Bide

The scent of chocolate wafts from the kitchen to the porch in the early hours of this Saturday morning.  I’m pretty thrilled as it appears I have successfully baked five 6” round cake layers to be assembled into a decadent tower, blazing in candles, worthy of the young man it’s being lovingly created to honor.

Today my youngest is 18, officially (at least on paper anyway), our household is now one composed entirely of adults.  I suppose we could count the dog as a child if we really wanted to, but for all intents and purposes we’re all grown-ups.  If only we threw the covers off the bed the morning we turn 18, rubbing the stars from our eyes to emit all the wisdom and maturity bestowed upon us as we slept this pivotal night.  But no, while this is a milestone to celebrate, it takes a lifetime to develop the self-awareness and courage required to become a mature adult.

I recall commemorating this same day at another time and place; maybe my baby was one or two at the time, a neighbor proclaiming a child’s birthday is for the mother, too. She sent me down a path I travel every year, taking time to remember the day each of my boys was born.  But it’s more than a single day, it’s recalling how I have helped them get to where they are today.  And so in the quiet before anyone in the household, or neighborhood for that matter, is awake I think about my work as a mother:  What it’s taken, and still takes, to escort young ones into adulthood.

There have been countless good times and proud moments on this journey. Overall, to be granted the gift of giving life to these two individuals and along with this gift assigned the role of trusted advisor is the most rewarding element of my existence. When I think about what’s been most challenging, it comes down to the battles of the wills.  Potty training spent years at the top of the charts, uncontested, as the hardest parenting assignment with both kids. However, the grind of the teenage years literally wears me out.  While caring for them as babies and toddlers is physically draining, as they grow older I often feel rung out emotionally.

The dilemma is in how to let our children express and discover themselves, take the risks they need to grow, and still keep their doors open for all the opportunity their young lives offer them. It can be frustrating, as their minds are predisposed to see only their own point of view.  Propaganda is delivered to their doorsteps by mobile devices attached like an umbilical cord they wouldn’t dream of cutting. They don’t realize yet that everything we see in print is not necessarily true.  They come to their own conclusions, assert their own opinions, act upon their limited experience and when we disagree, it’s an uphill battle to come to understanding, let alone change their position.

 

Persistence, empathy and the resources to continue showing up are what marketing guru Seth Godin tweets as the tools needed to change minds and ultimately change culture. He’s absolutely right.  When I evaluate myself in these areas, I’d say I get extra credit for persistence. Few are in possession of more of this quality than I am.  On the other hand, I have lots of room for improvement when it comes to empathy.  I can forget, in the lesson I’m attempting to burnish upon their brains, to take a moment and be with them in their frustration, anger, and hurt. I kick myself here because every time, without fail, I take the time to acknowledge their feelings, the walls come down and they are able to hear the message I’m so intent on delivering.

The third component, showing up, is hard.  Often I wonder, have I shown up enough for them?  Have I been too selfish?  Have I hidden under the covers of my paying job when the situation gets tough at home?  Have I wallowed in my own self-pity when times are bad for me?  Have I been too self-absorbed in pursuing my own dreams to be there to help unlock theirs?

Godin realizes we get tired, and he refers to showing up as a rotation of resources: “peeling off one person after another” in order to stay in the game.  But what do we do in our personal relationships?  It’s not possible to send in someone from the bench when we’re weary or need a break.

 

We’re in this for the long haul. My kids, thankfully, aren’t going anywhere. Sure, they’ll move out of my house, cease to be present on a daily basis, but they were branded mine the moment they came out of the womb. This, I’ve discovered is a blessing, and sometimes a curse when I’m at the height of frustration. But we have to find a peaceful solution.   There is no other choice.  We have to keep showing up.  I’m finding that it’s okay to pause the discussion when I can’t find my empathy, when we seem so far apart I can’t imagine how we’ll come together.  Luckily, I’m ready to show up again after a solid night’s sleep, some time to go running and work out a new approach, or a few moments to cool off and consider all that I’m grateful for.

 

The 5-layer cake, I discover, takes patience.  I decide to make it on this birthday morning when I’m well-rested and have the time, rather than rush it the night before. It turns out fantastically when I prepare properly, greasing and flouring each pan; when I allow the layers to bake a full 25 minutes even though the small, shallow pans would indicate otherwise; when I cool the cakes completely before beginning to frost.

 

Creation and transformation are processes, not tasks.  When we honor the process, we honor the person.  We need to strive to show up thoughtfully and respectfully, and ask for forgiveness in those moments when we don’t. We might be adults on paper, but in reality we’re all still growing up.

Happy Birthday, baby!  #n8teen

Serial

I grew up with Erica Kane.  I watched her marry, divorce, marry, divorce, marry and divorce yet again.  Seven times over, if I recall correctly.  I remember planting myself on the family room couch at high noon on sunny, summer days, the television tuned into “All My Children”, holding my breath in hopes I could catch the entire episode before my mother shooed me out of the house:  There were better things for a teenaged girl to do with her time than watch Erica maneuver through her scripted life.  At college I loved the semesters with no classes at lunch time, not so I could eat, but so I could eat with Erica.

These were soap operas, we called them “the soaps”, never-ending stories airing religiously every weekday, centered on influential families living in fictional towns.  Terminal illness, infidelity, lies and half-truths, crime and punishment were common themes.  Just when someone secured happiness, life threw a curveball. Us viewers, we felt like we knew Erica and her constituents personally.  The writers made us privy to their secrets, we understood their motives, we rooted for these characters in spite of their obvious flaws; we talked about them as if they were part of our own lives.

I followed Erica pretty faithfully from my middle school days through college.  It was only when I joined the working world that I finally severed our relationship for good.  Of course when we were still together spans of time passed, particularly during the school year, when I couldn’t keep up with her trials and tribulations.  These were the days before Tivo and DVR. With no opportunity to catch up, I would quickly lose track of her escapades.

I recall this circumstance now as I think about the world turning in my own home.  The nest is showing signs of wear; its occupants stuck in “the awkward”, each of us bulls in this china shop, bungling transitions into new phases of life. Our conversations, for lack of a better word, revolve around syncing up work schedules, understanding who might be home for dinner and lining up dependent coverage for the dog.  Our sense of community has given way to a transactional existence. No one owns the caretaking of our home because it’s ceased to be one.

Let me start by saying nothing about this turn of events is acceptable to me.  I’m also somewhat surprised, especially after watching my marriage erode in a similar fashion and subsequently examining the cause and effect with intense scrutiny, that here I am caught off-guard yet again, finding myself victim of another invisible ebbing of my family life. I’m supposed to be enlightened.

I feel sometimes like my boys and I hardly know each other, we’ve become roommates sharing a giant, smelly storage locker housing our stuff. I don’t know what questions to ask because I’m so far removed from their daily existence.  I watch my two boys who work together for the same employer light up in animation when they share the details of their shifts with each other.  They both know all of the characters intimately; they partake in and witness the action, blow by blow. I desperately want to be part of their world, but I feel like I’ve missed too many episodes and it’s too burdensome for someone to catch me up. And if I’m really being honest, I haven’t allowed them enough access to the characters in my world, either.

And this, I decide, is part of the reason relationships fall apart:  We step out of the story line. As I learned with Erica, the world continues to turn, whether we are watching or not.  We tune back in to discover she’s had two husbands and a child since we last spent any quality time with her.  Her story is too involved to recount, isn’t it?  How will we ever get back up to speed? 

The solution is fairly obvious, I believe.  We need to start watching again.  It was amazing how quickly I could jump back into Erica’s world when I chose to become a regular viewer.  I needed to make the commitment to show up at noon every day.  And this practice, I’ve decided, is needed to resurrect our family life. I’m starting small, dinner on Monday nights.  No exceptions.  The entire cast, including me, is required on set, committed to keeping this time sacred.  Guest stars are not only welcome, but encouraged. I want all of us to know intimately those who matter to each of us.  It’s not important what or where we eat, what brings us together is sharing the days of our lives.

Transitions are difficult. And even when we are stuck, seemingly immobile, life moves quickly.  We find ourselves at times in a tug-of-war, our past lives pulling on one side, our future lives on the other.  How does everyone get to where they need to be without ending up in the mud?  The answer is not in pulling farther apart, but in coming together regularly and talking about where we are in the moment. These conversations fuel us, giving us the strength, not to pull more tightly on the rope, but to loosen our grip, to let go, creating a new and different future.

I believe in the power of showing up. Stay tuned.