To All the Moms Out There

I tend to avoid facebook on holidays.  Part of that is because I’m either usually working (Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter) or doing something ridiculous with our friends and family (4^th of July block party, Memorial Day shooting, Labor Day Tour de Fat).  The other part is that status updates on holidays are exhausting to me.
It’s all the same.  Well wishes.  Shouts of joy for the holiday.  The desire to share with the hundreds of acquaintances who are not physically included in your own holiday plans.  It’s all the same, and to me- that’s a little bit boring.
However, the one holiday that I love to read status updates on is today.  Mother’s day.  Because everyone ‘s status is different.  And because of this, it has made me think of many different things today:

Different ways to express love. 

I think of the mothers I have in my life.  There are many “mother figures”, but really only one mom.
 
We have not always had the best relationship.  Those teenage years were hard for both of us.  I didn’t always understand my mom.  She didn’t understand me.  I have pages upon pages of journal entries as proof.  We both threw our hands up in the air at times and said “Whatever!” and just walked away  from each other.

I’m glad we found a way to come back.

Now I think back and I realize how much my mom gave of her own time to let my brother and I gain experiences and skills.  I calculate the many hours she spent schlepping me to piano lessons, dance classes, 4-H, the library, sleepovers, sports practices, and babysitting jobs.  And when I got my license, the stress of figuring out transportation may have been relieved, but now she had a driver on the road (and not a very good one at that).   I realize that she wanted me to have these experiences, it was important to her for me to have these experiences so she made it a priority over other things that she could have done with her time – things that she would have probably enjoyed more. 

My mom has always made us a priority.  In subtle ways.   In not so subtle.  She has always had our best interest in mind, even if we disagreed about that fact at the time.  She’s very good at pointing out different ways of looking at things.  “Did you think about it this way, Katy?”  “Yeah… but what about this?” This used to drive me nuts – because it often pointed out a thought or situation that I hadn’t thought of myself.  It made me question myself.  But this tool taught me the art of consideration.  When enacted tactfully, it makes sure that I know that my opinion or stance is 100% accurate to how I feel before I put it out in the world.  It helps me to be  empathetic to situations and people.  It allows me to see that there are many shades of gray between black and white.  It enables me to understand that there are many different “right ways” out there, and very few wrongs.  I may not have understood her intentions, then – but I appreciate what it has given me now.

Last year, on a visit back home, I found and brought back with me a book that mom gave me when I graduated from high school.   The book is a short fable called “Will You Still Be My Daughter” by Carol Lynn Pearson.  The book itself is a great reminder of how the mother daughter relationship grows and changes over time, but the reason why I needed to carry it with me to Colorado, the reason why I read it when I need an ego boost lies in the inscription that my mom took the time to pen on the inside cover:

“To my daughter –

I know you are strong enough to face the storms and droughts that are ahead in your life, for you have shown that you are idealistic, independent, and just a touch stubborn… I’m pleased to see those traits, as they will carry you.  And if you ever find a time that’s “too much”, please remember that I’m there with you, somewhere, somehow, perhaps hidden in your shadow.

Love,  Mom”

As I get older, the ways that I have needed my mom have changed.  But she is always there, a phone call away.   She has given me advice, she has given me pep talks, she has told me that she is proud of me and that she knows I’m doing the best that I can do.  The way that we have expressed our appreciation for each other has changed over the years.  I finally found the ability and place to where I can say thank you, I needed you then.  I need you now.  No matter what I throw at you, you continue to step up to the plate and hit it out of the park. 

Mom, you rock.

And I will call later today to tell you that.

When it comes to Moms, everyone has different experiences & different emotions. 

The word Mother’s Day does not bring a smile to everyone.  To some, at first mention – it brings a reminder of hurt, or of longing.  In many different capacities.  We often forget about the people who harbor this feeling on Mother’s Day.

My “Aunt” Marilyn (who is actually my mom’s cousin) posted this today on her Facebook Status, a further explanation of what I am acknowledging:

The Wide Spectrum of Mothering by Amy Young

To those who gave birth this year to their first child this year – we celebrate with you.

To those who lost a child this year – we mourn with you.
To those who are in the trenches with little ones every day and wear the badge of food stains – we appreciate you.
To those who experienced loss thru miscarriage, failed adoptions, or running away – we mourn with you.
To those who walk the hard path of infertility, fraught with pokes, prods, tears and disappointment – we walk with you.  Forgive us when we say foolish things.  We don’t mean to make this harder than it is.
To those who are foster moms, mentor moms, and spiritual moms – we need you.
To those who have disappointment, heart ache, and distance with your children – we sit with you.
To those who lost their mothers this year – we grieve with you.
To those who experienced abuse at the hands of your own  mother – we acknowledge your experience.
To those who lived thru driving tests, medical tests, and the overall testing of motherhood – we are better for having you in our midst.
To those who have aborted children – we remember them and you on this day.
To those who are single and long to be married and mothering your own children – we mourn that life has not turned out the way you long for it to be.
To those who step-parent – we walk with you on these complex paths.
To those who envisioned lavishing love on grandchildren, yet that dream is not to be – we grieve with you.
To those who will have emptier nests in the upcoming year – we grieve and rejoice with you.
To those who placed children up for adoption – we commend you for your selflessness and remember how you hold that children in your heart.
And to those who are pregnant with new life, both expected and surprising – we anticipate with you.

This is Mother’s Day.  We walk with you.  Mothering is not for the faint of heart and we have real warriors in our midst.  We remember you.

                                                                                                                                                                                                          

I have  friends who are posting pictures and memories of their mothers, who are no longer with us.  One, posted a picture of his mother (who passed in a car accident when he was young) and wished that when alive, she would have let them take more pictures of her as that is all they have left.  Another friend shared a picture of her mother laughing, an important memory because her mother was on the losing end of a battle with depression. 

I think about how we nearly lost Kendall’s mom to lung cancer in 2009.  I think about what it would be like if we were only able to share her memory on mother’s day, rather than continue to experience and grow in our relationship with her.  Somehow I can’t fathom that feeling.  My heart goes out to who do not have the ability to call up their mother and say “Happy Mother’s Day”.

I know people who are struggling with infertility, who would be amazing parents.  I struggle to understand why God won’t give them the ability to have a child.  I pray for them, and I pray that they will find peace in their hearts during the difficult months and know that whatever the outcome, the end result will be a stronger love.  Even at the end of the day, it’s a stronger love between husband and wife only.

I know others who do not have relationship with their mother, by choice. Today, filled with so many status updates, is a reminder of mother that they never had.   I also pray for peace in their hearts, as I know this is the best decision for them because a relationship with their mother would be toxic or bring sadness into their lives.  I stand with them in these decisions; you are a stronger person because of this choice.

Yes, there is a wide spectrum when it comes to mothers.  We should never forget this.

Different (& Consistent) Doubts Moms & Moms-To-Be Have

This year in particular, I am appreciative and perhaps , a bit more reflective.  I have reached the age where a large majority of my friends have children, have a bun in the oven, are trying to get preggers causally, weren’t trying but hey – life threw a surprise at them, are desperately trying,  are talking about when the “right time” will be, or are vocally stating that they are never to be parents because they are sick of people asking them when they are going to start having kids.  I am watching and I am listening, not quite sure where I fit in.

I turned 30 this past fall, and I will say that was the first time that I thought to myself “Well, now I have to at least start to listen to that biological clock.  I won’t be able to hit snooze on that sucker forever.” 

This is a scary thought for me.  I actually am trying to ignore it a little bit longer.  We’re not ready – not yet.  For those of you out there who feel comfortable asking “So when are you going to start popping out kids?”  - I’m publically saying “Not yet” for you.  Please stop asking.

I know that one can never really be “ready” to be a parent.  It’s something that you learn as you go.  Having a preconceived “How I’m going to parent” plan is seems somewhat ridiculous.  But people do it!  This amazes me, especially when I hear stories from new parents.

Again, I’m at the age where so many of my friends are experiencing parenthood for the first time.  Thank goodness they decide to share!  Facebook statuses and blogs are huge influences to continue with birth control.  There are stories that horrify  me, not because I disagree with a parenting choice – but because my friend was put in that situation to start with.  I admire the friend who put her 2 year old daughter in a timeout in the frozen food aisle of Target because that was where she started her tantrum.  I can’t imagine having that patience.  Which is why I know I’m not ready to sign on as a parent yet.

And yet, she doubted if this was the right decision. All moms seem to doubt themselves.  Why is this?

Those who have been thru the toy filled trenches and survived will often say the secret lies in the mother’s handbook credo: “Be present.  Be consistent. Do the best you can in the moment.  Forgive yourself when hindsight turns out to be 20/20 because you did the best you could in the moment.”

I buy into this credo, I’m just not sure if I have the strength of mind to remind myself of it in the place of a tantrum…yet.  But for those  you who are dealing with toddlers, ten year olds, and dare I say the worst of the worst – teenagers… I hope that you able to find comfort in this credo.  See the below if you need an additional pep talk.

Different Ways to Laugh

You’ve seen the Kid President, right?  Well, I love this kid.  Mom is WOW upside down.  Thank you for the reminder.

Kid President: An Open Letter to Moms

Everyone has Different “Moms”

I may have one mom, but she had some help along the way.  Thank you to my surrogate moms: Grandma Marie, Grandma Aylo, my Aunts Nancy, Debbie, Vicki, Marilyn, Micky, Michelle, and my “Aunt” Marilyn.  You’ve loved me since I was born – or very close to it – and are in so many of my memories.  You’re contributions to helping me find me are thanked and appreciated as well.  I couldn’t get away without including you in this post.

And to the Moms that I have picked up along the way: House Moms Mom Laverna and Mama Lo, my mother-in-law Linda, Grandma Ruth, and my Colorado Momma Sherrill – the love that you have given me during my “adulthood” has enriched my life.  You are special to me and I hold you in my heart today.

 

So in short... Happy Mother's Day to All!  We love you to the moon and back.

The Last Hurrah

I live in a city that disguises itself as a college town, just a few weeks a year.

College towns, have a very specific feel, an energy – or a lack of – at certain times of the year.  College towns survive because of the University that falls within city limits.  Students often make up a majority of residents, 9 months of the year. The fall and spring is a buzz, the summer is quiet and peaceful without students. 

I've lived in two college towns.  Ames is very much a stereotypical college town.  Of the 50 to 60,000 residents, about half of them are students at Iowa State.  Summers show the barest bones of a ghost town, students in summer sessions decide on a bar based on specials rather than which has a line out the front door. Permanent residents don’t have to wait in line to dine or shop.  It is quiet at night, regardless of where you are laying your head.  Open windows aren't filled with laughter or drunken whooo girl’s screams.  Some people may not mind the absence.    To me, Ames lacks energy in the summer because the students are gone.  My summers spent there left me craving for the fall – even after I had graduated and knew that September would not return friends to campus. 

In comparison, Fort Collins is more of a haven for young, up and comers.  Students fall in love with the foothills, bike trails, outdoor activities, cheap craft beer that is so much better than the Natty Lite that I drank while at ISU.   They position themselves to stay after graduation, even if it means that they pass on a job and settle for grad school.  Because of this, the median age of Fort Collins in the 2010 census was 28.  The college may skew that statistic slightly, but of the 150,000 residents, the college only compromises around 20,000.  Summers in Fort Collins are fantastic – filled with concerts, outdoor festivals, impromptu bike bar crawls, white water tubing on the Poudre, hiking, days and nights grilling up at the Reservoir.  The energy of the city gains momentum, without a clutter of students.  We don’t need them to create the fun, we continue without them. 

Yet, there are certain times of year where it is very obvious that Fort Collins is a college town.  Obvious, in the fact that all students are flooding the streets.  Obviously distinguished as students by their dress, behavior, and where they congregate on street corners – or, more likely, in the middle of the street.  They are out, with a mission.  A mission to enjoy each other, to meet new friends and reconcile with old.  In Old Town (Fort Collins’s downtown area) this controlled chaos happens twice a year.  First, when the students return in the fall.  And then finally, the last weekend of school - dead week.  The last hurrah.

One last hurrah to ruin brain cells before they are needed most during finals weeks and friends scatter for the summer; to the mountains, to travel overseas for study abroad programs, to internships, to return to their parent’s to save money on summer housing. For some, before they are forced to leave and not come back.  One last hurrah before finals and graduation.

I, unknowingly, became part of this bedlam last weekend. 

(Yes, I think that bedlam is the right word to use there.) 

I was right in the middle of it, with my group of girlfriends, fresh off of an afternoon drinking mint julips and making Kentucky Derby predictions.  We were dressed up in dresses and heels, our significant others tapped out due to their own over consumption.  Given the freedom – we took the opportunity to dance.  We headed to Old Town, and headed to a dance club called Bondi. 

As my friend Kathleen so eloquently put in our Girls Night Facebook Page the next day: “Dumb.”

Dumb, but awesome.  One of those nights that I woke up a few short hours after closing the bars down and my legs hurt from dancing so much.  My throat hurt from yelling over the music and laughing so much.  My head hurt from…well… you get the idea.

It felt like I was 21 again.  If CSU’s campus was closer, I could have probably been influenced to jump into a fountain.  I know that the crew of girls I was with would have welcomed the idea, just like my friends in college did.  And we would have gotten away with it.

We maybe didn't realize what we were walking into.  It was a reverse naivety.  I was never one for bars that served as meat markets in college.  I was a dive bar kind of girl.  Walking into Bondi and onto the crowded dance floor made me very happy to be married.  I could rely on one flash of my left hand in the strobe lights to make a boy back off, no questions or persuasion needed.  It made me feel kind of sorry for my cousin Libby who is 21.  The pickup lines are worse than I remember.  And yet, something to witness and laugh at. 

Towards the very end of the night, I had a young man approach me and ask if he could dance with me.  I flashed the ring, explaining that I was married and I didn't think it would be appropriate.  There was a slight hesitation before he practically broke down in tears. 

He shared quickly, “My girlfriend of 2 years broke up with me two months ago, and I’m graduating next week.  This is the first night I was able to make myself go out with friends.  And of course I try to pick up a married woman…”

Given what I had heard coming out of the mouths of boys for the majority of the night, I probably could have assumed this was another pickup line.  I did, until I looked and saw the hurt in his eyes.  My rejection could not have put that deep of an ache in his irises. 

For those of you who haven’t been out and about with me on the town, I have two alter egos when I’ve been drinking.  Mother Hen.  Therapist Katy.  This boy’s eyes were calling out both. 

All I said was “Oh hun,” and rubbed his shoulder.  That’s all it took, and he drunkenly started to open up.  So we stood there and talked.  He talked about his fears, of the finality of both his relationship, of college. 

I remember the feeling of finality of graduation and of those first “real world” experiences.  How scary it was.  The uncertainty.  The questions.  If I would be able to have the opportunity to do what I wanted, professionally?  Would I be able to afford the lifestyle that I enjoyed without scholarship money to support my income?  Would I be able to stay close to my friends, even as we all headed to different states and coasts?  Would I be able to make new friends – just as good and worthwhile as those who I had surrounded myself with in college?  Would I be able to make a difference in the real world like I had on campus?   Was I making the right choices about my future – was it smart of me to wait things out with Kendall?  Was the real world really as cruel and helpless as so many “adults” made it out to be? 

And yet, I knew it wouldn't be cruel and helpless.  It couldn't be.  It would exactly what I made it to be, what I would chose to make it.  That some things may be uncertain, but as long as I made an effort – as long as I gave it my best effort, I could be happy with any and every decision that needed to be made.  I had been preparing for this life.  Now was my chance.  Now I got to live it.

One of my now favorite songs came to me in the summer of 2005, during a time when I was asking these questions and trying to tame the doubts.  That summer I discovered the band The National and their new album Alligator.  It was only a discovery; I enjoyed Alligator and listened to it a few times – but I let myself be taken over by the more upbeat Hot Fuss of The Killers that summer (who didn't !).   It wasn't until a few years ago that I revisited the album on YouTube (I don’t know where my copy is now… lost in my many moves across states I’m sure.  Visit the above link if you want to listen as well). 

I love the entire album, but I especially love The Geese of Beverly Road.  It’s a song that some days I will find myself listening and have the need to hit repeat over and over.  Something about the spirit of the song, the complexity of the off beat, the ability to say “We were here, we were here…”  Some days it fills my heart to where I want to cry. 

It reminds me of the hope that I filled myself with then in 2005, the promise of what the real world would contain.  Of the following few years where I made some dumb decisions along the way but I was able to move beyond.  Dumb decisions aren’t necessarily mistakes.  Uturns exist in life if necessary.  Those were the moments I came from, that I made a decision in fake confidence which was good enough until I could find a direction in which confidence was warranted. 

It reminds me of the craziness that I still have in me, the fact that I can still dance and smile and laugh the same way I did when I was 20.  That the world is still filled with 20-something who contain this fear, hope and promise, and that we owe it to them to help foster that feeling, not destroy it.  That I will never utter the words that it is a cruel and helpless world.

I spent 20 minutes talking this boy, never finding out his name.  After listening to him, I took only a few minutes of our time to share that it was ok to be afraid.  It was also important to remember that he had been preparing for life, and that life has many seasons, that people fill these seasons – and he would find someone else, he would find other friends.  He only needed to be confident now, or at least pretend to be.  And that I had faith that he would make the right decisions, or at least the right “wrong” decisions.  He hugged me – a nice hug.  He didn't even try to cop a feel.  He really did just need a friend, someone who could give him a little bit of confidence in himself…

To move on to the next girl over, a cute blond somebody who was more appropriately his age.  Figures…

On the ride home, I stuck my ear buds in and listened to The Geese of Beverly Road.  It seemed appropriate.  A late night toast to the spirit of those who were experiencing one season’s last hurrah.

To the class of 2013 – this is what I have to share:

Hey love, you’ll get away with it.  You’ll run like you’re awesome, totally genius. You’re the heirs to the glimmering world.

You’re the heirs to the glimmering world.