I’m an old dog. I don’t mean this chronologically, although let’s just say if I were a dog I would be getting up there. What I mean by old dog is even when I was a pup in my twenties I was set in my ways. I had a sense of righteousness that was way beyond my young years. It was my way or the highway. This was true even when my kids started questioning this and my other motives and actions.
When Molly and Kelly were in elementary school and someone cut me off, they begged me to stay in my car. They knew my impulse (and righteousness) propelled me out of the car to give the other driver a piece of my (crazy?) mind.
“Mom, you need to mellow out,” Molly said.
“No, that woman needs to hand over her license,” I said. “She’s a menace to society.”
“Really?” Kelly asked. “I don’t even know what a menace is but I don’t think she’s that.”
“Girls, when you start driving, you can have an opinion.” This day seemed so far away, eight and eleven years for Molly and Kelly, respectively, that I felt secure in my place to be right about driving and a myriad of other things for many more years.
But, oh, late at night, when the girls were asleep, I beat myself up with my my refusal to be open, to be soft and vulnerable. My compulsion to be in control and to be seen as a perfect mom, wife, and woman was a defense. I’d learned in childhood the importance of being strong. Weakness equaled vulnerability. Vulnerability equaled pain. Weakness equaled pain.
But life has a way of beating down those defenses. Thank God! Divorce happens, children grow up to drive and have opinions, parents die, money problems happen and if you don’t open yourself to learning new ways to handle heartache, handle life, then you are destined to be alone in your lonlineness (and righteousness).
As this old dog has gotten older, my kids have given me the gift of learning everyday from them to do better.
From Kelly I’ve learned that it sucks to be the middle child after being the baby of the family for eleven years. “Mom, keep your eyes open. Watch me. Don’t let me get lost between Molly and Jack. You do, and bad things will happen.” Baby, I’m watching. Kelly has taught me the importance of friendship. She has shown me how to love your best friend fiercely, even if there is the risk of your friends moving on. And in Kelly’s case, they have and she has handled this with grace, too. I’ve learned from Kelly that appearances don’t mean shit, and second chances should be given to people when they mess up. Kelly is a fashionista. She loves clothes and she is one of the most beautiful people I know. But it is her big heart that is the loveliest part of her.
From Molly I have learned to let go. I’ve let go of my control–for the most part–I’m only human and an older dog. I’ve let go of grinding square pegs into round holes. Because of Molly, I’ve let go of home being a physical place. Home is where the heart is, and Molly is my home and I think when she went away to Sacramento State she felt the same way about me. Molly is the bravest person I know. It wasn’t just her ruptured appendix, the appendectomy, the seven days in the hospital that illustrated how brave Molly is. It is how she beat down her insecurities and debilitating anxiety to get good grades, make wonderful friends, become the Norseman volleyball player of the year, make homecoming court, win Best Personality in senior standouts, and leave the comfort of home for college. And it is how a year and half later, she knew herself well enough to know she had to come back to San Diego despite the crap she’d get from friends and family (and herself) for failing to finish college up in Sacramento. Molly showed me to be myself despite the costs or fall out.
From Jack, oh, Jack, my late in life boy is going to be the life or death of me. Jack challenges me every day, and I think this has been his biggest gift to me. He has questioned my sarcasm. The other day I was behind a driver and said, “Can you go any slower?” Jack responded, “Oh, sarcasm.” I stopped and thought about my impatience. Jack made me question AGAIN why I can’t just enjoy the ride. Jack has been challenged by sitting in a classroom Monday through Friday. He’s had his share of Think Sheets. These are pieces of paper where he has to write whatever he did wrong and what he’s going to do in the future to stop himself from doing it again. “I can’t control my brain,” he’s said on numerous occasions as his defense for doing what he does. “I have too many things going on inside my head.” I’ve told him he’s a very smart person and it will continue to be hard for him to “control” his brain. “I’ve had trouble controlling mine,” I said. “Did you get in trouble in school like me?” he asked. ”No, not at school. I get in trouble from my lack of focus more today than back then.” Jack’s struggles remind me to focus, but more than that to not beat myself up for not being able to. Write a Think Sheet and do better next time. Jack is one of the funniest people I know. There are too many instances to tell here, so take my word for it. It is his humor that has kept the challenges of raising a brilliant boy in check and kept me sane.
I think back to those days when I had to be right about everything. I was an old pit bull in my determination to be seen as perfect. Back then I bared my teeth, growled, and was ready for a fight. Because of Molly, Kelly and Jack, I’ve turned into a young Golden Retriever. All I want to do now is play, have fun and learn new tricks.
Who taught you the most important lessons in your life? Your kids? Your pets? Parents? Friends? A stranger? What were these lessons? Share your story.
Read how another midlife mama let go of her teenage sons. Katrina Kenison found solace in the ordinary days.
Before I lost weight I was fat. But I wasn’t just fat on the outside, I was on the inside, too.