Dear Children: Back To School

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You are now back in school. The days have begun anew, filled with the terrible curse of a schedule. Early mornings. Nights that we try so hard to stretch. The darkness covering our outstretched arms like a blanket. Our efforts futile in their weakness.

Do you know that your Great Grandmother called the first day of school “Mother’s Day”? And as much as I miss you, there is some truth to that. You would be amazed at how clean the house is without two tornadoes attacking it.

The house is so still. Your mother is a person who does best in the calm. Alone. I rest my head on a chair and try to picture what your day is like. I imagine, you, my son, scowling in the direction of a disobedient child. Or your hand rubbing your chin, your eyes staring intently ahead, as you sit and ponder a lesson. And, you, my daughter, I imagine your bright smile. I know you do not skip to class. But this is my imagination. And so you do, all the while laughing. Causing others that walk by you to smile in return…

My eyes dart to the clock to make sure I am not late to bring you home. The day passes quickly in the silence.

Ahhhh. Yes. A schedule. It is here again. Nightly homework being trudged through like a spoon through molasses. And all of the “extras” being shoved into the hours with the hurry of a chipmunk to his cheeks with an elusive nut.

We all go to bed tired.

Our days are full. Our bodies have adjusted to this rhythm. Our souls long for summer.

I sit watching the clock. I know it will come all too soon. Time rushes by me in the stillness. Growing your bodies. Growing your minds. Growing my sorrow.

The school year has begun. Another year is proceeding to make its mark. Cutting its way through our future. I wonder and worry about what the year will bring. Only Time will tell. And he is a master at keeping secrets.

I hope you will do well, my children. Study hard. Enjoy the weekends. This schedule that we are on will keep us going. Racing to the finish line in June. Time is smiling cunningly at the end. Let us still try to beat him. Shall we? I’ll give you a head start.

And so, my children, I wish you good luck in the coming school year. I will be behind you, rooting for you all the way! Know I am here, catching your shadows in my fingertips. We will get to that finish line! One step at a time.

Love,

Mommy

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* I have recently learned my children are googling my blog. Which is sweet. Very sweet. But I also want to know that they are learning something from me besides simple recipes and pretty clothing. These letters are real letters to my children. From their mother. You might not agree with my message, but please respect my sentiment.

Dear Daughter: The Happening,

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I have a secret tornado that swirls in my chest at night. It twirls through my heart and stomach. Back and forth. Again and again. Until it finally dislodges the lump in my throat. The storm turns to rain. Will it ever not be cloudy when I think of you leaving me? My sunshine. Gone.

I tried to write this during the day, but much of what I want to say to you only comes to me at night. When the comforts of the day are gone. When it is quiet in the house. The darkness staking claim to my thoughts. Allowing my mind to wander to circumstances that hide from the light of day.

At night, I lay awake and the “what ifs” come tumbling into me. But the “what ifs” are not as scary as “the happenings.” Things that are going to happen that I desperately wish were not. At least the “what ifs” might never happen.

But “the happenings” are true. Not nipping at my mind like the “what ifs.” They have a cocky sureness that is unnerving. They do not call for attention. For they know they do not need to. No need to make a fuss. No need to stamp around my mind for a glance or a scratch. They are solid. Always there. They know attention will be brought to them however they act or proceed. So, they lodge themselves comfortably in my throat. Escaping only through hot tears that trail down my cheeks into my pillow in the night.

Now let us address this happening. The one that keeps me awake at night.

Unable to swallow.

It cannot be ignored any longer.

Each day that passes, I know that it is one day closer to you going to college. One day closer to you leaving us. You start high school in one week. “The happening” of it all is too much.

Where did all of the time go?

There are so many things I still want to teach you. Memories we have yet to create. You going to high school feels like a new door is opening for you. And I am desperately trying to keep it closed.

But it is one of those automatic doors. It has seen you coming. Felt your presence. It has swung open and there is no way for me to close it.

I just have to watch you go.

Hope that the years will slow down just a bit. Allow me to catch up. My heart is still trying to understand what my eyes have all ready realized. You are growing up.

I just want you to know…

What? What is it that I want you to know? Need you to know?

Let us start with the stupid little things: Cooking is not hard, as long as you follow the recipe exactly, the first time you make it. Never be late on a bill. Fabric softener is unnecessary. Always keep tissue in your purse. And breath mints. And a hair tie. And bandaids. And headache medicine. And your wallet. And lipstick. Okay, just keep a purse. And put everything in it.

Because you never know what life is going to throw at you.

Boys are going to break your heart. Some of them on purpose.

Girls will, too. Most of them on purpose.

People are going to disappoint you. I will probably be one of them.

You are going to disappoint people. I will not be one of them.

You are going to try for things. And you are going to fail.

You are going to try for things. And you are going to succeed.

Which of these outcomes you choose to dwell on will decide the course of your future.

But the most important thing I want you to know is: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

And I want you to not worry about telling me anything, because I love you.

And I want you to not worry about life, because I love you.

And if you are ever in trouble, I love you.

And if you ever need anything, I love you.

I am so proud to be your mother.

I love you.

I realize you are just as nervous as I am for you to be starting high school. As much as I am dreading it, I cannot wait to see how you are going to handle your future. You are so clever and sweet. So beautiful and kind.

“The happening” is happening whether I wish it to or not. I can see it around the corner. Its form growing more solid with each passing day. It can now be felt in daylight, as well as at night.

I will watch you walk through those high school doors. It will “happen.” I have walked through them myself. I know the trials that await you. The victories, too. I cannot follow you. But I will still be behind you.

Every step.

Every stumble.

Every “happening.”

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* I have recently learned my children are googling my blog. Which is sweet. Very sweet. But I also want to know that they are learning something from me besides simple recipes and pretty clothing. These letters are real letters to my children. From their mother. You might not agree with my message, but please respect my sentiment.

Dear Children: Social Media

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Dear Children,

I know you are upset at Mommy for denying you access to Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. I know it seems unfair when your peers get to participate in something you are not allowed to do. But your mommy is old fashioned. She was born before the internet. She was born before cell phones. Or digital cameras. Or digital cameras on cell phones.

And, oh my goodness, is she ever so grateful for this.

Because you see, children, Mommy made a lot of bad choices. A lot of bad mistakes. And there are people out there that want to see those mistakes. They feed off of it. And Mommy is so thankful to have been born at a time when these mistakes were not so easy to see. To witness. To chronicle forever.

I am going to try to protect you from this immediate gratification, perplexing world.

For as long as I am able.

And I know it does not seem fair.

But your brains are still developing. There are things you might say. Pictures you might post. Those could haunt you forever. As your parent, it is my obligation to help you make correct choices.

So, no, dear children. You will not have access to these instant social circumstances invading our internet. Not while I am in charge of you. Not while you live with me.

Because, children, you are going to make mistakes.

Big mistakes.

Hopefully, not too big…

I want you to have to deal with those in your heart and not on a page. Where someone else can judge. Write something. Punish you forever.

I choose this because I love you.

You tell me, “When I turn eighteen, I am getting a facebook account.”

And I know you will. (If there still is such a thing).

I also hope you remember the lessons I am trying to teach you. That you should think before you act. Think before you post. Think before you take that picture.

It cannot be taken back. And “forever” is a scary word in this world that cannot see the future.

But, regardless of what you do:

In this instant world, I love you every day.

Every second.

Every instant.

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* I recently learned my children are googling my blog. Which is sweet. Very sweet. But I also want to know that they are learning something from me besides simple recipes and pretty clothing. These letters are real letters to my children. From their mother. You might not agree with my message, but please respect my sentiment.

Dear Children: Hating Me

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Okay. So, you say you hate me. I know. I can hear it in your muttered breaths. The secret whispers to your friends. The dramatic outbursts to your sibling.

And that is okay.

Yes, of course it hurts. Thankfully, you have yet to say it to my face. Because then I would be forced to punish you. Please, keep that in mind. I do not want to have to do that. Because…

I know you are going to hate me.

However, I still need you to respect me.

I have hated my mother. And so on… It is a tradition older than the moon.

It is an act of growing up. The frustration of thinking you have grown into your full being, only to find that you still cannot make all of your own decisions.

I get it.

I make decisions on your behalf that you do not agree with. I am not backing down. My job is to steer you in the right direction. To watch you stumble. To watch you fall. To lend you a hand up.

Sometimes the wheel of your life is steered away from a choice you would have made.

And you hate me for it.

My only hope for us, will be, you will love me more than you hate me. That one day, you will realize that while you were hating me, I was busy loving you.

Because I do.

Always.

I will never hate you.

But it is okay for you to hate me.

Sometimes.

For now.

In a few short years, the wheel will be all yours. You will look back in the rearview mirror. You will see the lane behind you. The tracks sharply winding around the rubble of bad choices and maybe even missed opportunities.

And you will see me.

Blisters on my hands. The callouses a reminder of the years spent maneuvering through obstacles. You will grip the wheel. It might be grooved with the imprint of my hands. You begin to veer away. The road will be vast. There will be many turns and forks in the horizon. The possibilities of each path will be of your own choosing.

“Be careful.” You see my mouth move in the mirror. “The wheel can be tricky.”

You realize this is true as you make your first turn on your own.

I hope then you will understand.

I love you.

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* I have recently learned my children are googling my blog. Which is sweet. Very sweet. But I also want to know that they are learning something from me besides simple recipes and pretty clothing. These letters are real letters to my children. From their mother. You might not agree with my message, but please respect my sentiment.