Advice for My Daughter

Category: Parenthood

  • The Most Beautiful

    The Most Beautiful

    Three years ago I wrote a blog post called The Girl in the Rearview Mirror. I wrote it because I was watching my 7 year old daughter’s image change daily as I looked at her in the rearview mirror.

    Three years have passed since that time and I’m still watching her reflection change. The one thought I have every time I see her face is, “she is absolutely the most beautiful girl in the world to me.”

    My mother-in-law passed away last year and I recall that every time we would visit her, she would look at my husband (her son) and just say, “let me look at you.”

    I get it now.

    There is nothing more beautiful in the world to a mother than the faces of her children.

    Nothing.

    At this moment in time, I am lucky enough that I get to see her face in the rearview mirror every day. I get to watch her do her homework. I get to see her laugh with her friends in the backyard.

    But these days won’t last forever.

    One day, that beautiful face won’t be in my life every day.

    I’ll miss her smiles, her late night questions, her messy room, and her hair bands on the coffee table.

    I’ll miss our spontaneous trips to the ice cream shop, holding hands in the parking lot, and footprints on the back of my seat in the car.

    I’ll miss hearing her voice every day and laying on the couch on a lazy Saturday reading books and watching TV.

    But most of all, I’ll miss her face.

    Because it truly is the most beautiful.

    Photo by Ana Francisconi on Unsplash

  • 936 Weekends

    936 Weekends

    From the moment a baby is born, the countdown begins. You are given the gift of 936 weekends with your child before they turn 18.

    936.

    At first glance, it sounds like a lot. That’s almost 1,000 weekends. Multiply it by two and you have 1,872 weekend days.

    But ask any parent whose child has just moved out, if 936 weekends was enough.

    Did they have their fill of lazy Friday nights, curled up in blankets watching movies in their pj’s?

    Did they achieve the optimal number of Sunday morning talks over breakfast?

    Did they have just the right number of inside jokes exchanged on a Saturday afternoon?

    Did they talk enough, laugh enough, cry enough, share enough, eat enough, hug enough, dream enough, or just exist under the same roof enough in those 936 weekends?

    Probably not. 936 weekends isn’t enough…but it’s the timeline that you are given. So the question is, what are you going to do with the time you’ve been given?

    Will you spend time checking things off your endless to-do list rather than sitting down and talking about what’s going on at school? Will you shuttle them from one activity to another rather than letting them dream and create something of their own? Will you like and share posts online rather than liking and sharing your life with this incredible person who is only here for the blink of an eye?

    Will you argue about what they wear, what they eat, and what they want to be when they grow up for so many weekends that you miss all of the good stuff?

    I hope not. I hope you squeeze as many memories as you can into every one of those days.

    I hope you share secrets and hopes, provide wisdom, listen deeply, give advice when asked and stay silent when they need to do it themselves.

    I hope you dance, sing, take road trips, sit on the front porch, catch fireflies, watch powerful movies, listen to lots of music, visit museums, enjoy meals with friends, stay up too late, hike in the forest, get sand in your shoes, spend quality time with family, make art, take photos, ride roller coasters, eat ice cream, pet dogs, wear flip flops, travel to new places, and enjoy the time together while you have it.

    936 weekends will pass in the blink of an eye. Treasure every minute.

    Photo by Lonely Planet on Unsplash

  • In Praise of Slowness

    In Praise of Slowness

    Here are a few headlines that I read just today:

    Samsung Galaxy Note9: A Flagship Phone for Busy Millennials

    5 Hacks for Busy Entrepreneurs

    Parents Are Too Busy To Potty Train

    We live in a culture that worships the cult of busy. Somehow, we have been sold the idea that we will be better people, parents or employees if we can flaunt our busyness like a peacock during mating season.

    But when you move fast, you miss a lot. We’ve known this was true since the moment it came out of Ferris Bueller’s mouth:

    “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

    Don’t Miss It

    When you are busy, you are focusing on tomorrow. You are planning which box to check off next. You are driving to the practice, the game, the playoff. You’re thinking about what to do, what to buy, who to call, where to go, how to get there, who to go there with, how it will impact the next thing and the next thing and the next thing. And….

    STOP

    Busyness is the exact opposite of mindfulness. Rather than being present with the child who is directly in front of you wanting to tell you about the funny thing that happened today, you are thinking about how you are going to get this beautiful gift of a child into bed, into math, or into college.

    You are trading in the precious moment of now for the demands of some future moment. And the moment vanishes like a shooting star. It was there…then it was gone.

    Tomorrow isn’t promised to you. The only moment that matters is this one right here. Your husband wants to talk about his day…this day….the one you are currently in…not some item on your bottomless checklist of to-do’s.

    Choosing Slow is Choosing More

    When my daughter was little, it would take us 30 minutes to walk into a restaurant we enjoyed going to because she would look at every single rock in their landscaping. Every rock was special and she didn’t want to miss one of them.

    Everything is brand new and exciting to kids. They crack open their minds and soak up everything.

    Why do they do that?

    Because when you choose to walk half as fast, you get to see twice as much.

    More rocks.

    More flowers.

    More sunshine.

    More neighbors.

    More birds.

    It’s the difference between the freeway and the country road. Yes, the freeway will get you from point A to point B, but you won’t see anything in-between but Cracker Barrel billboards.

    That’s not living.

    How to Slow Down

    I encourage you to choose slowness whenever possible.

    Take the long way to work.

    Go inside the coffee shop rather than going to the drive thru.

    Opt out of the corporate ladder and sit in the middle where the view is still good, but the pressure isn’t overwhelming.

    Listen when your family wants to talk to you.

    Notice how the sky isn’t always blue, but sometimes it’s hot pink or juicy orange.

    Lay on the floor and listen to the peaceful sound of your dog breathing.

    Slow

    Everything

    Down

    Find things that you can do half as fast so that you can enjoy them twice as much.

    They Grow Up So Fast

    We are all familiar with parents saying that “they grow up so fast,” but it takes eighteen years for them to grow up. Maybe they don’t grow up fast, but we are moving too fast to notice them becoming adults.

    Don’t pass up story time so you can log in a few more hours of work.

    Don’t run through the drive through every night when you could cook a simple meal together.

    Don’t trade the private moments at home for the over-scheduled activities.

    Choose to be present.

    Choose this moment right now.

    Choose slow.

     

    Photo by Til Jentzsch on Unsplash

     

  • I Will Always Be Your Safe Place

    I Will Always Be Your Safe Place

    I know a secret.

    It was told to me last night in the dark cavernous circle of trust that happens just before bedtime slips into dreamland.

    My daughter had been keeping a secret for months and she was finally ready to tell me.

    I offered no advice. I responded with no judgement.

    I just listened.

    What I witnessed, was a visible sense of relief wash over my daughter.

    A weight had lifted.

    She shared her secret and finally had someone she could talk to about it.

    As she opened up to me in the darkness of her bedroom, I said the following words:

    As you go through life you will have secrets. You will share things with your friends that I will never know about. And that’s ok. Just know that when you are scared or in trouble or afraid of what to do next, I will always be your safe place. You can tell me absolutely anything and I will be on your team. I can’t promise that I will always agree with you, but I can promise that I will always try to help you.

    I sometimes feel like the largest part of my job as a mom of a young child has been to build up and reinforce our trust. Over and over and over and over again. As she grows up, mistakes will be made, promises will be broken and words will be said.

    And I will be her safe place. Even when the mistakes hurt me, when the promises broken are to me, and when the regretted words are said to me.

    I will be her safe place.

    Every. Single. Time.

    Friends will do mean things. Her heart will be broken. She will make some bad decisions. She may even make some VERY bad decisions.

    And when she does. I will be here. I will be safe. And we will walk this path together.

     

    Photo by Jeremy McKnight

  • I Didn’t Know It Was the Last Time

    I Didn’t Know It Was the Last Time

    As our kids grow up, we often keep notebooks to log their firsts:
    • First Smile
    • First Laugh
    • First time rolling over
    • First tooth
    • First food
    • First word
    • First steps

    We share the firsts with our family, post them on Facebook and track them in baby books.

    But we never track the lasts. They slip by us unnoticed and we don’t realize their significance until much later.

    I didn’t know it was the last time I would rock you in the rocking chair.

    I didn’t know it was the last time I would carry you.

    I didn’t know it was the last time I would give you a bath.

    These milestones just snuck past me. Your childhood slipped away with a whisper. There was no announcement, no record keeping and no party.

    I didn’t know. How could I?

    How could I know that it was the last time I would read you a bedtime story?

    How could I know that it was the last time you would crawl?

    How could I know that it was the last time that you would hold my hand in the parking lot?

    I couldn’t. And now all I have are memories.

    The firsts are filled with joy, while the lasts are filled with longing because I didn’t know it was the last time.

    I didn’t know.

  • The Deal All Mothers Make

    The Deal All Mothers Make

    When you become a mother, you agree to a deal. We all do it, because it seems completely reasonable at the time, but like all contracts, the fine print doesn’t become clear until years later. It reads something like this:

    “I accept the gift of this child. I understand that they will only be little for a very short time. I will do my best to live in the moment because time will pass more quickly than I anticipate.”

    We all agree to it. That’s the deal. But we didn’t realize that being a mother means that days slow down and years speed up. So, we get caught up in the days. We change diapers. We wake up for feedings. We do laundry. And all of a sudden, we are tying their shoes on the first day of school.

    And we tell ourselves that we still have plenty of time.

    So we help with homework, take them to soccer, and buy them new shoes for the first day of middle school.

    And we tell ourselves that we still have plenty of time.

    So we help them get their drivers license, watch their heart get broken and let them order new shoes for prom.

    And we ask ourselves how they grew up so fast.

    It’s the deal that we made 18 years ago. We were told that we would have them for a very short time. But it all happened so fast.

    Their shoes are bigger than ours. They are going on dates. They know more about technology than we do. And we don’t understand how we let it slip away.

    But there is fine print with this agreement. Every year, on the second Sunday in May, we are reminded of the passing years when we celebrate Mother’s Day shortly before summer vacation. It’s a reminder not to let another summer pass us by.

    Go for walks.

    Stay up late listening to the crickets and looking at the stars.

    Ride a horse.

    Go swimming.

    Eat watermelon.

    Have a water balloon fight.

    Chase the ice cream truck.

    Share secrets.

    Laugh.

    Hug.

    Be present…in this moment…right now.

    The average lifespan is 79 years. One quarter of those were spent with our parents. Another quarter we get to spend with our children before we hear the crackle of their wings spreading wide.

    The deal was made. The contract is final. We only get to have them little for a short period of time. They will never be little again.

    Let this Mother’s Day be a reminder to put down the phone, turn off the tv and to listen instead of talk, because the years are only going to go faster. Soon, there will be no more shoes lying in the middle of the kitchen. The house will feel quiet. The car will drive away from the place they once called home.

    These years are precious. Be present. Make memories. You can keep the memories forever.

    One day I realized that I would never know my daughter as an old woman, so I wrote this letter to her that you may also enjoy. It’s also available as a downloadable printable, perfect for Mother’s Day. Happy Mother’s Day!

     

     

  • I Can See Your Heartbeat

    I Can See Your Heartbeat

    When I woke up this morning, you were still sleeping, but your body was very much awake. I looked at your arms stretched out and your little toes twitching. Then my eyes stopped when I saw your heart beating through your pajamas.

    It shouldn’t be so amazing to see a heart beating, but when I think of the long, sometimes painful, road that led me to this cloudy Monday morning in a pink bedroom where I’m watching the heart beat of a little girl who shares my last name…it’s nothing short of a miracle.

    A heart beats around 3 billion times in a lifetime. As your mother, I am acutely aware that I will be in your presence for just a small fraction of those. The number of mornings that I will get to sit on the edge of your bed and watch you, are numbered.

    And I don’t know what that number is.

    So, I silently watch in wonder while this little girl whose incredible heart is beating insistently in the shadows of a Monday morning sunrise.

    And I whisper under my breath…

    thank you

     

    Image: sure2talk on Flickr

  • A Letter to My Daughter on Mother’s Day

    A Letter to My Daughter on Mother’s Day

    This Sunday, you will come into my bedroom and wake me up with a card and a gift and a bright and shiny “Happy Mother’s Day!!!”

    And my heart will explode. It does that every year…and almost every day.

    I still can’t believe that my name is actually “mom.”

    For years my eyes would burn and my heart would ache on the second Sunday in May. I would watch my friends enjoy their well-wishes while I would quietly crumble inside.

    But this Sunday, a little voice will jolt me awake. And she will call me mom.

    For that, I am thankful.

    Thank you for sleepless nights and joy filled days.

    For Friday night sleepovers and Saturday morning snuggles.

    For dancing in the driveway and singing in the car.

    For sharing your fears and listening to mine.

    For being strong and weak and afraid and determined.

    For being a good friend and a kind neighbor.

    For being my favorite artist and personal singer.

    For loving me when I screw up over and over and over again.

    For laundry baskets filled with tiny shirts.

    For a driveway covered in chalk.

    For burning feet as we chase the ice cream truck across the hot pavement.

    For presenting me with a dandelion as if it were the rarest of roses.

    Thank you for smiles
    and messes
    and late nights
    and early mornings
    and legos on the floor
    and stuffed animals in my bed
    and crumbs in the car
    and sticky fingers
    and loud music
    and untied shoes
    and knots in your hair
    and messy countertops
    and out of control birthday parties
    and spilled milk
    and rocks in your pockets
    and piles of drawings
    and muddy shoes
    and conversations in the bathroom
    and water balloon fights
    and stacks of books everywhere
    and french fries in the back seat
    and visits with every dog on every block
    and runny noses
    and being late
    and afternoons at the library
    and pillow fights past bedtime
    and love
    and laughter
    and for calling me mom.

    I’m your mom. And today you celebrate me.

    But today, I celebrate you and the name that I now bear only because you exist.

    I’m your mom.

    Thank you for choosing me.

     

     

  • A Love Letter to My Daughter

    A Love Letter to My Daughter

    My Remarkable Girl,

    It’s taken me years to write you this letter. It’s long overdue. Many times I’ve tried to put my feelings into words, and many times I’ve failed.

    In the simplest of terms, I love you, but there is nothing simple about my feelings. I apologize in advance for the flimsiness of my words. As hard as I try, my words always fail me.

    Imagine for a moment a wish that you hold close to your heart. Now imagine wishing for it for years. You wonder if you are being heard. Every coin that gets dropped in a fountain is wrapped in that wish. Every candle that is blown out feels the wind from that wish. Every star…every night…feels the echo of that wish. Every night, every bended knee, has carried that wish in a prayer.

    Now imagine that wish coming true.

    Can you feel it?

    Now take that feeling and multiply by the number of stars in the sky. Then multiply that by the number of blades of grass in central park. Then multiply that by every grain of sand in the Sahara Desert.

    Does your heart ache yet? Because mine does…every day.

    As I look back on your life so far, there are so many moments when I’m certain that I felt my heart leap out of my body:

    • The first time I held you
    • Your first night home when I watched you sleep
    • The first time you were sick
    • The first time you smiled
    • The first time you said mommy

    And those are just the “big” moments. Every mother expects to be in awe when the big firsts happen, but it’s the everyday moments that make my breath catch and I whisper a simple “thank you” because it’s all I have to offer.

    • When you reach for my hand in the parking lot
    • When your legs are tucked up under you as the moon shines across your sleeping eyes
    • When you get upset and write me a note that says “I’m sorry”
    • When you run across the room to greet me with a giant hug
    • When you invite me to have lunch with you at school

    You are my answered prayer…the prayer that I thought was never heard.

    You are my inspiration, my joy, my wonder, my dance partner, my sidekick, my adventurer, my scientist, my teacher, my guru, my alarm clock, my movie buddy, my cheerleader, my artist, my inventor, my comfort, my caffeine, my confidant, my goofball, my coach, and my heart.

    You. Are my child.

    And I love you.

    Love,

    Mom

     

    Like this? Click here to purchase one to hang in your home.

     

  • Why We Have a Sleepover Every Friday Night

    Why We Have a Sleepover Every Friday Night

    Around the holidays, people tend to talk about the importance of traditions. Traditions bring families together and create a sense of stability and comfort. But the best traditions are the little ones that we drop into everyday life.

    In our home, every Friday night is night is Sleepover Night. We pull our blankets off of our beds and throw them on the floor. We stay up a little later. We laugh a little longer. And we talk. We look forward to it every week because it is the kickoff to our weekend.

    We both have so much fun on Sleepover Night because we are having our own party every week. When the blankets come off the bed, it’s time to put our work behind us and spend time as a family for the next two days.

    But Sleepover Night goes much deeper than that, because the most important thing that we do is talk.

    We laugh. We tell stories. We share ideas. And sometimes you tell your deepest feelings.

    With our feet tangled together and the moonlight shining on your face, your heart cracks open. Sometimes we find solutions and sometimes we cry. Other times we learn that some things just don’t make sense.

    As you grow older, I hope that we can continue to find space to maintain this tradition. As you become bigger, so will your problems. The conversations may become harder, but your emotions are always safe amidst the pillows and blankets on our floor.

    Yes, I love Thanksgiving and Christmas, but one of my very favorite traditions happens with the moon on my face and my dog at my feet…and it waits for me every Friday night.

     

    Image: rachel CALAMUSA