In pursuit of a pen, I reached into the junk drawer (grumbled about cleaning it out) and picked up a mechanical pencil with no top, wrapped in tape, and the cylinder was empty. Harper, our 8-year-old neighbor, was over and said, “Why does the pencil look like that?” I held up the plastic pencil remains, fiddling with them in my hands, and said, “Well, when my son lived here, he would recycle these and use them for projects he would build.”
Whoa…Past tense. “…when my son lived here …” I heard it.
Then I felt it. My heart did that sinking thing when it secretly knows the past is, well, past…and life within the walls of our home will never be the same.
That was then…
I thought back to when the kids were little. We’d set up obstacle courses in the backyard with logs to balance on, hula hoops to maneuver through, and barriers to tackle. My husband managed the stopwatch, narrating along the way, and I held the video camera–because in my mind documenting meant the moment wouldn’t (couldn’t) go away.
Our oldest son would go first, his eyes planning the most efficient, logical, and fastest path, no ladder too tall, no tunnel too narrow, no risk too great. Our youngest son would follow, arms flailing, adding cartwheels, leaps, and spins along his path to ensure the most fun could be had on the journey. Finally, our daughter, the oldest, would lean out of the screen door, Harry Potter book in hand, “What’s the fastest time?” she’d ask while slipping on any shoes that were handy and pushing her curls away from her face with the back of her hand the way she does. She’d quickly survey the course, hustle to the starting line next to her brothers, and yell, “READY Papa!” Up, over, in, and out, she dashed through the course with her signature audible breathing, making it clear she was working to win. Once she held the new record, the screen door closed with a bang, book, glasses, and our current winner once inside again. The boys would then clamor to surpass her time, and the cycle continued.
I play the kids’ childhood moments in my mind’s Viewfinder all the time–clicking through the first days of school, family trips, awards won, races lost. I think about who leaves toothpaste in the sink, who can tolerate “all that crunching,” and who will empty the top rack of the dishwasher. One common thread – as if running the backyard course, they have all become unstoppable-each blazing their own trail, no matter the obstacles.
This is now…
We had our kids 15 and 18 months apart. Total 3. So…in the last two years, we’ve had two high school graduates and in 2024, our youngest will flip his tassel as we say farewell to all of the high school pomp and circumstance.
And as quickly as they graced our every single day for 18 years, off they go.
As our first two started their journeys outside the context of our family, it was beyond hard. But all I could picture was our unstoppable daughter out in the world discussing the current issues and immigration policies with peers, laughing heartily at her friends’ jokes, and making Spotify song lists with her new people.
She is right where she needs to be. But boy do I miss her.
Then our oldest son, who always came out to greet us, carry in the groceries, and asked SO MANY “Can I?” questions – the stamina of a cheetah, he never tired of hearing, “No.” He’s the guy to call when the car won’t start, the path needs clearing or the couch won’t fit through the awkward doorway. He follows Mark Twain’s words, “ I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.”
He, too, is right where he needs to be. But boy, do I miss him.
Our youngest is our mainstay. The traditionalist. He knows where the holes are in the wall to hang the birthday banner draping the kitchen window five times a year, where the angel food cake pan is kept (and how to use it), and is always clad in workout clothes as if a “sporting” emergency could spring up anytime, he’s the kid that will be there on your happiest or loneliest day and come loaded with snacks and goofy jokes.
Soon, he’ll pack up, and our nest will be very empty
Boy, I’m going to miss that nest.
What I’ve learned:
Back in August, when packing up the kids for college, I stopped and really listened to the sounds of our morning. I held onto them with clenched fists because somehow through the cacophony of yells and stomps, blenders and constantly running water came the harmony of our home. But eventually, even the best of bands have artists who seek standalone stardom. Simon split from Garfunkel and still performs today with a little less hair and a lot of notoriety. So as they should, our family paths have split. I struggle to marvel at the space between us because letting go is really, really hard. Thankfully we have our stories, love, and of course, Facetime.
Thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
“It is not what you do for your children, but what you have taught them to do for themselves that will make them successful human beings.”
My plan was to walk our dogs this morning…but Lola, our fluffy, tailless Border Collie, yanked me and Sancha (lab/golden mix) through the neighborhood instead. Her tugging seemed to say, “Come on! We’re missing all the good stuff!”
So just like obedient sheep, we followed along as she plowed through the world nose up, eyes straight ahead, one ear forward, the other pointing at me like a periscope.
Poor Lola. I feel the life of a suburban Border Collie is mentally more labor-intensive than that of a farm dog. There are no sheep or livestock to organize, no big fields to hunt and explore, and barely one unamused squirrel in our backyard.
Basically, Lola is left to plan her whole day like the rest of us. Dog breeders will swear you have to exercise Border Collies at least 37 times a day, or they will get bored and expend their energy otherwise. Oh, it’s true, I feel guilty as heck when I come home to a scene from The Killing Fields with stuffed animals strewn about and plastic noses and eyes carefully dislodged from their stuffed owners.
But Lola, much like our kids, came without assembly and upkeep instructions. She was rescued from inside a screened porch somewhere in North Georgia, surrounded by her own poop and no food or water. In retrospect, we often wonder if Lola was a little bummed when driven away from all that land. For all we know, she could have built the porch herself and was just drawing up the bathroom plans. She’s THAT smart.
Lola is a worker and a leader.: Pass her a laptop, and she’ll have a business reorganized and gleaming with success. Lola would be a blur on the corporate ladder as she escalated to the top while others envied her drive, agility, and vertical leap. She efficiently pees on all the spots necessary to make her way through life. Border Collies like Lola are smart and driven – a good breed. She has just the right amount of affection with a smidge of jealousy woven into her fluffy coat.
LOLA’S TOP 8 LEADERSHIP TIPS: If Lola had her own flock, here’s how she would lead.
1. Leave your mark:
Pee several times throughout your life and all over the place. Leave your mark, your legacy…but always remember where your food is and who loves you unconditionally.
2. Take a stand:
Showing you believe in something and sharing how you feel is like Lola when she poops, do it when and where you need to…holding it in will just lead to bad feelings (especially if you ate a sock).
3. Listen and observe:
Always be ready to change directions. Lead your herd wisely.
4. Keep your paws clean:
Be honest and wipe your feet even if you have plans to go out again.
5. Wag your tail:
Exude positivity and wag like mad, even if you only have a stub of a tail.
6. Use your speed and strength:
No matter the setting, be the hardest worker in the room.
7. Beware of shiny objects:
Don’t let your sheep go astray; stay focused and on point.
8. REST on top of tables (or whatever works for you):
Stop and look at life from other perspectives. Truly, things are clearer from above, said God and Lola.
Lola is a sweet girl. She and Sancha make every day better. But in a pinch, if you need a CEO, look for the Lola’s of the world. She will keep you safe, organized, and full of joy. If you need a best friend, Sancha is your gal. She’s your lifer; she’ll stay with the company and be faithful for years. On walks, she pees for a long time in one place ONLY…much like the small-town plumber in a Hallmark movie who is happily living in the same place for life.
What I learned:
I hope our children channel their inner Lola in life. Like people, every dog is different. But unlike some people, dogs love unconditionally, are forgiving, and ever-loyal. Let’s learn from them.
As Anne Lamott said, “Having a good dog is the closest some of us are ever going to come to knowing the direct love of a mother or God.”
Let them lead you home like Lola, comfort you like Sancha, and always “stick” together.
This Friday, I will be home with my parents. I thought I’d repost a story I wrote a few years ago… the changes they’ve gone through, mentally, physically, and emotionally, over the years are evident. Still, they are eternally guided by faith, hope, love, and my super supportive sisters.
Repost from 2023 Lenten Reflections #4
I am one of four sisters. The youngest and farthest from our parents. Growing up, people would refer to me as “the baby,” and mom would swoop in like an eagle – wings flapping and correct them in her unyielding tone, “Nooooo, she’s the youngest”. At the time, mom was busy raising four independent girls, and the term “baby” was reserved solely for those in diapers, which we were all out of by age two.
As in most families, we each had our textbook roles as siblings: the oldest – reliable and overly cautious (as kids we barely glimpsed at the Grand Canyon as she herded us like a Border Collie away from the edge), the middle sisters – a tad rebellious, with large social circles (probably helped that they had a cool 1957 Ford truck to drive), and me fun-loving and easy-going perhaps a bit lazy. Now that Mom and Dad are 84 and 87, respectively, (AMAZING! I KNOW!) life has changed a bit, and we have adjusted our roles.
That being said, when it came to caring for them as they waltzed hand in hand through their later years, I was not the daughter to step up to the helm and guide the ship. There’s something called “Seagull Syndrome,” where the sibling who lives the farthest away tends to visit, poop on everyone’s ideas about caretaking, and fly home. I try not to do that but rather be the “fun uncle” type daughter who says yes to everything (“Yes, cookies for breakfast counts…yes, we can binge watch Blue Bloods until midnight”) , and then I head home.
Thankfully, with three sisters and the Catholic faith as our north star, one of my sisters retired from her job and moved back home to care for them. With a Master’s Degree in psychology, 30 years of experience managing engineers, and a heart of gold, she was clearly qualified and has made what is possibly the noblest of all jobs look easy. She’s the Helen Keller of caretaking. She knows where mom hurts and how to heal, she knows when dad needs to go for a drive or use the wood splitter, and she knows exactly when they both need a nap. Although they both say they “don’t nap”.
As a bunch (think Brady’s with attitude), we each contribute what we can. My oldest sister is always on call and will drop anything to be present. Outsourcing as needed, and sending Pedialyte, Boost, or whatever is needed via Amazon. My sister, closest to me in age, will jump in and clean, manage all outside work, call daily, and do more between 10 pm and 2 am than most people do all day. We all have our jobs, whether it’s calling to tell them stories of our day, making sure mom takes her medicine, or dad sits down to rest. But my sister, the primary caretaker, has developed a skillful management of herself and our parents, and for that, we are all grateful.
How does she do it?
Always reading and learning, she finds the perfect balance between caretaking and respecting our parents’ need for independence. In the book Being Mortal, author Atul Gawande posits that whether a teen or a senior, they both value autonomy and crave the feeling of purpose and worth every day. So, when Dad, who recently stopped driving, wants to drive the truck from the front yard to the back, we let him buckle up and go…better to help him remember he still can, even if just a little bit.
Equally, when mom wants to give the next-door dog, Ned, leftovers through the fence (even though he’s been fed), she takes care of dear old Ned. I read a story about Bill Thomas, director of a nursing home in NY, who brought in pets for the residents to nurture because he says giving people something to care for makes them more active and alert. Thus, my parents’ surplus of suet, bird seed, dog bones, and corn.
Being part of the “Silent Generation,” our parents are workers. Raised in the Depression Era, everything is recycled, reused, repurposed, and appreciated. Growing up, wood piles were (and still are) precious commodities, prom dresses were made by mom (!), and going out to eat at “The Royal Fork” Buffet was a really big deal.
Luckily, Dad starts each morning by saying, “Another good day, right, Mom?!” Mom replies in her realistic tone, placing her coffee in the microwave again, “Okay, Dad”. They do this, call each other “Mom and Dad,” the titles God bestowed on them that they cherish and will use day after day until there are no more days.
During my visit this past week, I wrote down some notes. As they are specific to my parents, I believe the lessons can be applied to taking care of any senior or otherwise. I wrote this list for my sisters, so it may read like a journal, but I thought it might help someone out there.
I strongly believe “everyone needs a destination.”
Respect what I call “the triangle”: Church, the doctor’s office, and the grocery store. These are their familiar stomping grounds – weave in a few other outings (restaurant, casino, a walk), and it gives the day purpose.
Note: If you have to reschedule a doctor’s appointment, do it. Better to take them when they are prepared and feeling okay than stressed and apprehensive.
Listen to their stories – it connects them to a familiar time
My mom’s stories at the age of 14 are formative years and the spotlight of her daily memory.
When Mom talks about giving up the St. John’s College scholarship offer she received, I think about the huge sacrifice she made for her family by working and supporting them when Grandpa was sick.
Mom will remind you of the way grandma and grandpa warmed water on the stove for their baths and how they sang songs like “When the Moon Comes Over the Mountain” in perfect harmony.
Dad will tell you stories in Spanglish as vividly as if you were there.
Speak loudly
Especially if you are reading a crossword clue to dad or the jumble letters, or driving and mom is in the back seat, or telling a story, or or or…
Diet and meals – let them eat cake!
Mom will eat more and digest better if the food is cut into small pieces.
Gatorade powder (more economical per Dad) is rejuvenating. Stir thoroughly or he’ll tell you there is “perfectly good wasted sugar at the bottom of the glass” and refill it.
Happy Hour is sacred; respect it. Open a beer for Dad and poor Mom’s Pedialyte. Place cheese, gluten-free crackers, and fruit on a plate and enjoy.
The “Big” meal is at 3:00 pm.
Dove Bars – we bought eight boxes at the commissary – it’s a highlight of the day…and a fair bribe to get mom to eat.
Outdoor Activities – Emerson said that the happiest person on earth is the one who learns from nature the lessons of worship. So walk outside a lot.
Mom will always have things to show you around the yard, enjoy the tour. Upon my arrival, she said, “Come meet our new family members.” I went out back and was greeted by 24 cranes who began squawking at me as I approached the fence. “If we go to the poor house,” Mom said, “it’s because Dad and your sister keep feeding these guys so much corn”.
Watching Dad move wood from the ground to the truck to the splitter and stack it is as exhausting as doing it yourself.
Dad will work harder than any 20-year-old you’ve ever met and wonder why “me duele de todo” (everything hurts).
Later, talk Dad through why “todo duele” (everything hurts) and gently remind him he is 87 years old and must pace himself.
Indoor Weather – Dress for summer
It will always be warm inside Mom and Dad’s house. Our brilliant sister has the thermostat programmed to plummet to 72 degrees. (Highly Recommend!) To set the thermostat, press the bottom button on the left once, then walk away nonchalantly. Mom will later turn it up to 81 degrees. Once you are drenched in sweat, repeat the process.
The fireplace will be used if the weather is 70 degrees or below.
Indoor Activities –
Mom thinks her hearing is excellent, but according to a hearing test, it’s not. So, before watching Jeopardy, Mom will ask you to “turn up the volume because Dad can’t hear!”
Mom’s filter has gone from almost there to MIA, so when watching Jeopardy, be ready for a roasting of Ken Jennings, who, according to Mom, “acts like he knows everything” …ummm…he did win about a million times.
With Dad’s macular degeneration, he is still able to enjoy and make out the scenery when watching the Alaska shows. “Good hard workers!” he says. He also loves “Nat Geo”, “The History Channel”, and “The Weather Channel”. The more dramatic, the better with the weather.
Puzzles for mom…have one set up and another on deck at all times. This is her quiet space.
The Newspaper
Holding the newspaper in their hands brings comfort, familiarity, and joy. Even if Dad can’t see enough to read it.
Let Mom read the paper to Dad in the morning while he slurps his way through the coffee and pastries or cookies. Tread lightly, this is their time.
When Dad shakes out the newspaper, he’ll say, “Let’s see who’s left and let’s see who moved out of town.” Then he’ll hand me the obituary section to read aloud “slowly”. I announce the names as if they were crossing the stage at a commencement ceremony, or rather, St. Peter’s gate.
The crossword and Jumble are great mental gymnastic exercises and keep their minds active.
Top 10 Do’s and Don’ts
Don’t do laundry. That’s mom’s gig.
If Dad is struggling with something, DO take over and help.
If mom is struggling with something, leave her alone. She “CAN DO IT!”
Don’t move the scissors, pencils, coffee, Kleenex, or blankets. Life is now done by feel and rote memory.
Do agree more.
Do let Dad cheer up Mom. Dad equals levity.
Do help them remember: Dad may not remember what he ate the night before – i.e., “Oh, we ate enchiladas last night? Did I enjoy them?” “Yes, Dad, you loved them.” “Oh, good!”
OR “Did we watch Blue Bloods last night?” Yes, Dad, you fell asleep in the last five minutes. “Did I enjoy it?” Yes, Dad – you loved it.“Oh, good!”
Do answer the phone mean people prey on the elderly.
Don’t ask them, “Do you remember when…” just retell the story.
What I’ve learned:
Being far away is hard. Wondering if this is the phone call is hard, hard, hard. Saying goodbye to them at the airport when I leave is hard…homesickness in my fifties looks a lot different than it used to, and I mentally prep myself for the lifelong homesickness yet to come.
But I love that God and Grace and Mercy exist. I love that when I cry and truly let out my fear of their absence, the tears feel like a Baptism. I love that I have my sisters. How to care for those who cared for us…I love that we are like a pit crew, repairing what is broken, filling up our parents’ tank with all the love we possibly can because we’re on the clock. I love that we take care of each other.
Thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
On writing…
“You are going to feel like hell if you never write the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves in your heart–your stories, visions, memories, songs: your truth, your version of things, in your voice. That is really all you have to offer us, and it’s why you were born.”
As Holy Week ends, and the Easter season begins, I’m reminded of how things change over the years. Growing up, Holy Week was a quiet time. Usually, we would have Thursday and Friday off from school and prep the menu for Easter Sunday. Somewhat of a nod to Thanksgiving dinner, Easter had a few unique dishes thrown into the mix. One vivid memory is my Aunt Eugenia’s salad.
Always toting items from her Amway inventory, she was the aunt who rode a motorcycle, brought her bird “Bonita” to visit, and played the accordion for Sunday mass. I’ve been told I have the same sharp-slanted nose as her. She’d arrive carrying a big bowl and tongs likely from a recent Tupperware party. She had a knack for chopping everything in the salad super-tiny like a Cuisinart before they were a thing. There were little bits of iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, bacon, and other minuscule items that even my keen 10-year-old eyes couldn’t identify. The salad dressing was made in one of those glass containers where you drop the Italian seasoning powder in and shake it up with vegetable oil. Partially hydrogenated? Who cared? It was delicious.
The salad sat alongside ham, mashed potatoes, and red chili (in lieu of gravy). Another headliner was Mom’s pineapple salad. Made with cream cheese, Cool Whip, crushed pineapple (canned – likely in the cupboard alongside several boxes of Jello), and topped with shiny maraschino cherries, it was a Dad-favorite. Maybe because it was a dessert disguised (if only by the name) as a “salad” or maybe because it was a once-a-year wonder. I’m always amazed when we stumble upon a gem of a recipe and it’s only made once a year. Perhaps that’s the formula. It always tastes good…but only once a year.
The pineapple phenomenon reminded me of one of my volunteering gigs at NPR. During a break, a talk show host named Rose with a cool, smooth voice and long dreds said, “I love your blouse!” Thrilled with my outfit choice, I told her my husband gave it to me. “Great taste!” she replied. After that day, I wore the heck out of that shirt holding on to the compliment as we do. Then one day one of my students probed, “Is that your favorite shirt ‘cause you wear it ALL the time.” And so it happened, I had worn out the beauty of the blouse. That could be the pineapple salad’s story. Better to pace the good stuff.
I digress…
The menu was ready. Then, on Holy Thursday as we loaded up the station wagon and headed to St. Anne’s Church, Dad leaned over the seat with his annual reminder: “Today’s mass is a long one!” This, coming from the man who, when Father Gallie’s sermons would go over 10 minutes would circle his hands in the air as if tying a bow on an invisible gift while whispering, “Let’s tie it up now Father.” We’d all giggle secretly praying Father got the hint.
Typically, Dad would deliver the readings as a lector, and Mom would play the organ. I had a choice to either turn pages for Mom or try to sit still with my sisters for the two hours of feet washing and the Last Supper. Up the stairs, I climbed to the choir loft for my bird’s eye view.
Under the cloudy Good Friday skies, we would attend services at 3:00 pm sharp every year. I still remember the cold, empty altar and solemn sentiment inside the Church. Mom reminded us, “This is the one day we don’t need to genuflect and we don’t call it a mass. It’s a service.” An all-knowing Catholic, she went on to explain why and I said “Ohhhh….” holding out the word as if I was listening, but knowing I wouldn’t remember. Although back then I knew I could ask her anything, anytime I needed to – – you know, that time of life when you think your parents are going to live forever and moments stand still like lighthouses shining bright.
Saturday we buckled in for another “long one”. I really loved that mass. Maybe it was seeing a lot of babies being baptized or because I was kept busy turning pages for Mom as she switched from organ to piano. But I highly suspect it was the fact that we could officially indulge in whatever we had “given up for Lent” immediately after mass.
One Easter weekend, we visited my oldest sister at New Mexico State University. That was the year I gave up soda for Lent – I admit, it wasn’t a HUGE sacrifice, as we rarely had soda in the house except for Dad’s RC Cola and a 7Up if we had a stomach ache. But after Holy Saturday Mass that year, I remember going out for pizza right after mass and getting the coldest most delicious Shirley Temple ever. It was served in one of those big red plastic cups, a staple all pizza joints had. I even got a refill.
Over the years, my view of Lent became less soda and more sacrifice. In college, a friend of mine and I vowed to say a Rosary every day, together. During the long drive to San Diego for spring break we prayed, after going out with friends we prayed and even before watching Shamoo jump through hoops, we prayed the Rosary. Yup. I was wild and crazy then too.
What I learned:
Today, unless kids attend a school starting with the word “Saint” it’s likely they will be in class during Holy Week. Even Good Friday. Because times are different. Holy Week just seemed holier back then. Calendars are filled with games, practices, and activities with church fitting into the gaps.
Like anything else, age readjusts the lens on what matters. What we sacrifice, what we lack, what we share, what we just don’t need. For some, Lent might be about giving up chocolate, complaining less, serving at a homeless shelter, and maybe even blogging.
Perhaps we all need an annual reminder of what we overuse, underdo, and ignore. Something that forces us to stare sacrifice in the face and see who blinks first.
Whatever I do, EVERY DAY, Lent or not, I pray it will make a difference.
I often think, if I could pass a little Post-It Note on to God about my writing, I would say, “Please let my stories help others realize they are not alone in this one wild and precious life you’ve given us. Help me to offer them a little chuckle, a tiny connection, and a chunk of hope when it’s just too much. And God (not yet!), but please save me a seat up there …I’ll bring you a special pineapple salad you’re just going to love!”
Amen.
Thanks for joining me.
See you next week,
Lucretia
On justice and sacrifice:
“We want to end unfair sentences in criminal cases and stop racial bias in criminal justice…Ms. Parks leaned back smiling. ‘Ooooh, honey, all that’s going to make you tired, tired, tired.’ We all laughed. I looked down, a little embarrassed. Then Ms. Carr leaned forward and put her finger in my face and talked to me just like my grandmother used to talk to me. She said, ‘That’s why you’ve got to be brave, brave, brave.’ All three women nodded in silent agreement and for just a little while, they made me feel like a young prince.”
In pursuit of a pen, I reached into the junk drawer (grumbled about cleaning it out) and picked up a mechanical pencil with no top, wrapped in tape, and the cylinder was empty. Harper, our 8-year-old neighbor was over and said, “Why does the pencil look like that?” I held up the plastic pencil remains fiddling with them in my hands and said, “Well, when my son lived here, he would recycle these and use them for projects he would build.”
Whoa…Past tense. “…when my son lived here …” I heard it.
Then I felt it. My heart did that sinking thing when it secretly knows the past is, well, past…and life within the walls of our home will never be the same.
That was then…
I thought back to when the kids were little. We’d set up obstacle courses in the backyard with logs to balance on, hula hoops to maneuver through, and barriers to tackle. My husband managed the stopwatch narrating along the way, and I held the video camera–because in my mind documenting meant the moment wouldn’t (couldn’t) go away.
Our oldest son would go first, his eyes planning the most efficient, logical, and fastest path, no ladder too tall, no tunnel too narrow, no risk too great. Our youngest son would follow, arms flailing, adding cartwheels, leaps, and spins along his path to ensure the most fun could be had on the journey. Finally, our daughter, the oldest, would lean out of the screen door, Harry Potter book in hand “What’s the fastest time?” she’d ask while slipping on any shoes that were handy and pushing her curls away from her face with the back of her hand the way she does. She’d quickly survey the course, hustle to the starting line next to her brothers and yell, “READY Papa!” Up, over, in, and out, she dashed through the course with her signature audible breathing making it clear she was working to win. Once she held the new record, the screen door closed with a bang, book, glasses, and our current winner once inside again. The boys would then clamor to surpass her time and the cycle continued.
I play the kids’ childhood moments in my mind’s Viewfinder all the time–clicking through the first days of school, family trips, awards won, races lost. I think about who leaves toothpaste in the sink, who can tolerate “all that crunching” and who will empty the top rack of the dishwasher. One common thread – as if running the backyard course, they have all become unstoppable-each blazing their own trail, no matter the obstacles.
This is now…
We had our kids 15 and 18 months apart. Total 3. So…in the last two years, we’ve had two high school graduates and in 2024, our youngest will flip his tassel as we say farewell to all of the high school pomp and circumstance.
And as quickly as they graced our every, single day for 18 years, off they go.
As our first two started their journeys outside the context of our family, it was beyond hard. But all I could picture was our unstoppable daughter out in the world discussing the current issues and immigration policies with peers, laughing heartily at her friends’ jokes, and making Spotify song lists with her new people.
She is right where she needs to be. But boy do I miss her.
Then our oldest son who always came out to greet us, carry in the groceries, and asked SO MANY “Can I?” questions – the stamina of a cheetah, he never tired of hearing, “No.” He’s the guy to call when the car won’t start, the path needs clearing or the couch won’t fit through the awkward doorway. He follows Mark Twain’s words, “ I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.”
He too is right where he needs to be. But boy do I miss him too.
Our youngest is our mainstay. The traditionalist. He knows where the holes are in the wall to hang the birthday banner draping the kitchen window five times a year, where the angel food cake pan is kept (and how to use it), and is always clad in workout clothes as if a “sporting” emergency could spring up anytime, he’s the kid that will be there on your happiest or loneliest day and come loaded with snacks and goofy jokes.
Soon he’ll pack up and our nest will be very empty.
Boy, I’m going to miss that nest.
I recently read an article about a killer whale mother who, instead of having more offspring, decided to take care of her one son for over twenty years. Male orcas are massive, not as nimble as their moms, and require a lot of food. This particular orca mom would typically dive down for salmon, bring one up and split it with her son. Once the male relies on his mom to supply him with the extra food, his dependency becomes too great to survive on his own. Therefore, in these situations, it is said when an orca mother dies, her son will also die within the next couple of years.
This story resonated with me as I thought about how much I would love for our kids to all be here, at home, together again. Playing outside, laughing, competing, and crushing obstacles. Sure, I’ve done my share of enabling by bringing the forgotten saxophone or “co-writing” an essay or two, but I’ll be damned if these kids aren’t ready for this one shot at life. Therefore, unlike the mother orca, I am NOT splitting my salmon with them anymore, I don’t care how much protein it has!
What I’ve learned:
Back in August, when packing up the kids for college, I stopped and really listened to the sounds of our morning. I held onto them with clenched fists because somehow through the cacophony of yells and stomps, blenders and constantly running water came the harmony of our home. But eventually, even the best of bands have artists who seek standalone stardom. Simon split from Garfunkel and still performs today with a little less hair and a lot of notoriety. So as they should, our family paths have split. I struggle to marvel at the space between us because letting go is really, really hard. Thankfully we have our stories, love, and of course, Facetime.
Thanks for joining me,
Lucretia
“It is not what you do for your children, but what you have taught them to do for themselves that will make them successful human beings.”
When my oldest son was three and accomplished what seemed to be a herculean task, he would yell out, “I DEEEEED it!” He would then toddle out of the room carrying a self-invented toy and tinker with it for hours.
Well, we “DEEEEED it!” We made it through 2020.
We’ve wrapped our brains around puzzles, now know our dog’s favorite marking spots on walks, discovered mind-bending podcasts, maybe even learned how to draw “Tippy” from Highlights. That was just me.
Through all of the changes, bumps and scars we’ve endured this year, here are five takeaways and shoutouts from my corner of life:
Applying to college is not a lark: to all those kids who go through the process of applying to college, you deserve heaps of credit just for pressing “Submit”.
Voting matters: to all the newly turned 18-year-olds like my daughter who voted for the first time in the Georgia Run-off Election, thank you for showing up to vote, your voice was heard.
Societal change is possible: to those of you who pulled out the Sharpies, made a poster and taught civil rights in your living rooms, thank you for helping seek justice for all.
Calling your parents is gratifying : to those of you who can, call or even Face Time your parents. Sure, you might only see the top of your dad’s head or your mom’s elbow like I do, but it is always worth it. Listen, learn and cherish their stories.
Focus on goodness more than grades: to those parents, like me who ask our kids the same questions every day…How do you feel about your test? Any homework? HOW can you study on your phone? Dig deeper. Ask what they think about all day, what makes them angry, sad or joyful. Yes, give your kids another reason to think your “soooo weird”.
We can’t just shake out 2021 like a wrinkled shirt and hope it will emerge smooth and seamless. 2020 left potholes in need of repair and human connections that need mending. It’s up to us to show up and do good work that matters, together.
So I did it. 40 days of writing. 40 days of sharing. 40 days of memories.
And 40 days filled with unfathomable change.
Lent started out like every year. I contemplate giving up all the sugar and carbs in the world. Plan to blog every day…and vow to be kind, on-time, patient and generous.
Never did I think I would be at home watching Holy Saturday Mass streamed online. On Thursday I mentioned to my family that MAYBE we should watch Mass at the Vatican…because we COULD. I was immediately barraged with a slew of questions:
“Do you think they’ll do ALL the readings…Wait, that sounds like it’s going to be LONG…Don’t they say everything in Latin?”
Nevermind. I acquiesced and we stayed local.
We finished coloring our Easter eggs, ate dinner outside, and after every dish was washed, plopped down on the couch for Mass. I noticed each one of our kids disappear for a few minutes, returning to our living room dressed as if we were headed to church.
It seems that after weeks of living in sweats and workout clothes, our kids knew what was appropriate to wear to Easter Mass, albeit at home, and settled in for the next hour or so.
As we held hands while praying the Our Father, I looked at our little circle of faith and beamed. Our dogs roamed in and out of our legs as we gave each other a sign of peace, loving the fact that we’ve been home so much. I held each hug a little longer than usual knowing we all need extra comfort right now, including me.
Sadly, hugs, handshakes, and human contact are obsolete if we decide to cautiously step outside our front doors. This absence of togetherness is hard on all of us. Even as we listened to Father Walsh’s sermon tonight, the church echoed with a melancholy emptiness.
But his words rang true: “Be not afraid”.
At times like these, it’s hard to digest this advice, but we MUST be courageous, trust in God, do what is right, and take care of ourselves and each other.
Happy Easter and thank you for walking through the last 40 days with me.
“…do not be afraid, for I am with you; do not be alarmed, for I am your God. I give you strength, truly I help you, truly I hold you firm with my saving right hand.” -Isaiah, Chapter 41
Given the time we’ve had in our homes lately with those we love…our kids, parents, grandparents, I thought about the “what-if” questions I always ask myself.
Now that time is abundant, I’m going to tackle some of these “what-ifs”. Here’s my Throwback Blog, I hope you enjoy.
Stay safe friends.
Ever feel like you’re constantly making mistakes as a mom, and wonder “WHAT IF I would have just done things differently?”
I do.
And every day I pray I’ll be the mom who guides with love and trust. Where God’s knock on the door is always answered, and grace soars in and ushers our kids through the messy moments of their teenage years.
Every day these “What if” questions herd my mind into a corral like an overzealous border collie with a flock of sheep. Sure, I know the right answers, yet the day flies by and I’ve botched it all again. Or have I? Maybe I did something right. As moms we have to forgive ourselves, trip, fall, grab onto something, stand up on our arthritic ankles and keep going one day at a time.
Here are my “WHAT IF’S”…
What if I went all day without saying one negative thing to anyone?
What if I didn’t complain to my kids about being on their phones?
What if I trusted more and criticized less. A lot less?
What if I admitted devices help with socialization?
What if I invested in what piques my kids’ interest or makes them laugh so crazy hard on their phones?
What if I walked by a messy-made bed and thought of it as ALMOST MADE?
What if I were able to feel their anxiety on the first day of school?
What if I didn’t complain once about my own appearance all day?
What if I focused on one task at a time?
What if I hugged my kids more?
What if I always made time for my husband?
What if I called my parents every day?
What if I walked my dogs more often?
What if I read a book, cover to cover…just because?
What if I sifted through my 42,644 digital photos and only kept my favorite 200?
What if I donated everything we haven’t used in one year?
What if I knew a magic word to rid my kids of their teenage worries?
What if I planned ahead for dinner?
What if I helped my kids learn to study and GET IT rather than memorize?
What if I reminded them more often how special they really are?
What if I told them I know being a teenager can be awful these days, but it will get better?
What if I was as proud of myself as I am of them?
What if we could have had one more baby?
What if I felt their fear every time they tried something new?
What if I listened? Really listened?
What if I counted my blessings instead of yelling at them?
Do you have any WHAT IFS? Please share yours and together we’ll conquer this mom thing.
“How was school?” This is one line we toss to our kids nearly 180 times per year, and it boomerangs back empty or with the classic, “good”.
I’ve learned to manage this empty answer for one reason…
Because after years of the same bedtime routine with our kids, (yelling, brushing teeth, prayers, etc.) somehow when they’ve returned from practicing the sport they love, finished their homework and eaten dinner, they finally settle and are ready to share a story or two.
Here are a few examples:
My youngest son talks about the football game he played in PE when he “dove to catch the ball with one hand, jammed his thumb, and was still able to somehow, “dive into the endzone”. `
My daughter and I banter a bit, and she tells me a funny story about a classmate whose name everyone yells out daily as soon as he steps into the classroom or answers a question. She hollers the name then does a spot-on impersonation of her teacher’s reaction. I compare it to Norm’s fame on the TV series Cheers and we both crack up.
My middle guy describes the angst he feels after he asks his Honors Chemistry teacher a question, returns to his desk and forgets what to do. Thankfully, his hunger to know how to do things supersedes any apprehension to ask again. He follows up with, “Oh, and I ran a 6-minute mile in JROTC today.”
Suddenly the “good” response transforms into stories of their day at school.
I miss asking them if they did their homework then asking them again if they did their homework, then asking them one more time if they did their homework.
I know I sometimes only half-listen to all of their answers, and I know the kids miss their routine, sports, and friends, but this won’t last forever. (I know that because Sanjay Gupta on CNN just said so, and he knows).
There are typically two things lately all of us can count on – – laundry and being home…but one thing has changed for all of us.
Just a few weeks ago we could chat with friends when we picked our kids up from school, share stories in the teacher’s lounge, or comment on the bargain price of blueberries at Sprouts in the checkout line.
At sporting events for our kids, we’d tell each other about our teenager’s latest drama or success…and at church, we could discuss the “longer than usual” homily.
Right now, all of that interaction has come to a screeching halt. And whether we think we crave it or not, the truth is we all need…
SOMEONE TO LISTEN.
So pick up the phone. Don’t text. Dial a number, call someone and ask how they are and REALLY, REALLY listen to the answer.
As we wade through the same gigantic dismal swamp every day, trying to squelch the worry and focus on the positive. The therapy we need right now (and down the road) is simply someone to listen, be there for someone.
Spiritual Workout:
Here’s what I’ve been trying at home…well, me and the dogs.
More listening, less talking.
More wags, less barking.
More giving, less taking.
More compassion, less selfishness.
More sharing, less hoarding.
More patience, less haste.
As Mother Theresa said:
Workout: Remember to pace yourself as a parent and a runner. Life is like a marathon: relish the downhills, reset on the flat road and power fiercely up those inclines. The race is shorter than you think.
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