Dear Mom

How I've wished I could talk to you these past few months, mom! 

Back in June, when my oldest daughter trekked off to Boston for Sattler College's High-school Week, I was happy to let her go. I must confess, I was also secretly happy that she already had the perfect job secured here at home, and multiple places she wanted to go in the next year. That, coupled with my oldest agreeing to teach at our church school, ensured me another year with all five at home. When she called at the end of the week, and informed her dad that she'd really like to return to Boston in the fall of this year, that's when I started thinking of you, mom. 

Your oldest went off to teach school out of state when she was 19 -- how did that feel, mom? Did you want to tell her to wait a year; that she had lots of time to do these things? Did you want to caution her against impulsiveness? Did you mourn the loss of one more year with everyone home? As your youngest, at three, I don't remember anything about how you felt, mom. But I can imagine!

How did you handle the feelings, mom? From the initial jolt of 'No, this can't be happening' to 'It is happening, and I want to be supportive', how did you navigate? Mothering adults is a whole new playing field, and I've spent this whole summer floundering, and thinking of you over and over, mom. 

When I watched my 20 year old drive off to Pennsylvania for five weeks of training in preparation to teach school; nerves on high alert, dreading the unknown. When I took his phone calls, and tried to troubleshoot an unfamiliar washing machine and listened to long, excited explanations of the books he was reading. 

When I sent my 18 year old off on an airplane for a week in Boston; eyes bright, and excitement high. When I absorbed the news that the next school year was not going to look like I had pictured, and I wrestled with fear and uncertainty and sadness.

When our summer became consumed with flurries of red tape and preparation, and I mourned the loss of a "normal" summer vacation. When it became apparent that, in many ways, children leave the nest before they're ever actually gone. When I caught my heart distancing itself, so as not to feel the pain. 

When I listened to my son, bubbling over with school ideas, and heading off to the classroom day after day to prepare. When I felt, all in the same moment, the warm fuzzies of pride and the gripping hand of anxiety -- "He's so creative; I love to see him shine!" "But these people all know him too well; what if his students don't like him at all?"

You watched your children leave/ begin new adventures many, many times over the course of their adulthood, how did you do it, mom? 

Boston Bound!

I remember some of how you did it. I remember you cutting out letters for bulletin boards, and fixing finicky sewing projects. I remember you helping to pack suitcases, and slipping in little extras. I remember you ironing the shirts, and buying all the things, and helping with last minute details for school activities. I remember you being there, and doing all the things; what I don't remember, mom, is how you felt. 

Did your heart twist at the changes? Did you resent, even just a little bit, all the time you poured into helping us get all our ducks in a row? Did you sometimes want to remind us that you had a life too? Did you sometimes want to say "If you're going to leave, let's get it over with?" Did you sometimes wish we'd be around a little more to pitch in with all the ducks you needed to keep in a row? Did you sometimes feel so much love, and pride in what your children were pursuing and becoming, that you wondered how you could ever feel anything but gratitude and humility? Did your eyes spill tears at the oddest times and stay dry as could be at others?

I can't ask you any of these questions, mom. But the truth is, I have a sneaking suspicion you wouldn't really have many answers anyway. The fact is, it would probably be kind of like when young moms ask me about pregnancy and tiny babies -- so much of the drama of those times has faded in my memory. None of the details seem nearly as exacerbating now, as they did in the moment. I'm guessing someday the events of this summer will seem much the same. 

So, while I've thought of you often these past months, mom, and I've wished I could ask you a myriad of questions, I guess maybe the things I remember are more important than the things that I don't, and your example is all the answers I really need. 

Love, Bethany

Back to School...

Charles - 4th grade

Lillian - 8th grade

Jennifer - Freshman

Isaac - 7th & 8th grade Teacher

And Jasmine, 

And her new home in Boston, 

Where she will be attending 

Sattler College for their 

One Year Certificate in Biblical Studies 

Farewell July

 Dear July, 

I would say that I am sad to see you go, but that would not be entirely true. I am actually quite happy to give your ridiculously topsy turvy self a shove out the door and proclaim 'good riddance'!

I am sad that you didn't deliver the things July should be made of -- lake days, road trips, picnics, bike rides, library trips... you really failed to deliver, and now you're gone and there's no going back. 

Instead, you delivered fevers and headaches and back to back days of laying on beds and recliners and couches. You delivered a rash and two weeks of antibiotics for Lyme. 

You delivered exhaustion and naps and half hearted enthusiasm to give to girls going to camp.

And grudging endurance for entertaining the lonely only child left at home who was bored out of his mind. 

You delivered a toothache, and carefully eating on one side of the mouth and turning down yummy, crunchy things like the abundant cucumbers from plants gone wild. 

And then, you delivered a tooth extraction and barely eating at all. 

So you see, my dear July, for all of these reasons, I am not at all sad to see you go! 

For a while, I thought you would even rob me of the joy of reading my four books in a month. One cannot read books when one is feverish and head-achy, nor even when one is exhausted and constantly napping. But, I did indeed reach my goal. (Even though I started an audio book and gave it up and started a long awaited, highly praised, self-help book and became so annoyed with my lack of ability to concentrate and threw in the towel on that one as well. For this reason, my list this month includes such trivialities as Mr Poppers Penguins on Libby but it counts, yes it does!)

I listened to Angela's Ashes [a little bit of an odd book, in my opinion. And, to be honest,  one that I finished mostly because I was trying to meet my goal.]

I read The Pie Lady. [Easy to read, as each chapter is a separate, little story]

I listened to Mr Poppers Penguins [my nine year old had read it recently and loved it, so I listened to it with him while I laid around on couches and recliners]

I read The Tale of Hill Top Farm [and fell in love with the Cottage Tales of Beatrix Potter]

So you see, my dear July, while you didn't deliver the things I would have wished for, you also didn't rob me of everything. I met my book reading goal, I did the laundry (mostly), I fed my people (with the help of the kind souls that live with me) and I held down all the furniture quite nicely. I also welcomed all my children back home, which pleased some of us even more greatly than others. 

I did other things too, of course. But it's easier to look around and see all the things that didn't happen and didn't get done. 

Today, on this first day of August, I am blessed to be feeling quite like my normal self again.... No more fevers, no more toothaches, no more barely eating. If my enthusiasm for the new month is somewhat squelched by looking at the calendar and seeing things like Canning That Still Needs Done, and School Begins, and Big Life Changes Ahead, then it is probably a good time to remind myself that life can be enjoyed even in the midst of it not delivering all the things one wishes that it might. 

In the end, July -- you could have been better, but you could have been so much worse. 

The End