family

Center of the World; Moved

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I spent a long time I was wishing the center of the world — that people would pay MORE ATTENTION to me. Then I spent a long time centering my children — hoping that they saw and felt that they were/are the CENTER OF MY WORLD. I probably fell short on that, but it is what I hoped to convey. And now, as I have said before, the oldest is preparing to leave for college in the fall. He has chosen a school I am not in love with and would not have chosen for him; a path I am not in love with and would not have chosen for him. But I am super proud of HIM and how self-aware and clear on what he wants he is.

I also am having trouble with the ‘lasts’ — this is the last time he will do X with us, or Y. I am trying to focus on HE’S NOT GONE YET — and also not focusing on BUT THE OTHER TWO WILL BE GOING TOOOOO SOON. Instead, treasuring each dinner/evening, even if we mostly sit on our own phones in our own rooms — checking in with each other, grabbing a hug.

We traveled together last weekend — and what a gift that time was, even as he was with friends and I was with my friends — time to see him, to grab his leg and smile at him, to shout his name LOUDLY as he competed, and to celebrate with him when he did well.

He’s leaving, but he’s not gone yet. And when he does, the center of my world will shift, again, but I hope he knows and feels that no matter how far away he goes/is, he is still very much centered in my world.

Anxiety/College/Leadership

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Well, it’s that time — time for me to step out and back from leading in my children’s lives, aka college application time. Guess what? It’s making me INSANE. There are two college who took my child for a ‘Official Visit’ for his chosen (and beloved) sport. One said they liked him but would not offer him a guaranteed spot. The other said they would offer a guaranteed spot. He likes the one … who would not. The other one is ‘just like my [hyper competitive] high school, MOM.’

So what to do! He thinks you can only apply to one, because the coaches want to be your TOP choice. I think, and the other mom that knows this stuff (better than I do) agrees, that you have to AT LEAST apply for three because NONE OF THESE SCHOOLS are guarantees — he’s not in the top of the top where they kind of circumvent the process to let you in. The RECOMMEND you get in, but you have to add grades, and scores, and all of that crap, to it.

Mainly, of course, I’m trying to relive/relitigate MY CHILDHOOD decisions, where I applied to ONE fancy school, did NOT get in, and just went to whatever local college my mom chose. I was so heartbroken not to get in. And my son’s scores, grades and sports are TOTALLY different than mine, but when the first school declined to give him a letter WOE it sent me down a spiral to when I was 18 and heartbroken.

That is not his path! That is not the path he is on! And YET! I cannot let go of the obsession.

He will be fine; I know he will be fine, but as we sang when the kids were little, on long car trips, “I don’t want to get there, I just want to be there …”

When you like them least, they need you most

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I just got back (well, two weeks ago) from a really fun bike trip around Crater Lake, Bend and Sisters, Oregon with my 17 year old son. It’s a lie to say we ‘rode together’ — he was MILES and HOURS ahead of me — but we roomed together and ate breakfast and dinner together and generally had a really lovely time.

Just before we left, I took my 15 year old to therapy we had forced her (read: she wanted X, we said you can have X if you do Y, with Y being therapy) to attend. She DESPISED it, and honestly, the therapist despised her a bit. So on the way home from forced session, I started yelling at her (error #1,000 that I repeat pretty regularly). She … just got out. We were at a stop light, in a different town adjacent to our own, and I stopped the car and chased her, screaming (see error) for a few blocks. Then — I just left her. I just got back in the car and drove away.

I couldn’t catch her, I’m too slow, but I could have gotten in the car and found her. I had taken away her phone, so she had no phone and no iPad/etc. I had to catch a flight, but I didn’t need to leave RIGHT THEN. I had about 20 minutes before I needed to get home and go. So I really regret not staying/chasing. But. In other news. She made it home fine; it was about 8 miles — she walked a lot of it and then took the bus. Just as I was about to call the police, while I was at the airport, she walked in the front door.

There has been a lot of ramifications. She lost her phone for a week, her dad, myself and I talked extensively when I returned from my trip, she said it feels like we don’t love her, other heartbreaking things have occurred. And I went to lunch with a good friend who said the point at the top of this post — ‘teenagers — when you like them least is when they need you most./

And honestly, I have always liked this kid, and always found her to be really challenging, and I have struggled to draw firm boundaries and lines with her — to our and her detriment. So we are trying to do everything ‘right’ — and just trying to love her and show her how much we love her.

Oh my husband was FURIOUS I had left her. But he told her, not me, because I am hard to speak with about difficult things, so … I found out from her. But I would have been mad if he left her, too. Not sure what I was thinking; I have no excuses. My stepmother strongly and firmly said “you have raised her well, she will be home, don’t worry” and that was SO WELCOME and SO NEEDED at that point.

Passage of Time

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There is no way to announce that time has passed; my beloved mother-in-law always says that even as she turned 84, she still feels like herself, and doesn’t ‘feel’ old. I went home to Texas for the holidays, dragging my teenagers and husband with me. My dad and Nancy picked us up at the airport, and we headed out to Poteet. The specialize in allowing me to feel like a child; I get to choose where we eat, what we do, they pay for everything, and all is fun. This felt like — a passage in itself, this trip. It was quick — three nights, two full days — because of our children’s schedules. It was poignant, because my dad is becoming forgetful and really really struggles with his vision — can’t drive at night, and chooses to drive during the day but prefers not to with us in the car. I just had a last time feeling that I hope was wrong the whole weekend as we did a puzzle, went to the best BBQ places, made a Christmas flan, and reminisced about all the fun we’ve had on the farm — the place my dad came home from the hospital to!

Anyway; on the last morning, Oliver and I were sneaking out to get a haircut (him) and go for a run (me) (training for my SECOND marathon!). Nancy came out quietly and I’m ashamed to say I snapped at her — we are trying to sneak out! We’ll be back soon! She quietly, kindly replied — I know, your dad just fell out of bed in the middle of the night, and we think he broke his hip.

So, we stopped. Dad wanted to get to the car by himself, but could not move. He had somehow (HOW?) pulled himself up from the CONCRETE floor, and got back into bed. But moving from the bed to the car proved impossible, and then who knows how we would have gotten him from the car to the hospital. The one in Jourdanton, not very far from our Poteet home (8 miles?) was convenience, but even with Oliver/Jason willing to lift him, it just hurt too much. So the ambulance came (quickly!) and got him onto the stretcher. The rural (thankful it is still around!) hospital was excellent, but couldn’t do surgery until Thursday (today!). So they confirmed he had broken his hip, and he got an ambulance to Houston. It was an agonizing ride for him — Nancy stayed and rode with him.

The five of us got in their two cars and drove to their house in Houston, visited with my sister, Anna, and tried to sneak in some Houston stops (the NY Bagel Shop, always). We saw dad on our way to the airport the next day (us stopping in, pictured). You really (really) never do feel old. But you wake up one morning, and you are.

My Mom & Playing Hurt

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My mom is probably the biggest influence on my life, ever. From birth and even before, who she is and how she taught me to behave has shaped me in ways obvious and not. As this year of moving around the country (four times since last March 31!) has showed me, one of the most important attributes she showed me was … the act of playing hurt.

For a dear friend of mine, Kathleen Schmatz, playing hurt meant getting up and going to work with a smile even if you overindulged in alcohol the night before. After she taught me this definition, I used it many times. For my mom, as encapsulated in this post, playing hurt meant something much more profound. She showed up for us, for my sister and myself, even at great personal cost.

My parents’ divorce in 1983 was a profound change for all four of us in that nuclear family. My father moved out, and married his current wife later that same year. My mom moved us out of our big house with the new pool we just built and into an apartment complex relatively nearby.

We continued on as before, with perhaps more personal responsibility. The year after that, for fifth grade, I transferred to a ‘regular’ school from Montessori, to help with the transition to middle school. I rode my bike — by myself — home every day. When I think about those Houston intersections (no streets smaller than four lanes for Houston, no sirree bob!) that I navigated with pride and freedom, I think about how my mom both:

  • trusted me to bike home and
  • took me to school every day, bike rack strapped laboriously onto the Honda Civic, so I could enjoy that freedom.

And so, when I graduated from fifth grade, my one request for a graduation party was to have my dad, my mom, and my sister go to my very favorite restaurant in the world (wait for it … ): Fuddruckers.

ImageAnd so, my mom, defining grace under pressure and playing hurt, is pictured smiling gamely in this photo, taken by my dad, at Fuddrucker’s celebrating my fifth grade graduation. And while I know as an adult the enormous sacrifice that must have been for my mom at that time, I also cherish it as one of my happiest childhood memories. Playing hurt. Getting along. Sacrificing for love. Holding on to the hope that tomorrow — not next year, but tomorrow — is going to be better. It’s one of the best lessons my mom has taught me, and one I cherish every day.

Suzanne Beville Kiker: The Present of a Pedicure

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In Arlington, Va. there is no shortage of places to get a pedicure. While we lived there, my beloved mother-in-law and I had a favorite one, in Shirlington just next to the Cake Love bakery. One day while my two children were sleeping, we left them in my husband’s care and snuck off to have our toenails painted. 

I consider pedicures a sacred time of girl talk — the more private, the better. We had been having a lovely visit, and I hectored Suzanne to share many of her life stories with me.  I was asking her question about her youth, and her brothers, and her parents. She was very receptive, telling me stories of Florida and North Carolina in the 1940s and 1950s and talking about her parents marriage and how young her brothers were when they died. 

Suzanne, Clyde, Jason and Baby O

In front of her home of more than 40 years,  Suzanne’s face exudes warmth and love.

I turned to her, over the fumes of the paint and the ministrations of the pedicurists, and asked how she always managed to be so cheerful despite a complicated life. She looked quietly resolved, and said, “My parents were unhappy people, and I decided at a young age that was not going to be my route in life. I chose happiness. I choose it every day.” 

At the time, I protested and doubted. I’ve read self-help books, I know about The Secret, I’ve heard all about the power of positive thinking. But a smart, kind, loving woman like my mother in law just declaring that she chose happiness seemed … well, crazy. 

I pointed out unhappy times in my life, and how they precluded joy. I emphasized that sadness and exhaustion make it impossible to decide to be happy. I argued that she must be unhappy many times — maybe even RIGHT NOW. She smiled, serenely, and said it was a decision she made that served her well. 

At this point we were at the drying rack, where our toes were being warmed. We put on our flip-flops and walked gingerly to the car. The toenail polish stayed on for months. 

In the years since, I’ve chosen unhappiness again and again. I’ve dwelled on slights, and I’ve inflicted more than my share. And I still think that I’m partially right — that you can’t just ‘choose’ happiness, and that dwelling on sadness is one way to exorcise it. 

And then I see Suzanne, and see the love and joy she exudes in a quiet, thoughtful, generous way. And I wonder. One day a year or so, just to see how it feels, she inspires me to choose happiness. And for that, and for Suzanne, I’m thankful.