Bye Mom-Mom!

Weekday mornings in my house are bittersweet. Usually the princess is up before I leave. She tackles me, says "I got you" and I hold her for as long as I can without being late for work.  I get to run my fingers through her soft blonde curls and feel her chunky little hands rubbing my face. When I tell her I have to go, she says "No!" and "mom-mom, wait!" I love that she calls me mom-mom. When she knows I'm really leaving, she smiles and waves and says, "bye, mom-mom!"

I saw this posted somewhere the other day and I saved it in case I needed a reminder.

I don't really need that reminder right now. I know that as Jack and Vivi grow more independent (which is really the goal, right?) their love for me will change, or at least their expression of that love. Jack won't be begging me to play with his castle the minute I walk in the door, even before I take my coat off or put my bag down. Vivi will not race over to me with her arms open while yelling at Jack, "No! My mom-mom!" They will still love me, but in a different way. Vivi will eventually just call me "mom" or "hey you" or just send me a text. 

I know this because Nick finished high school yesterday. 

Graduation isn't for another week, but he is effectively done with assignments and exams. Completed. We can check that box on our mental parenting to-do list.

18 years ago I could not have imagined today. I was worried about how I would pay for diapers and formula. I was worried about how Nick would grow up with parents not married. I worried about whether he would get a good education. I worried about everything. I worried for nothing. Things just have a way of working out.

These later stages of parenting seem so much harder than the early ones, the ones in which you are their whole universe. When I found out we were having Nick, I was scared of how I would handle such a big responsibility. It seemed like it would be overwhelming. It wasn't. It hasn't always been easy, but for the most part, it has been wonderful. People like to warn you about all the hazards of parenting: childbirth, not sleeping, the terrible twos, the dreaded teenage years. None of these things have been nearly as difficult as described. No one warned me that the hardest part of all would be letting him grow up and go out on his own. It won't be long now until he says "bye, mom" and I'll have to leave him at school and drive 7 hours home.

In the meantime, I am going to celebrate this milestone and savor the time I get to spend with him planning and preparing for his next exciting stage. One small step for Nick, a giant leap for his mom.

Among the Roses

The weather was absolutely gorgeous on Mother’s Day.  I woke up with the sun shining through the window, to hugs and kisses from Vivian, and I got to cuddle Jack on the couch while I drank my coffee. I wanted to soak in every precious moment.

 

I was keenly aware of how hard this day could be for those who had lost their mothers, those who longed to be mothers, and mothers that have lost children. Part of this awareness stemmed from a post on the “Remembering Ana Marquez-Greene” Facebook Page.  Ana was one of the children who lost their lives at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Many moons ago, I attended the Greater Hartford Academy of the Performing Arts with Ana’s parents, high-school sweethearts, Nelba and Jimmy. Ana’s Memorial Facebook page is maintained by Nelba. Her writing is honest and inspirational; and her strength is truly admirable. She posted that Mother’s Day happened to fall on her birthday this year and that since losing Ana, the holiday had become particularly painful for her. Nelba’s post caused me to reflect on the tremendous and transforming gift of motherhood.  Once you have assumed a maternal role, you are forever a mom, even if your child is no longer a child, or is no longer with us.

The Sandy Ground Project is constructing twenty-six playgrounds, all family endorsed, and each a very personal memorial to the angel it is honoring. In April, on Ana’s birthday, there was a ribbon cutting ceremony at her playground in Elizabeth Park in Hartford. I never had the privilege of meeting Ana, but I understand the playground to be a reflection of the things she loved the most.  I was outraged when I learned that less than a month after being erected, it had been spray painted with graffiti. It seems these families are under constant attack from conspiracy theorists claiming the violence was a hoax, to fake foundations being set up to raise funds under false pretenses, and now vandalism.  Enough already.

I wanted to spend Mother’s Day appreciating my children, my most precious gifts. I wanted to just watch them, hold them, and listen to their infectious giggles. We brought Jack and Vivi to Ana’s playground. In part, I wanted to go to let them run and just be their wonderful, uninhibited selves; and I wanted to go in support of Ana’s family. I want them to know that they remain in our thoughts and prayers and the things they are doing to honor Ana are making a very real difference.

Ana’s playscape is purple.  Music is a prominent feature in the form of an electronic piano, xylophone, drums, and a bell.  Some of her artwork is displayed, integrated into the structure. It is a beautiful thing. I am happy to report that the graffiti is gone. Jack and Vivi loved playing there, as did the many, many other children who were there that morning. Children of various ages, races, who speak different languages, and come from different backgrounds, all played together. As music is universal, so is childhood.  It reminded me a lot of being at the Academy. It is sacred ground. 

 

 

 

 

Elizabeth Park is famous for its rose gardens.  It is truly picturesque when the roses are in bloom.  I wanted to take pictures of the kids with the flowers.  My kids were not really interested in the garden, they much preferred the playground.

A rose can say I love you

Orchids can enthrall,

but a weed bouquet, in a chubby fist,

Yes, that says it all.

-          Author Unknown