Real Life Conversations with JT: The Art of Listening

The backstory: JT is training to run a 100 mile race and so nearly every day is a running day.  Some days, there is rain in the forecast and he’ll tie on his shoes and then stand on the porch and announce he doesn’t want to get wet.  Every single time, I respond, “Why? You aren’t made of sugar.  You won’t melt.”  It’s sensible and it’s true.  

Today, we went to Colonial Park so he could run and I could go for a walk.  We set off in the same direction and heard thunder in the distance.  

Me: I hope it doesn’t rain.  

JT (as he ran off): Why? You aren’t made of sugar.  You won’t melt.” 

I guess that he does hear me.

Among the Trees: On the Journey to This Moment

It’s no secret that the last year in my life has offered a seemingly steady stream of unexpected challenges.  I’ve found a core of resilience that I didn’t know that I had in me.  I’m proud of that strength and I continue to do the work to sustain it.  

Last week, I spent an afternoon in Colonial Park and had the time to reflect on how far life has come since last June, when my freshly-minted college-graduate son was struggling to sort out the meaning of his life.  It was a hard journey for me as a parent and far harder for him.  During those difficult weeks, JT and I spent a lot of time together, much of it in the rose garden, tucked under the wisteria wrestling with his demons.  

That difficult summer was before the end of my 11 year relationship with T and the passing of my father.  I won’t say that by now I am battle scarred, but I have arrived at a point where I don’t take anything good for granted.  Every day, I look for gratitude and from it I find grace.  I take the time to be grateful for the peace of that grace, no matter how small.  

My memory of the struggles of the last year made it all the more sweet last week when JT was offered a teaching job at a nearby school.  The position is a terrific opportunity, with a chance to do some things he knows he enjoys - coach middle school sports - as well as the prospect of trying something new - working as a third grade teaching assistant.  He’s excited and proud of himself.  I am so glad for him, perhaps as proud as I’ve ever been.  I know the work that got him here.  Last week, as I walked the paths of this familiar and beloved park and sat in the quiet shade of the wisteria to read my book, I thought of how far we’ve come.  I felt at peace in all the ways I've longed for over the last year.  I reflected on my blessings, all of them, but chiefly my immense gratitude that my boy is here to turn his beautiful face to the light and the sunshine. 

What is Mother’s Day to a Single Mom?

I became a single parent the year JT was 6.  The separation happened in June so it wasn’t until the next year that I had to experience Mother’s Day on my own.  Mother’s Day is a strange holiday when you are a single mama.  There will be no sleeping-in, no breakfast in bed, no sweet card made by your child, no gift from a loving partner grateful for the ways in which you mother the child you share.  That Hallmark version of Mother’s Day is so distant from the reality of the life of a single parent that the idea seems laughably unreal.  And it’s a bitter chuckle at that. 

When I was in the thick of my single mama days, Mother’s Day passed by with nary a thought.  I couldn’t afford to wallow in the ways the holiday made me feel left out.  After all, there was laundry to wash, a lawn to mow, and grocery shopping to organize.  I wouldn’t have had time for breakfast in bed even if it were forthcoming. 

And it wasn’t forthcoming.  

That reality was mostly a secret, however.  There is no space for mamas like me in the world of Mother’s Day celebrations. When people would wish me a Happy Mother’s Day, I would say thank you.  If anyone asked about my plans for the day, I lied and made up a story about those plans.  The first Mother’s Day on my own, I went to a Quaker Family camp with my friend S and her son D.  It was lovely.  Soon after that, my ex and I came to a parenting agreement that meant JT would be with her every 2nd and 4th weekend of the month and with me for every 1st and 3rd weekend.  Just like that, I’d solved the Mother’s Day problem by spending it on my own.  I continued to lie if anyone asked about my plans - there was no need for them to be exposed to my sad little reality.  I would have welcomed their kindness but would have recoiled at their pity so I avoided the whole landscape. 

When T was first in my world, she took me garden shopping and made me breakfast on Mother’s Day.  It was nice - the first celebration that actually made me feel special.  By the last few years of our relationship, she’d tell me to go garden shopping on my own and then she offered to pay me back for the flowers.  At least I got flowers, I reasoned.  But Mother’s Day had returned to form. 

In advance of Mother’s Day 2023, I’ve seen moms on-line getting impressively angry about what they truly want for Mother’s Day: an actually decent national parental leave policy, serious and significant gun control, action on maternal and infant health, affordable, good quality day care; a Constitutionally-protected right to make decisions about their bodies…it’s a lengthy list of requests that reveal just how very little this nation actually cares about mothers.  And make no mistake: not nearly enough of our leaders give an actual damn about the lives of women. 

The honesty of these expressions has been freeing for me.  This week, when people asked about my Mother’s Day plans, I told the truth:  Mother’s Day isn’t really a big deal when you are a mama on your own.  If that is a deflating notion for them, I haven’t felt bad about it.  At age 55, I’ve grown weary of being the woman who makes everything okay for people while suppressing my own feelings.  I am over that bullshit.  I’m not mean, but I speak my truth. 

I approached Mother’s Day 2023 in my usual manner: I made a plan to look after myself.  I bought some fruit syrup for the waffles I will make myself this weekend.  I picked up a cute postcard at a shop a few weeks ago and set it aside to admire on Sunday morning.  I am all set for Mother’s Day. 

After all this time, the funny thing is that my 23 year old son has told me that I should be ready at 2 pm on Sunday.  He seems to have a treat planned.  I’m touched and charmed but also afraid to hold that hope.  After so many years of not-very-special Mother’s Days; Sundays in which I swallowed my feelings and got on with life, I’m a little nervous at the glimmer of hope I feel.  I hope it works out.  When it comes to feeling valued and cherished, I am more fragile than I seem.

Update: JT took me to dinner and then to see a play, Agatha Christie's Murder on the Orient Express.  It was a special and lovely Mother's Day, and that was really nice.

January 1: Taking Root

In December, I began to think again about this blog, which has been neglected in the last couple of years.  For a long time, I was grateful for this place to record my thoughts and mark the passage of time.  I’m not the sort to make resolutions, but I’ve enjoyed writing of late and the blog is back for now.  I’m looking forward to posting more often this year.   

As has been my custom, I’ll start each month with a post about something in the natural world.  This year, that’s going to be the houseplants that bring me happiness on a daily basis.  I’ve a bit of a green thumb and I love houseplants.  More than two dozen flourish in my care and they are all over the house and my office at school.  Some go outside for the summer; all of them bring me joy and help me to feel grounded. 

Like any good mama, I don’t have a favorite plant.  Each is valued on their own terms and each is meaningful to me for a different reason.  For January, I pick this little pothos, which currently has a spot on the radiator in the dining room. 

I have many a pothos plant; they are easy to care for and they grow in abundance.  Some of mine have variegated leaves; others are a verdant green  This plant was started from clippings from the plant that lives on the top of my living room bookshelf.  It had begun to trail the floor and, loathe to throw out the trimmings, I showed JT how to transplant them.  We did that in the midst of our hard summer and I can remember telling him that life was sometimes like a plant waiting to take root; not always much to look at but always with potential.  I told him that the tiny transplant was an investment in hope for the future.  Privately, I crossed my fingers that the plant would take root and begin to thrive and that when it did, JT would also be better situated. 

This little plant is in a better place today, as is the son who helped me to grow it.  I start 2023 with gratitude for this growth, and that feels like the right note for a new year.

21!

Today, JT wakes up a 21 year old.  Such news seems patently unbelievable and yet, there is ample evidence that he has grown up.  For all the challenges of this last year, there has been happiness for me as I realize what a good and decent man my little boy has become.  We’re a long way from his Peter Pan days.

Though, perhaps, he is still a boy at heart…… 

Sunrise with JT

Last week, JT and I got up early to watch the Wednesday morning sunrise from Washington Rock, a historical site that is nearly a stone’s throw from our home.  The morning was a bit of a lark made lovelier by the company of the son I call my boy, a claim that is rather in defiance of the young man he clearly has become.He’s been home since March and though I know that we all long for a return to normal, I am grateful for the blessing of this time together.  Despite the anxiety, we’ve shared plenty of laughter and thoughtful talks.  I’ve had the chance to get to know (and like) the adult he is becoming.  The morning sunrise was a welcome reminder to appreciate to pause and appreciate the small blessings of this unexpected time together.

Mother’s Day 2020

It’s my custom on Mother’s day to write about my life as a mama.  Last year on MOther’s Day, JT was finishing up his first year of college, taking exams and packing up his dorm room.  This year finds him home, where’s he’s been since the madness began in March.  Having him back home has been a chance to reflect on life as the mama of a young adult.

I’ve discovered that I like my young adult son and being home together has had moments that make me laugh.  He’s become a coffee drinker and some mornings find us standing before the coffee pot grateful for the caffeine that is coming our way.  From my office, as I teach class on Zoom or respond to e-mails, I watch him stretch and then find the day’s stick which he holds as he heads out to run.  I think about the years he played with sticks in the front yard and I smile at the little boy still contained in this 20 year old young man of mine.

He's helped in the garden and yard and I've plans to hire him as my gardener's assistant after his classes end.  He's handy when there are large branches that fall in the backyard.  This stick has been deemed too large to carry out on a run.

I’m the person I am because I am a mama; his mama.  As always, even as we three shake down in the house together, I am grateful for that blessing.

April Book Report: All You Can Ever Know

One side effect of the staying-at-home lifestyle we all have going on is the amount of time I now have to read. Books are my joy, my relaxation, my comfort, and my near-constant thought.  A good amount of my daydreaming time is spent thinking about what I’ve just read, what I am reading now, and what I will read next.

Among the books that keep coming back to my mind is Nicole Chung’s memoir of adoption, All You Can Ever Know which I read earlier this month.  Chung grew up in rural Oregon, the Korean-American daughter of a white couple.  Much loved as a child, she knew one story of her adoption, a standard story of biological parents unable to look after a child and adoptive parents with much love to share.  The story was a comfort when Chung was a little girl, but as she grew up, she longed for more information.  The longing was as much about her Korean identity as anything else.  It became more central to her sense of self when she was pregnant with her first child.

As she details her search for information about her biological family, she reflects on her on sense of identity as a child and now an adult woman.  She is thinking and writing about herself as a daughter, both adopted and biological, as a mother and, as she will find out, a sister.  As she makes sense of her adoption, it is a story that is personal to her.  But for the reader, the story is also universal, a reflection on love and family, on the stories we know about our identity and the stories we imagine about ourselves.  

The writing is beautiful and Chung’s unfolding of identity and its shifting meaning in a woman’s world is emotional.  I found her story powerful and thoughts about it have echoed in my mind since I finished the book.  To me, that is the very essence of the power of reading.  

Two Decades

Twenty years ago this day, I became a mama just after midnight when a certain young man with shiny dark eyes agreed to make his  appearance.

Two decades.  

It’s rather hard to believe how quickly 20 years have passed.  As I think about my 20 year old college boy, I’m struck not by how much things have changed but rather by how much of JT at 20 could be seen when he was just a little boy.

When JT was 7 and discovered that high school kids didn’t get daily recess and PE class, he recoiled at such a notion.  In his mind, there were three reasons to attend school: PE, recess, and Field Day.  The rest of school was sometimes interesting but mostly time spent waiting for the good parts.  That same year, he asked why people walked places when they could run.  The signs were all there.

By the time he was in high school, he’d made his peace with the lack of recess and daily PE class.  Consolation came in the form of athletic teams and after school practice.  When it came time for him to select a college, I wasn’t surprised that he chose Springfield College.

If PE had a college, it would be Springfield.  He’s happy there, taking classes that interest and inspire him, running mile after mile with his teammates, and growing into an opinionated and kind-hearted young man.  Today, he’s in classes at college and I won’t get to give him a birthday hug.  But I sent him a package and a handmade card with my annual birthday note.  He knows that he is a well-loved and lucky young man.  

Twenty years blew past me in the blink of an eye but I will never forget his first day in this world; the day that I became a lucky mama. Happy Birthday, sweet boy.  Your mama loves you.

Happy Days

I remember a moment in May of 2018, as JT’s high school graduation and then departure from home for college was rapidly approaching, when I felt lost in the face of the coming changes.  I didn’t feel quite ready to give up my job as a full-time mama and I longed to stop time and even rewind it to experience again the days of working full time and then coming home to supervise homework, wash the laundry, get supper on the table, and tuck an eight-year-old into bed at night.  

I’m a realist and even in the midst of that longing, I remembered that those days weren’t always easy.  But on that day in May, as I was about to celebrate a high school graduate and was looking at a future that felt uncertain, I wished to go back.  

I am never a fan of uncertainty and the prospect of an “empty nest” (what a horrible phrase!) was uncertain.  How would I feel after JT left for school?  Would life (and the house) be too quiet?  Would I miss him with an empty aching feeling?  Worse yet, would he be homesick?  I thought he was ready to go but what if I was wrong?  How would I fill the time ahead of me?  The questions piled up as the uncertainty loomed.  

Sitting here now, from the vantage point of more than a year since that transition,  I see those longings in a more complete framework.  Some days, as I leave work with a bag full of things to be done at home, I wonder how I ever did it all.  JT is home for Thanksgiving Break, his second one as a college boy, and he’s happy and settled.  Life without a child at home turns out to be full and busy, with text messaging as the primary tool of my parenting game and time for T and I to enjoy one another’s company.  Between T and two cats, the house never feels lonely.  There is less laundry and the house stays clean for longer.  It turns out I find that quite lovely.

Being the parent of a young adult is a different sort of challenge and the fact that I like the man JT is becoming is a happy blessing.  My heart is full and glad and that’s a very nice way to contemplate the coming Thanksgiving.

College Drop Off

Yesterday, T and I unloaded our car into JT’s Sophomore dorm. He did most of the work and consented to letting me make his bed, the sort of thing a mama like me feels happy about.

He’s there for two weeks of pre-season training for Cross Country; classes don’t start until after Labor Day.  It was much easier than last year’s drop off, though of course I burst into tears at the last minute and, unusually, was embarrassed by this development.  I’m a crier and have long ago made my peace with that fact so it’s unusual for me to fear crying in public.  I suppose it’s that I know there is nothing to be sad about.  He’s ready to return, and very excited about the coming Cross Country season, classes, his friends at school….all of it.  He has his routines and this year’s dorm is nicer than last year’s lodgings, with a lovely view over the lake.

We’ll see him at the end of September for a race and the text messages will flow.  I know he is in the right place and I’m so grateful for that blessing.  T and I head south this morning, grateful for a life together.  That’s happy!

College Man

JT’s first year at Springfield College wrapped up yesterday he’s happily home for the summer.  His room is once again the dark cave of boy town.  I did some cleanup work while he was away, though he’ll make quick work of messing it up again.  It’s how I know the right young man came home.

The end of this first year also means the end of his first year as a Division III college athlete.  The boy has logged in a lot of miles, first on the Fall Cross Country team; in the Winter and Spring he ran Indoor and then Outdoor Track, his first full seasons in those two sports.  We watched quite a few races and heard about all of them, nervously waiting for the race day report when we weren’t there to watch.  He made some good friends and had fun; every few weeks, he’d send me pictures of those friends.  He learned a lot and is excited by the course of study he’s chosen. I enjoy hearing about the things he’s learning; he enjoys sharing that news.

Last Summer, I nervously awaited his departure with little sense of what this next chapter of life would bring either of us.  As we both settled into our new habits it was reassuring that we found happy routines and traditions.  Those pictures he texted me showed me the face of a happy boy; one doing well. Seeing his face and feeling re-assured that he made the right college choice made the year much nicer for me.

Even as I celebrate the successful transition, I’m happy that he’s home again.  It’s nice to have his company and hear his laughter.  I enjoy cooking him meals.  We’ve both learned some things about ourselves in the last 9 months but I’m also reminded how some things don’t change: big as he is, he’s still my baby.

That’s Happy, What Else?

Several women that I know have had babies this Spring and as I’ve bought tiny little sets of pretty clothes for the new mamas, I’ve added a book from my vast collection of children’s books to their gifts.  This has been a way to share some lovely stories as well as a way to thin my collection, which fills two enormous plastic bins and is far more than I can use when my grandma days arrive (several years from now, if you’re reading this, JT!).  It's also been a treat to look through these familiar books.

Reading is one of my greatest pleasures in life.  So it should be no surprise that as a mama, reading books to a small child was one of my great joys.  I read to JT every night for years, reading books until he drifted off to sleep.  I stopped when I could be sure that he would read to himself at night.  The stories that we read, especially those that we read over and over, served as the very foundation of both his world and mine.  

As he got older, I read to him to slow the evening into sleep and to set him up for a lifetime of imagination.  When I look book at all of those books, I see a philosophy of life coming in to view.  The stories we loved the most were the books that valued unconditional love and taking pleasure in the natural world.  They celebrated shared laughter and joy in the every day.  Some of them served as mantras for the living of the rest of our lives, as did a lovely book called Tell Me Something Happy Before I Go to Sleep.

In this story, a big brother bunny named Willoughby settles his little sister Willa to sleep by reminding her of the happy things she will find when she wakes up in the morning.  Willa, eager to stay awake, responds to each happy thing (her chicken slippers, her sailor suit, her breakfast, and her toys) by saying, “That’s happy.  What else?”

Toddler JT loved this book, with its sweet pictures and gentle reminder that there was happiness to be found in the every day things and practices that made up our lives.  Saying “that’s happy” became a part of our lives, one part reminder to enjoy the here and now and one part reminder that happiness is not finite; there is always more to be found.

On this Mother’s Day, we are apart as JT finishes up his first year of college, and I can’t help but think of this story and Willa’s chant.  In a few weeks, he will be home again and I will be so glad to give him a hug and hear the sound of him in the house.  I’m looking forward to that happy moment, confident that more happiness is around the corner.

That’s happy!

Spring!

Though I like all of Mother Nature’s seasons, I greet the arrival of Spring with a giddy happiness that surprises me each year. When the days lengthen and my spirits pick up, I’m reminded anew that Spring really is my favorite season.  It’s chirping birds, sunlight, blooms in a cheery array of colors, trees with unfurling leaves, and fresh green everywhere I look. We're just at the start of the season and I have to look carefully to see the signs, but they are present everywhere, as in the tight buds of my backyard dogwood tree.

Last year, Spring arrived on schedule but with it came the ever-more-sure realization that my time as a full-time mama was coming to a close.  That development filled me with anxiety; at times it was hard for me to enjoy the season, which felt less like a beginning than an end.  I feared that I wasn’t ready.  Fast forward a year and I’ve had the time to adjust to my new status as mama of a college boy.  Better than that, it turns out that anticipation of his departure was far worse than the actual departure.  The year has been good.  He’s been happy at school; I’ve been happy at home.  So this Spring, I’m determined to embrace the season with no lingering anxiety about the changes coming my way.   Living in the moment is my biggest challenge and I’m prepared to take it on.

We’ve had a nice patch of sunshine and more signs of Spring arrive each day.  The peach tree is getting ready.

It is a treat to step out in the sunlight and see what the day’s sunshine and warmth has brought forth.  Welcome Spring!

This Will Pass

This afternoon as I was walking into a store, a mother and her middle-school aged daughter were leaving.  Their faces were lined with stress and they were clearly unhappy with one another and as they walked past me, I heard the mother say,”I know you are frustrated but you don’t get to speak to me that way.”

I know exactly how both of them felt in that moment; middle school is often a hard age for kids and parents alike and I could well-imagine the tone the daughter had used toward her mother; you could certainly hear mom’s frustration in her voice.  At the same time, I know well the feeling of being 12 or 13 and wanting to be taken seriously and be heard even as wild and inexplicable emotions spin their way through one’s heartland mind.

I wish I could have stopped them and said, “this will pass.”  To the daughter I would say, “she loves you unconditionally even when you don’t feel it.  Take a deep breath and try to be patient.”  To the mother I would say, “she’ll be out of your house and away at college in less than six years.  I know it seems like a lifetime away but it’s not.  Tread lightly; she needs you now more than it seems.”

I didn’t say any of this because I live in New Jersey and no one at the door of Michael’s Craft Store on a blustery Sunday is looking for unsolicited advice from anyone, let alone a stranger.  But I’ve thought of that mother and daughter all afternoon and I hope they found their way forward together today and for the next few years.  

Birthday Thoughts

19 years ago today, JT was born.  He was born just after midnight after a tiring 3 days and so I slept a bit after his birth.  I remember waking up later that morning and holding and rocking him for most of the day, utterly charmed by this 7 pound wonder who had made me a mama.

That day, I sang to him and talked to him about all the lovely things we would share in the world: stories and books, trips to the park, laughter, and celebrations big and small.  I remember marveling with wonder at his dark, shining eyes and wondering about who he would become.

I thought of that on Saturday as T and I watched JT in his final 3k race of his first indoor track season for Springfield College.  His goal was to beat his best time (a 9:38 run earlier in the season).  He took off strong and as the laps flew by, T and I traded stories about the many races we’ve watched JT run.  We laughed about the fact that these days we are a far cry from the races we watched where JT rolled across the finish line talking non-stop with the other end-of-the-race runners.  We remembered the runs on vacation between his Sophomore and Junior year when something sparked and he became an impassioned runner.  We’ve always cheered as he crosses the finish line and yesterday was no different, as we scanned the results to see his final time and realized he’d bested his day’s goal, with a final time of 9:23.  He was thrilled and so were we!

I am his mother and I think that he looks to me for guidance and unbounded love, which of course he has.  It’s been a wonder and a marvel to watch JT grow up. I am proud of the young man he’s become and I look forward to cheering him on for many years to come.  On this day, I can’t help but remember that his arrival all those years ago forever changed who I am and made me so very grateful to the universe that brought this boy to me.

Happy Birthday, JT.  Fly high and run far, sweet boy.

Homecoming

JT comes home today and he’ll be here for a few weeks before he packs his bags to head back north in January.  I’ve looked forward to this day since we packed him off in August, which was was a hard thing for me to do.  It wasn’t that I was worried about him in college (nothing beyond the usual worries, of course).  But as the summer of 2018 passed, in the back of my mind was a looming fear that I would miss him terribly; that the adjustment to a house without him would be difficult.  I loved being a full-time mama with the busy life that entailed and I feared that I wasn’t ready to give it up.

I have missed him but it turns out that the anticipation of what his departure would mean was far more difficult than the days after he left.  The adjustment to a less busy parent life was easier than I expected.  On several occasions, T and I drove north to watch him run.  We had some weekend adventures of our own and generally enjoyed the less scheduled days.  Work was busy; books were read; I had time to rediscover some things about myself.  I liked what I found.

It will be nice to have JT home; I will enjoy our time together.  I know that when he goes back in January, I will miss him.  I also know that I will be just fine in his absence.  That’s happy!

He’s Home!

JT got home from college last night.  Though I’ve seen him quite a bit since he went off to Springfield in August, this is his first visit home. It’s nice to hear him in the house; we are all happy to have him back for a few days.  Last night, I got caught on college adventures and had time to marvel at how much this boy of mine has grown up.  He’s happy and well; his usual sassy self.

That’s happy!

Throwback Year 13

I started these posts to enjoy some happy memories of life as a full-time mama as I adjusted to life as the mama of a college boy.  Next week at this time, that boy will be home for Thanksgiving.  I’m looking forward to having him back in my house and under my care, convinced as I am that he needs a little spoiling and feeding.  

JT was a handful at age 13, alternately charming and sometimes frustrating as he made his way toward independence. That year, he enjoyed a birthday feast of the most unhealthy sort.

I quit fighting the battle over the need to wear long pants and a jacket, enduring the judgmental looks of other parents as needed.

I laughed where laughter was an option.

It was the last summer we went camping at Cape Cod, where the usual adventures abounded.

While we were camping that summer, I had a vision of what this boy would look like when he grew into a man.

This picture sits in my office, in a place where I spend my days with 13 year olds who, like 13 year olds everywhere, are amusing and infuriating in equal measure. It’s a reminder that 13 is on the cusp of big changes; the sort that bring an end to childhood; the kind that make patience, love, and laughter the best allies of parents everywhere.

Throwback Year 11

In 2011, JT was in 5th and 6th grade.  At 11, he was still a boy, though less and less little.  At the time, it was hard to believe that adolescence was coming.  In hindsight, it had us in its crosshairs.  The Winter of 2010-2011 was epic around here and we got boatloads of snow.  JT reveled in that and played outside in the snow for hours and hours.

In late January, he broke his thumb and had a cast for a few weeks.

In true JT fashion, it didn’t slow him down even a little bit.  We went on our usual assortment of adventures, from camping to baseball games.

There was plenty of time spent outdoors.

He got his first iPad.  He proved a proud and careful owner of it. 

In June, when our car needed towing, he sat in the driver seat and showed me how to be a true Jersey driver.

As I look at these photos, I still see a little boy.  That was about to change and though I am proud of the young man he’s become and the man he’s becoming, part of me still misses that sweet boy.