Our family hit a milestone two weeks ago. Or, better said, our son did. Nick graduated from Wake Forest University. Magna cum laude. With a degree in Psychology and two minors. My own son did better at my alma mater than I did. And I’m thrilled for him.
Many of you readers have followed Nick’s journey, which has been a rather remarkable one, to say the least. And so it was with enormous gratitude and yes, pride, that we watched him march across the stage and accept his diploma. Our throats caught emotion and our hearts and minds filled with unspeakable joy.
Milestones. It seems like we’ll all be facing them in these next few weeks. Commencements. Weddings. First jobs. Prom. Our daughter will hit a milestone in two weeks when she’ll perform the difficult Fritz Kreisler Praeludium and Allegro at her spring recital. Her nearly-80-year-old grandmother will make the trek to Connecticut to experience it; as a younger woman, she taught more than 200 violin students a week, and considers watching her own grandchild play this signature piece of violin repertoire part of her reward for all of those years of diligence.
It is, of course, the successful passing of mini-milestones that allow us to enjoy the major ones. I sat through Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star ten thousand times in preparation for the glory of the Kreisler piece. And yet I still get a lump in my throat when I hear a three-year-old play it. It brings a floodgate of memories of the hours spent in our living room, holding the bow on my kids’ 1/16th size violin or singing the song or turning on the tape so they could listen to it as they fell into dreamland.
One must make sweet and gentle leaps before she can make more strenuous ones. And so it goes. On and on and on.
During the course of my more than twenty-two years of motherhood, there were many days when I found my mini-milestone to be as sweet and gentle as a shower taken without interruption. Or a morning met with dry sheets on all four of our kids’ beds. Sweet and gentle was the mini-milestone of ninja turtle underpants instead of pull-ups; Tide-with-a-bow-on-top and our kid’s initiation into personal laundry instead of mom-the-family-laundress doing it all. Sweet and gentle milestones included clean kids’ bedrooms without nudging. Christmas recitals and soccer tournaments. Our daughter singing—live and onstage—to the Jonas Brothers.
I have come to realize that one doesn’t get to experience the joy of a major milestone until one witnesses the victories of multiple sweet and gentle mini-milestones along the way. Book contracts don’t come along until one has written dozens of articles and stories gratis. Singing to the Jonas Brothers doesn’t happen until one has memorized all of their songs, could lip sync them in each one of their movies, and traveled great distances to more than one of their concerts. Homes don’t get renovated until one has read hundreds of decorating magazines and made dozens of expensive decorating mistakes. One cannot perform the Kreisler concerto until she has mastered the Bach A Minor Concerto first. And college graduations just can’t happen until one has pulled all-nighters for finals and research papers for four years running.
As you go through the days of June, recognizing achievements in your own life and in those of whom you most love, allow yourself the indulgent luxury of re-living a few of the more painful and monotonous memories of the path to victory. Re-live, if briefly, some of the journey. When your daughter accepts the math award, remember all of those nights when you helped her with simple addition. At the tennis banquet, think of all of those days when you were the human ball machine, gently tossing her balls so that she could one day play on the varsity team. The days of June are sweet: they are abundantly filled with milestones of all shapes and sizes. May they bring to you, like they are bringing to us, unspeakable joy!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
What Mom Really Wants for Mother’s Day: A Little Something
There were countless years when all I really wanted was a nap. Then some when the thought of a restaurant dinner out—no cooking, serving or cleaning up—was our family’s little Mother’s Day ritual. But our favorite “Mother’s Day restaurant” closed when the economy headed south, and, frankly, the idea of spending all that money to feed our large brood just doesn’t turn me on this year. No. Not this year.
In the Recessionista spirit of “less is more” and Simplify-Simplify-Simplify, all I really want this year is a little something. My hunch is: this is what’s driving you too.
Mom wants:
Something a little fun: something slightly impractical that won’t break the family’s bank that she would most likely never buy were it not for Mother’s Day. I splurged with something a little crazy when I took the money my mother always sends me for Mother’s Day and—a few weeks early when I was on a random shopping trip out-of-town—bought a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer’s in turquoise. Not your average fifty-something’s choice for a new pair of shades. I admit: they’re a little zany. But hey: girls just wanna have fun.
Something a little sweet: chocolate or a cupcake or a big bowl of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. Mother’s Day screams: eat something caloric with a high fat content. My husband knows that I can do without an entire box of chocolates…but he better bring me a super dark bar or two to nosh on throughout this coming week.
Something a little tender: we don’t need much, do we? Just enough to let us know that all of our daily sacrifices are noticed…at least one day a year. Tender to me means someone in my family proactively dealing with the dirty dishes in the sink and the clean ones in the dishwasher. The crumbs on the floor and the old food in the fridge. Before I even mention it. Tender to me means having one of my teenagers wash and vacuum my car as a complete surprise. Tender to me means my husband brewing the morning coffee and delivering it to me in bed.
Something a little time-indulgent: An extra-long peek at the newspaper. That proverbial Sunday afternoon nap that almost always seems so out of reach. A leisurely phone call to a friend. Getting horizontal on the sofa with a new book. Painting the forgotten canvas. Dabbling. A pedicure.
Something a little orderly: especially meaningful to those of us who feel like we are carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders is an orderly environment. Whether it means that the kids pick up their loosely-strewn toys or that the teenagers pick up the laundry all over their bedroom floors; whether hubby might kindly re-organize the stacks of magazines on the family room coffee table or that he’ll neatly stack the mail in the drawer. Orderliness breeds creativity. And oh! How we could all use a larger dose of that.
Mother’s Day has a different connotation for every single mom. Some ignore the day altogether. Some require unusually high levels of doting and devotion. I just want a little something.
Whatever you need, whatever inspires you to motherhood with excellence: I am sending along my very best wishes for a most wonderful day. And hopefully, you will have some control over how, exactly, you spend it.
In the Recessionista spirit of “less is more” and Simplify-Simplify-Simplify, all I really want this year is a little something. My hunch is: this is what’s driving you too.
Mom wants:
Something a little fun: something slightly impractical that won’t break the family’s bank that she would most likely never buy were it not for Mother’s Day. I splurged with something a little crazy when I took the money my mother always sends me for Mother’s Day and—a few weeks early when I was on a random shopping trip out-of-town—bought a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer’s in turquoise. Not your average fifty-something’s choice for a new pair of shades. I admit: they’re a little zany. But hey: girls just wanna have fun.
Something a little sweet: chocolate or a cupcake or a big bowl of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. Mother’s Day screams: eat something caloric with a high fat content. My husband knows that I can do without an entire box of chocolates…but he better bring me a super dark bar or two to nosh on throughout this coming week.
Something a little tender: we don’t need much, do we? Just enough to let us know that all of our daily sacrifices are noticed…at least one day a year. Tender to me means someone in my family proactively dealing with the dirty dishes in the sink and the clean ones in the dishwasher. The crumbs on the floor and the old food in the fridge. Before I even mention it. Tender to me means having one of my teenagers wash and vacuum my car as a complete surprise. Tender to me means my husband brewing the morning coffee and delivering it to me in bed.
Something a little time-indulgent: An extra-long peek at the newspaper. That proverbial Sunday afternoon nap that almost always seems so out of reach. A leisurely phone call to a friend. Getting horizontal on the sofa with a new book. Painting the forgotten canvas. Dabbling. A pedicure.
Something a little orderly: especially meaningful to those of us who feel like we are carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders is an orderly environment. Whether it means that the kids pick up their loosely-strewn toys or that the teenagers pick up the laundry all over their bedroom floors; whether hubby might kindly re-organize the stacks of magazines on the family room coffee table or that he’ll neatly stack the mail in the drawer. Orderliness breeds creativity. And oh! How we could all use a larger dose of that.
Mother’s Day has a different connotation for every single mom. Some ignore the day altogether. Some require unusually high levels of doting and devotion. I just want a little something.
Whatever you need, whatever inspires you to motherhood with excellence: I am sending along my very best wishes for a most wonderful day. And hopefully, you will have some control over how, exactly, you spend it.
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