image

He left this morning, this oldest boy of mine. I should have been zipping him into a bright red snowsuit, kissing him on the nose, and sending him outside to play with his brothers. Instead, early in the morning, I stood in an airport, tiptoed up to kiss his bearded cheek and whispered I love you into his ear. Time really does fly.

I had him for three wonderfully ordinary weeks, full of the glory of doing nothing special. Yesterday, though, I felt the temptation to make the last day meaningful. I’ve made this mistake before.

Nothing ruins precious time more than the pressure to BE MEANINGFUL.

I’ve learned it’s better to spend the days with open hands, letting the time run freely through my fingers until there isn’t any left, and I am gentle with myself and my few tears, because I’m his mom and I love him and it’s all so very precious without me having to make it so.

 

Advertisements

IMG_3202

Ask me a question these days and chances are good my answer will be “I don’t know.”

Where will you live after you move?

I don’t know.

Will you buy a house or rent?

I don’t know.

Will you keep fostering?

I don’t know.

What will the kids do?

I don’t know.

Do you think your foster daughter will be okay?

I don’t know.

Why aren’t you stressed out?

I don’t know.

There are a lot of things I don’t know about how life will work over the next few months. Honestly, I’m not sure why I haven’t felt more stressed and anxious about that. I’ve felt so many other things about this move: happy, sad, excited, lonely, uncertain, melancholy, rushed, tired, joyful. But I haven’t felt much stress and I haven’t been much worried.

I wonder if all the things I don’t know have helped me focus on what I do know? Maybe. I don’t know much about the future, but I know these two things…

I know I want a smaller life. I want a teeny tiny house with a teeny tiny yard to care for. I want less stuff and less busy and less unnecessary, because I have other ways I want to live before my living is done.

Now, if you are someone who seeks the egg-gathering, gardening, canning, or whatever-ing kind of life, that’s great! I did that and I loved it for many years. The goats and the chickens and the butchering and all the gritty beauty of life and death that country living has offered our family has been wonderful.

I’m glad the kids grew up on our little farm and we’ve been blessed by so many country experiences. But I’ve learned to let go of things, even when they’ve been precious and lovely things, when the time is right. And for us, now, the time is right right right. It’s bittersweet, of course. There’s some loss and that means there is some grief. But there’s beauty and freedom and healing in a good goodbye said well at the right time.

I know I want a “funner” life. Okay, it’s not a word. Whatever. A funner life is what I want. I’m not saying I want a more leisurely life or more money or more holidays. I think (and I’m figuring this out as I go, you guys) it means I want to engage in better ways with the things that make me who I am, deep deep down in my soul. Or maybe in my gut. You know?

Simply, I hope to spend the next years of my life doing what I’ve always encouraged in my kids: to be true to who they were created to be and to live out of the confidence that who they are is enough.

Who I am is enough. That takes a certain amount of courage to say when you’ve spent most of your life trying to be good, be better, be more, be seen. But it’s truth. And I think it’s the key to having fun.

A smaller life and a funner life. It’s a start.

IMG_2026

It took her a few days, but she finally got the joke. At first she kept feeling her face every time I popped her nose off and tucked it between my fingers and held up my fist for her to see.

When she finally realized it was my thumb (and not actually her captured nose) she fell off her chair with delight. It was the greatest joke ever, in her three-year old world.

Remember the first time you heard or saw something new and delightful? Like the first time you saw that funny internet picture with the squishy dog flat on the floor and the caption Please don’t make me adult today? Remember that?

I laughed so hard the first time I saw that silly dog, and I posted the photo to my instagram page. And then everyone else did the same and after a while I was like, ok, enough with the dog and the joke, already.

Or that song that you loved when it first came out, but now you can hardly stand to listen to it? Or the Jimmy Fallon youtube or the once-hot TV show?

Got your nose is only funny the first few times. Once the joke is old, well, who cares any more? And after a while, it’s just plain annoying.

The thing is, whatever it is, it’s going to be new to someone else down the road. And the joy of rediscovering something fun through another person’s eyes can be just as wonderful and silly and hilarious as the first time you experienced it yourself.

Every once in a while I need to remind my jaded, tired, disillusioned self that the world is a delightful place.

IMG_2311
You know, there’s something glorious about having a playground to yourself.

You can twirl on the swing without anyone complaining. You can run up the slide or pour sand down it, and no one will say a thing. You can holler and sing and pretend you have a gun to shoot bad guys with, without any social pressure to be quieter or play nicer.

Whether you’re a parent or a kid, it is easy to be who you are and do what you want when you’re alone. It’s harder when people are watching.

Maybe that’s a good thing? I suppose it’s important to learn social acceptability. But maybe there’s also value in learning to be brave enough to be willing to be socially less-acceptable once in a while.

This has been the conundrum that has challenged me for my entire parenting career.

IMG_2189

I watch her roll the ball from her hands. She pushes it with all her tiny strength and it leisurely makes its way down the lane, slowly slowly slowly, and my eyes follow the journey.

I understand goodbyes. I understand watching as the vehicle drives away or the casket is lowered. I’ve blown kisses to their backs as they’ve turned and walked away from me. There’s no getting around goodbyes. No shortcut, really.

I find myself watching her now with memorizing eyes. She’s leaving soon and there’s a part of me that is jealous of all her time in other places or with other people. I scramble to hold the hours even as they slip from my hands.

Then my mom gets sick and I have to go, of course.

I’m gone for a week and my husband sends me texts with pictures of them all, and her. Pictures of normal family stuff and he sends updates of their days and I realize it’s good for them to have their time, too. Time without me as the defining cornerstone in their relationships.

She’s different when you aren’t here, he says. And I’m glad they’ve had their chance to hold and spend their own hours, without me.

I’m learning to share the goodbyes.

IMG_1986

I read Matthew all through Lent. Fifty-ish days of Matthew and a little N.T. Wright and some stuff on vulnerability and a fair bit about the Kingdom. Funny how the threads of all these different words have been weaving their ways into some kind of garment I’ve been wearing for a while. Like a loose, flowing summer dress, these words have been sitting on my shoulders and falling across my breasts and belly and floating around my legs as I walk through my days.

This is how I read words now. Wearing them instead of studying them.

I wore them through my mom’s heart attack and bypass surgery, through hard and happy family days, through challenging and exciting life-change days, and through heartbreaking and sweet foster parenting days. I’ve dressed myself morning after morning in their comfort and security and they fit perfectly. They make the hard days less hard. They make me feel beautiful.

The days rush me toward change – as my husband heads west for work and the house gets packed up and the children near the finish line of another year of math – and even as I feel the wind of all the rushing blow through my hair, I wrap the comfort of all the good-fitting words around me and I know I am well-dressed for the weather of this changing life.

If clothes make the woman, then these are the clothes I want to wear.

IMG_8038

It’s been looming, that corner up ahead that I’ve known I’ll have to turn. But seeing it in my inbox, the email confirming it, trips me up. Knowing something and KNOWING something are two different things.

So here we go, baby girl. A goodbye is coming. I’ve written and deleted a thousand words – painful, mommy-sad words dripping with emotion and hurt – but the truth is, those aren’t the words I want to release. These are, instead…

You know what? I like your mommy, and I am glad she is better. I’m glad she is clean and sober and trying to stay clean and sober. I know she loves you so much, and I know she wants to be the one to raise you and love you and watch you grow up. She should be the one. She’s your mom. I’m sad, but not because she gets to raise you. I’m sad because I have to let you go.

I can be happy for her (and you) and sad for myself, at the same time. This is the way it goes when you love people, you see. You never get to keep them all to yourself.

You have been a gift and a joy and our precious princess, and I can’t quite imagine yet what your leaving will do to my heart. Hearts get beat up a little in this life, that’s for sure.

I wouldn’t trade a minute, though. I’ll take a battered heart over an untouched heart any old day.

I’ll find better words later, maybe. But today, in the freshness of the knowing, I’ll just say this.

Gubba loves you.