Checking my e-mail before bed the other night, I found a note from an online friend. She is a reader I’ve never met, a fellow mom and blogger with whom I’ve corresponded a bit over the last year. I read her posts, she reads mine, and in the process we’ve come to know one another as well as two simpatico strangers can.
“I just had to tell you that your blog post this week was just what I needed.” she wrote. “I so dread the days my kids are ‘off at college’ and you showed me the sweet side, the coming home and basking in them part.”
I thought about the words I’d written in a rush on the morning before Thanksgiving. Sometimes, I spend all day just getting a few paragraphs to sound right. But that day, with both of my sons still asleep upstairs and just an hour to spend at my kitchen table before we needed to be out the door and on our way to an orthodontic appointment, I wrote quickly, a spill of words that captured all I was feeling at that very moment–acceptance of who they are and gratitude that they were home, along with a touch of surprise at how easy things can seem these days, compared to where we were two years ago, in the midst of a younger son’s adolescent struggles.
My friend went on to say that she had wept into her pillow the night before, mourning the transformation of her sweet seventeen-year-old-son, “the treasure of my heart,” into “what I hope is a temporary self-absorbed ogre.”
I wrote her back to say something like, “Hang in there, it gets better.” And it does. But her letter also made me think about the snapshot of our life that I’d offered the world a few days earlier. Those of us who write memoir (or blogs) know that what finds its way onto the page or into the post is not ever the whole story. It may be true, but it is also, inevitably, a curated version of the truth, a version that is edited for style and impact, narrated in order to make a point and tell a story, condensed for readability, censored, perhaps, for privacy. I had written about a fleeting moment in time, words straight from the heart for sure, but words that evoked only the tiniest corner of a bigger picture.
And just as tears soaking a pillow is not my friend’s typical response to a hard day of motherhood, neither is rhapsodic domestic harmony an accurate picture of mine. Things just aren’t that simple around here, or anywhere, for that matter.
Again and again and again, I’m reminded that my work as a parent — and as a person — is mostly about letting go of my ideas of the way I want things to be so that I work with things as they actually are. Certainly boarding school was never part of our plan for either of our children, and yet there came a moment when my husband and I both knew that the best thing for our younger son was not another dismal year at the public school in our town — much as he insisted he wanted to stay there with his friends, and much as I yearned for two more years of him at home. Letting go of my idea of what it meant to be a “good” mother (a picture that included a happy, hardworking teenager living at home and participating cheerfully in family life) was almost easy, compared to the pain of actually letting go of the boy himself. For two months I cried every day as the school bus he used to take drove past our house in the afternoon without stopping. I avoided downtown at 3, when all the high schoolers could be found hanging out. I skipped over the sports pages in the newspaper, unable to read about his former team mates’ exploits on field and court. I mourned the loss of the lovable little boy who had turned into a self-absorbed, angry adolescent I no longer recognized, and I mourned my failure to live up to my own high expectations of myself as a mother.
But slowly the teenager who had claimed not to care about going to college, who had forgotten the joy of sports and the pleasure of a good book, who said he just wanted to be “another brick in the wall,” began to get his mojo back. Away from home, suddenly accountable to adults other than his parents, he ran cross-country and got excited about math; he took up squash with a passion and figured out how to take notes, turn in his homework on time, and go to his teachers for help. He won some awards and also made some mistakes, weathered the consequences, and realized how much he’d come to love his new school. He started investing in his future by making good decisions in the present.
And slowly, I eased up on myself. I began to think that being a “good” mom isn’t necessarily about preserving an ideal that doesn’t exist anyway, but rather about being realistic about what our children actually need from us in any given moment. Sometimes what they need most of all is for us to let go of our image of the way things ought to be, so that we can love life as it is, love our children for who they are, and love ourselves simply for doing the best we can.
Last week was far from perfect at our house. There wasn’t enough “family” time, in my opinion (there never is!); there was way too much computer time, too many late nights and late mornings, too much junk food, a few sharp words and hurt feelings. And yet, in our own ways, we were all doing the best we could. We managed a fire in the fireplace, a game of Bananagrams, a Thanksgiving feast for forty at my parents’ old house in the woods, a family birthday dinner for Jack (the cake came out of the pan in one piece), and an afternoon at the new wing of the MFA in Boston–where the kids texted and threatened to fall asleep standing up. We saw friends and tended to haircuts and dental work, and we debated, among other things, curfews and sleep-overs and car keys, whether pot should be legalized, how many times I should have to walk into a dirty kitchen on a given day, the fact that someone failed to turn down the heat and turn off the lights at the end of the night. Our days were full of one another, for better and for worse. I watched Jack make pancakes and listened to Henry play the piano, and I reminded myself to focus on all that was good. To be grateful, and to release my old grip on regret, regret for what never really was, for what isn’t now, and for what never will be again.
Family life is never just one way or another, good or bad, black or white, peaceful or tense, happy or sad. It just is — messy and complicated and wonderful and disappointing and exhilarating by turn. There are no charmed lives or perfect children or flawless families, and yet there are charmed moments in every day, and all of our kids are perfect, each in their own blessedly imperfect way, and most of us wouldn’t trade our own flawed family for any other family, no matter what. Yes, my friend, it does get better. It gets better the very moment that we allow ourselves to be ok with things just as they are.
Sigh….well said, as usual :-).
Wow…thank you….I needed to read this post. Your words have a way of touching both my heart and mind at the same time. My kids(4 kids ages 21 to 14) don't realize they need to thank you because you once again have calmed me down…brought down from the cliff(the endless bitching cliff).
Susan
I'm with you all the way here—part of the choir singing, "Amen," or "exactly." As a psychologist I have learned how tenaciously we resist what just is, how we cling to the notions of "it's not fair," or "if only…" And that which we resist persists. As a parent blogger I have had to laugh at myself at times when I have been too busy to fully parent because I was writing about parenting. And yet we must accept ourselves and our own passions just as we must accept our children and each other. More than anything, I notice that parenting and time slowly erode the ego and the controlling self until all that remains is what is—and the realization that it truly does work to go with that and embrace it.
Thanks for being so real and reassuring at the same time.
Katrina, you are just darling! I love the details you captured in this post. Motherhood isn't easy for anyone, but focusing on the sweet moments makes it into something beautiful. Your YouTube video essay has had quite an impact on the women in my circle. We speak of it often and continue to share it. Thanks for helping us enjoy these little moments while we're in them. My four children are 10 and under, and I'm extremely grateful for the wise words of moms who have done this before. I can honestly say that I love being a mom (and I couldn't always say that).
We emailed back and forth a few months ago regarding the possibility of putting an excerpt of one of your chapters on The Power of Moms website. If you're still interested in doing that, please email me and let me know.
Thanks!
April
"Again and again and again, I'm reminded that my work as a parent — and as a person — is mostly about letting go of my ideas of the way I want things to be so that I work with things as they actually are." <– Katrina, to me, this is the heart of your reflections, and I thank you for reminding me of this! Every day is a process.
That very last sentence. Yes.
This is so incredibly true – as always. The need to release regret, both for what will never be and for what is gone forever. I'm struck by the way you are aware that you present only part of the story, which has been on my mind lately as people react to what I write about my life and remind me, just as you say, that the whole picture is not represented. (that was a run-on sentence). There's plenty of shrieking and disappointment at my house, and while I do occasionally write about it, it's not where I focus. I wondered as I read your words whether – for me at least – reflecting on the good moments, and writing about them, memorializing them, is my own way of staying grateful, of realizing that there is joy even in the most muddy days.
Certainly reading you words does that for me, too.
Thank you.
"Again and again and again, I'm reminded that my work as a parent — and as a person — is mostly about letting go of my ideas of the way I want things to be so that I work with things as they actually are." yes, yes, yes – Ann
"To be grateful, and to release my old grip on regret, regret for what never really was, for what isn’t now, and for what never will be again."
Thank you so much for this.
I have just arrived back home from the bus stop – the bus we also missed because we were frantically looking for a coat for my 10 year old daughter. We yelled at each other. We blamed each other. The coat was in the van. It was by far a perfect morning. Yep, this is the way things are. Not perfect. Yet, not all days are like today.
Thank you for this.
Thank you! It is so challenging as a parent to find the right balance between providing structure and letting go of our expectations. Your essay reminds me of the sweetness we can find when we free ourselves from those expectations. Embracing the perfection within imperfection, accepting our children as they truly are… so much richness to be found there.
Thank you. Your writing inspires me to continue to strive for peace and simplicity, to hold on to the "charmed" moments and let go of the disappointing ones.
Thank you! So heartfelt, so right, so real… we, as parents, grow up too! 🙂
Happy Holidays!
Wow, I can not thank you enough for your site. I am so thankful for what you have shared here and for all of the wisdom and warm that you give. You have given me inspiration and strength to keep trying.
Thank you, Katrina. I loved every word of it!
Lovely, Katrina. And so true. Thanks for this little reminder about the reality of "balance" being a verb. It's a journey, not a destination and the route to finding your own personal version of "rhapsodic domestic harmony" changes each day. Once in a while, you'll be lucky enough to taste what you once considered the Only Good, but – if you are wise – you will learn to savor each day for what it's worth … even the sour and the bitter.
Thanks for sharing your world and your words.
Well said,Katrina. Family life is wonderful and messy at the same time. I try to concentrate on the charmed moments, I feel gratitude for them!
So, so true! And so well written!
Dear Katrina,
Today is my sons' birthday. They are turning 16 and 11, yes, both born on the same date…5 years apart. I was led here from my darling friend Leonie's website and became caught up in your beautiful writing. Then I found your video clip about the ordinary day. I was so very moved, tears flowed freely as I watched and listened and soaked in the truth and beauty of your words. So exquistely, painfully beautiful. Thank you for your sharing, for your words, for your gift, you have made a difference in this world with what you do, and I deeply thank you. With love and blessings, Nixie xxx
Thank you!! Motherhood is not easy, but thank you for reminding us all to see the beautiful moments amid the chaos!
Exactly. Exactly. Exactly.
Judy
Bring it Katrina! A good word my friend, just what I needed to hear.
You are so brave! Not only do you admit that life isn't always pretty, you have the courage to stay there with it. It reminds me of the Galway Kinnell poem about reteaching a thing its loveliness …. for what it's worth, i would have been over the moon if someone sent me to boarding school. I had the public school Jack had and I was pretty miserable.
xoxo
Thank you for your words Katrina! I am all the way across the world and I admire and feel you're courage…between the lines. Thank you for this… for some reason, i always always forget to see what's really there and work with that. I;m waiting for your book to be availabele locally….i hope soon.
Holy cow I need to print this out and hang it on my forehead. Masterful prose and SO much depth and truth. Thank you, Katrina.
Katrina,
As a mother of a 12 year old boy with ADHD and learning disability who started attending boarding school at age10, your words that "it gets better" and that my work as a mother is, in your words, "mostly about letting go of my ideas of the way I want things to be so that I work with things as they actually are" really resonated with me. Although I know that my son is at the best school he can be at, it is, at times, very hard to have my son growing up away from home.
Thank you.
Thank you. You bring me perspective amid what feels like chaos.
A perfectly written sentiment on letting go and acceptance of our children “as is” rather than as we had envisioned or hoped. I can’t be reminded of this enough.
And of course, I appreciate the recognition of ‘snapshot’ writing. Things are never as simple as they seem. When we imagine others have it right, and we have it wrong, well…. perhaps we must remember that we are seeing only a snapshot and the picture is much wider!
There is certainly not one definition of the perfect mom (is there a perfect mom?), but yours may be the closest I have come upon. ” I began to think that being a ‘good’ mom isn’t necessarily about preserving an ideal that doesn’t exist anyway, but rather about being realistic about what our children actually need from us in any given moment. Sometimes what they need most of all is for us to let go of our image of the way things ought to be, so that we can love life as it is, love our children for who they are, and love ourselves simply for doing the best we can.”
Now that’s a perfect snapshot!
Meredith Resnick
http://www.LabelsNotLimits.com