One mothers day, after the traditional shmoozing and loves given to a mother of four, child #2 said to me: “Mom, today is Mother’s Day. Why isn’t there a “Kid’s Day”? This is so unfair!” My response? “Every day is “Kid’s Day”. Since you were born every day has been a “Kid’s Day”.” That ended the discussion right then and there because he certainly couldn’t argue with that. Perhaps THAT is why I don’t write about my kids. Every day is “Kid’s Day”, all damn day long.
Not that I don’t love them. They are great kids. Talented. Smart. Beautiful. They are the lights of my life (yes, seriously) and nothing brings me more joy than to see them growing and loving and learning in happiness. It’s a wonderful thing to be a mother. It is also the hardest thing I have ever, EVER done. So, when I write my little entries about things that I have been thinking about or those tender things that are important to me, I don’t write about them because they have plenty of energy expended on them every day. I write to brain-dump. I don’t need to brain-dump them.
However, in the spirit of the school year that is upon us, I have decided to write about the fantastic little souls that they are.
Since child #4 is entering the ranks of the Kindergarten this year, I have mothers asking me if I am sad about it. “Doesn’t it make you sad that you will be alone now? Don’t you wish they could be babies again?” I look like a jerk when I say “No” with a hint of glee in my voice and a sparkle in my eye. You know why I say no? Because this is my job, that’s why. My children were not meant to stay with the husband and I forever. They were not meant to stay infants for the rest of their lives. This is how it goes: Babies are born, babies grow up, babies leave home, babies have babies of their own and the cycle repeats itself again. Hopefully this happens without loss of limb or property but in any case, that’s how it should roll.
Yes, I did cry when my youngest outgrew his baby items. I cried as I would drop his clothing and accessories off to the second-hand store. You could find me driving down the road, sobbing like a lunatic. Sometimes it felt as if my heart was breaking.
Now I can look back from where it was we began. We have made it through teething, potty training, training wheels and now this. Everyone in school. Hooray for us! Hooray for them! These are milestones that signify we are entering another phase of life and there is nothing wrong with that.
I am thoroughly enjoying learning about my children as they discover who they are and what their preferences are. I love to watch them mature and find themselves. It also makes me so very thankful to see the relationships that they are forging with one another–buddies for a lifetime and more. As they mature, I have also been blessed to see them discover that their parents are more than just the vehicles to physical preservation. No longer do we swing from one life-sustaining activity to another….we can now know each other and laugh and talk and enjoy each other. Building relationships, I believe we call it. Nothing could be better. Unless we were millionaires and building relationships. (I’m not holding my breath for that…)
And so, as we begin another school year, I watch my daughter with amazement as she plans her year in leadership and academics. 9th grade this year and next year she hits the big time. She is beauty, brains and personality all rolled into one. Such a lovely being.
I hold my breath as I see my oldest son start his new year as a 6th grader. Such a tender and sweet boy you’ll never find. He’s a bright kid who lives to be loved. And oh, how he is loved. He really want’s to make a difference in people’s lives. So proud of him.
Middle son is in 2nd grade this year. Still talks with a lisp and has a contagious laugh! An artist and/or mathematician in the making (go figure?) he has been known to have grown women swoon over him. Still snuggles up to me when we are sitting in the couch. Little cherub.
Last, but not least, youngest son. The one that resembles me the most both physically and with personality. He’s full of spunk and mischief (though he doesn’t know it’s mischief–there is not an ounce of guile in his little body). He’s going to give those Kindergarten teachers a run for their money. He tells me about 30 times a day he loves me. Oh, how I love that.
Each one their own being. Each one a little seed sent into this world to add their influence and flavor. Each one of them sent to a mother who some days does not feel worthy enough to handle the task beacuse they, very often times, teach me more than I teach them and in better ways. Each of these little souls has blessed me and uplifted me and made my life rich. Who needs that million dollars?
Truth be told, my children are no more handsome or remarkable than anyone else’s. But they’re mine. That makes all of the difference.