As poignant and nostalgic I sometimes get, I have learned these past few years not to fear the future. I have been raising kids for almost thirty years. For thirty years that has been my primary purpose. I can start to see beyond this purpose, and I’m not sure what lies in that territory. But I trust the Lord to guide and provide. Maybe I’ll go back to Europe for a spell before the carousel slows to a stop. Maybe. I don’t seem to fear my fears so much anymore.
“Behold, I will do something new, now it will spring forth; will you not be aware of it?
I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:19, NASB
I love being a mom. Not that I’m really good at it, but I like it. I like my kids, and they give me a lot of laughs and joy. Yet, there are a few things I hate about motherhood that are pretty typical, but was ignorant of when I started the journey. I’m not talking about the labor and delivery, even though that was challenging or even the sleepless nights, what I am talking about are events further down the parenting road.
Fighting
Probably number one on the list is fighting among the kids. They fought when they were little too. I was happy to move into a three bedroom house, then I had enough corners to put them all in.
A characteristic that doesn’t particularly bother me about one kid wreaks havoc on another. Then it becomes a bickerfest. And you’re mad at both, even the whiner. Sometimes just playful banter among them can turn on a dime. My college roommate shared some wisdom from her mother, “Laughing turns to crying!” So true. I hope as they get older, they will learn to be patient with each other. I’m being patient waiting.
Guilt
I don’t think there is any parent that doesn’t feel guilty about how they’ve raised their children. Folks say, “You did the best you could.” Well, not really. I did try, I tried hard. But I don’t think I did my best, I could’ve done better, but I didn’t. But I tried. I get an A for effort. We’ll see how the Lord grades me later on.
Navigating through the teenage years, I’ve had to acquire a skin of armor against the guilt trips from the kids. Kids can make you feel guilty almost as bad as parents or the church. But I’ve come to an age where I stand by my decisions and am courageous defending them. Hopefully, the kids will appreciate the good things.
Letting Go
I didn’t think it would be so hard when the kids flew the nest. Even when the first one left and there were still at least nine in the house, sometimes we had extras, I missed that one. Each time a child moved on, I was so sad. I worried whether they could make it out in that big bad world. But, they ended up doing OK.
I feel bad for my youngest ones. You see the older ones just had to get use to these new people coming into the family when the little ones were born; but, the little ones have to watch their siblings leave them. Siblings that they became close to, siblings who were their best friends. I knew it was sad for me, I only realized lately how sad it is for them too.
Aside from the things I hate about Motherhood, the things I love truly outweigh these difficulties. Of all the things I’ve learned while mothering, learning to love and be loved is foremost the best thing.
FROM THE SHOE 