Hey Mama

Hey, mama. Yes, you with the sleeping child. The child you just comforted enough to relax and sleep in spite of the pain. The sick child.

We’ve been there. One day your child is healthy, the next day they have a fever. One day they are playing, the next they have lost their appetite and every ounce of “endless” energy. One day they are exploring their world, the next all they want is you. Mama.

Having a sick child is a game changer. Cleaning is unimportant. Laundry can sit unwashed. Dinner may be late, and will not be what you are used to. Those bills will have to wait. Your sick child needs you. 


We get it. You have to take care of your child. You love and care for them, nurture them, and teach them to become independent.

Suddenly they don’t need to hold your hand. They don’t want help carrying their science project. I can manage my own gear, thank you. Can I go to the party if I’m home by midnight?

But tonight they are your sick baby. You would move heaven and earth to heal them. You would change places with them in a heartbeat. It tears you apart, and you are exhausted. 

You can’t take away the pain. You can’t give them back their energy and appetite. You are helpless, reduced to giving comfort and praying. And trying not to let them see how concerned you are, because that’s your job. Mama is supposed to make everything better. But it consumes you, because a kiss won’t make it all better. 

It doesn’t matter what is wrong or how old they are. It could be the sniffles or a major illness. Teething or surgery. A fever or a severe, debilitating disease. They may be six months old or 22 years. We understand. We’ve been there.

If you are among the fortunate majority, recovery will be quick. Your child will soon be running, jumping, eating and playing again. When this happens, be thankful. Because not every mama bear gets to see their cub get better. Some cubs stay sick. 

If you haven’t been there, count your blessings. Too many of us have. 

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To my son’s first girlfriend 

I wasn’t ready for you. I was just getting used to him driving and working. He’s not even close to being independent. I know that is supposed to be the goal, but deep down I have to admit I don’t want it. 

I have always told my kids they are growing too fast. I imagine most parents feel that way. Those feeling are purely selfish. The goal of every young person is to have the freedom of being independent, even if they don’t understand the responsibility that comes with it. 

He seems to think I don’t like you. That’s not the case at all. I don’t know you very well, but what I know is a sweet, likable girl who happened to catch the eye of my first baby. That is hard for me to swallow. 

 

Wasn’t this just last week?

 
My job as a mother is to protect and nurture my kids, and teach them to be responsible, caring adults who love God and family. So far I think I’ve managed to do that, even if my ways are not the most conventional. Yes, things have happened that were beyond our control, but I was there to pick up the pieces when our world was turned upside down. 

Of course, I want to guard my son’s heart. It’s only natural. It’s hard for me to let go and allow him to make his own choices. I’m trying very hard to offer advice without telling him what to do.

I’m glad he is comfortable enough with me to talk about you in ways most teens wouldn’t share with their parents. He knows I won’t judge or jump to conclusions. He also sees the value of lessons I learned by making bad choices when I was young. 

I hope I have a chance to spend time with you soon, just the two of us. I would like to get to know you myself, instead of just hearing what he thinks of you (which seems to be all good, by the way). If you’re lucky I may tell you some of the cute things he did when he was little. I may even show you some of those embarrassing pictures every parent seems to have. 

What am I doing here?

This week I had my first experience as part of the creative team for a community theater production. I joined the table read (just what it sounds like) of a play that was just cast. A few times I helped by reading stage directions, but I am not particularly cut out for that sort of thing.

I am looking forward to this challenge, but at the same time I am a little intimidated. This is the first time that so much of the lighting design has been my responsibility. I have a co-designer, who is also the stage manager, but her help will mostly be hanging and focusing the light fixtures.

The talented cast jumped right into character with no prompting from the director. Soon we were all laughing. I decided I need to watch several rehearsals. Not only do I need to observe blocking and other details important to light design, but I need to be able to watch the show without falling out of my chair laughing. I am also running sound and lights when the show is performed.

I can’t wait to get into the meat of this project. I will be challenged and maybe a bit overwhelmed, but mostly grateful for the chance to stretch my creative wings.

Any tips or suggestions will be gratefully accepted.

I parent, you parent, we all scream at our kids

No two parents have the same style. They shouldn’t. What works for me isn’t going to work for everyone. I have always tried to keep the lines of communication open. My kids know they can come to me with anything and I won’t yell or have a knee jerk reaction. I may not be happy, but I always try to get the facts before getting upset. The more severe the offense, the more time I take deciding how to handle the situation.

I am also open with them about my past, in the hopes they won’t repeat my mistakes, but learn from them. I make a point to try and adjust the things my parents did with me that clashed with my personality. If one technique doesn’t work I don’t keep beating the dead horse, I try a mule. Or a carrier pigeon. Or…you get the picture.

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My favorite picture

I have friends that take a quite different approach. They manage the details of their kids’ activities, monitor their social media, keep a tight rein on their schedule and do their best to keep them away from bad influences. That works for them. It would never work for me.

With all the medical and emotional challenges we face, I don’t have time or energy to micromanage my children’s lives. I trust that I taught them well enough they can be responsible. I have gradually given them more autonomy, remembering how I was when I no longer had my parents watching my every move. I don’t want my kids to suddenly have freedom without the experience and judgment to handle it.

If you have teens, do you trust them? It will only be a few short years before they have to make their own decisions. Will they be ready? If you aren’t sure, it might be time to ask them some tough questions. Questions about sex, drugs, alcohol, choosing friends, being responsible with their time and money, all those things that teens and adults face.

Do your children confide in you? Do they know it is safe? Are you sure your teens feel they can talk to you about whenever is on their mind, without you judging them or dismissing it as trivial teen drama? Do their friends see you as an adult they can trust?

I’m not so naive as to think my kids are perfect. I know there are things they keep from me. I spend plenty of time praying that God helps them through the consequences of their choices.

But they know I am safe. Their friends know I am safe. They can call me in the middle of the night for a ride home without the Spanish Inquisition on the way home. They can confide in me when they aren’t sure how to handle something their friends have shared. And I keep their (and those friends’) secrets, unless it is something I absolutely believe the parent needs to know. If that happens, I discuss it with my kids before I go to the parents, so they understand why I have to break that confidence. They usually agree with my decision.

I encourage you to ask your kids, wherever their age, some open ended questions and then listen to the answers. Really listen. Don’t judge, don’t try to tell them why they are wrong, don’t jump to conclusions or tell them how they should feel. Ask. Listen. Love them for who they are. Let them see your humanity and imperfections.

And above all make sure they know you are safe. Nobody should be afraid of their parents.

Come to the dark side

I run tech for community theater. You know, turning lights and microphones on and off, playing sound cues, and such. I am in “tech week” for a show that opens Friday. This means rehearsal every day putting all the technical details together. Lights, sound, costumes, musicians, sets, props…anything and everything. By Thursday we need to be ready for a preview audience (what some people would call the dress rehearsal.)

I was at the theater before last night’s rehearsal chatting with the light and sound designers. I am operating the sound board, which for this show means 7 body mics, some sound effects and a few monitors. I asked the lighting designer who was running his board, and he said he didn’t have anyone yet. Starting tech week without a board operator is nerve wracking at best.

I knew a friend of mine is interested in getting involved in community theater, so I called her. She was at the theater a half hour later. She hasn’t actually run a show yet, but the light designer and I could tell just from her writing down cues that she will be more than capable of handling her 300-some cues. I’m excited to work with her, since we get along so well and she is taking a break from handbell choir.

One more person caught in the addicting creative process of the theater…

Somber day

I am, along with the rest of the nation, remembering the terrible events 14 years ago today. Like every American over the age of 20, I remember exactly where I was, what I was doing, and who I was with when I heard the news. I wasn’t personally affected at the time, but I remember realizing that the world my children know will never be the same as the one I knew as a child.

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When life was simple

I am in a quiet mood for other reasons today. My work has been particularly challenging lately, and with all the time I have to take off for medical appointments I have had some long days. I’m getting to old to put in 12-14 hour days all week. Lack of sleep makes me grumpy and makes it harder to deal with my melancholy brain.

Also, The Boy is struggling with his medical condition. This week has been particularly hard on him also. He hasn’t felt good enough to leave the house for 2 days. I wish I could help him, but short of making sure he has things like medicine and water there isn’t much I can do to help. I’m not even home enough right now to give him any moral support.

Today is one of those days I wish we could turn back the clock and fix mistakes we made years ago. There are so many unpleasant things in my life stemming from my poor choices that it just adds to the guilt. I have messed up and my kids are paying for it. Yes, I know every mother thinks that, but my kids really are suffering in some ways. They are too wise and experienced for their ages. They know things teens shouldn’t have to know.

Why can’t life be simple like it was when I was a child?

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Some of you immediately recognize the reference in my intro page. Others are scratching your heads. I get it. I don’t understand every cultural reference someone throws my way. But it seems I am the master of obscure connections. Sometimes I feel like Freddy Mercury when he combined John Wayne, Star Wars, politics and illegal drugs in the same song. Except that when he wrote those lyrics they somehow made sense.

I’m not so eloquent. Every day I say something that, in my mind, makes perfect sense, but falls flat when it comes out of my mouth. My poor daughter can only shake her head and laugh when we are talking about what to have for supper and suddenly I’m commenting on the song my brother sang from the basement of the house we lived in when I was in 4th grade.

If I am ever having a conversation with you and I say something that seems to come from left field, just smile and remember that is one of my quirks and why I’m so adorable.

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Oh, and a song in Les Miserables, ends with Jean Valjean singing, “Who am I? 24601!”