Letter to My Sons

Dear Cooper and Tuck:

When I was younger, I used to be a great letter writer. Well, maybe not great, but certainly ambitious. I wrote page after page of the boring details of my life and sealed it with wax, wafer seals or spit. I also immersed myself in the words of prolific letter writers. The weirder, the better, too, which is why JD Salinger always topped my list. While I have a drawer full of beautiful stationery, it's been a while since I've put pen to paper. That saddens me, but I hope this letter to both of you will still be meaningful and lasting.

At this very moment, the two of you are wrestling with each other downstairs, all giggly, fierce and super loud. You are six and almost four years old, respectively. You are my greatest gift and also my scariest adventure. For almost everything in this life (your driver's license, going to college, job certifications), there is a test to ensure you are ready. Parenting, unfortunately, is not one of those things. You just figure it out as you go. I'm pretty sure there is a HUGE margin for error here, but then again I'm no mathematician.

Here are some things I am screwing up everyday as your mom. I'm impatient. I am prone to worrying. I run around the house like a chicken with my head cut off, screaming instructions to you from room to room. I hate cleaning and cooking, but always manage to bake you something to clog your little arteries. I'm competitive. I have really high expectations of myself and others around me. I come from a family of semi-crazy women, which means I'll end up crazy. I've also not mastered the graceful art of forgiveness yet. Oh, I try, but it's meager.

Having said all that, I hope there are a few good qualities you will note about me. I love to laugh. I'm loyal. I am so loving that sometimes I suffocate you. I celebrate differences and hope you will grow up to be a bright color in a sea of sameness. I'm good with adventure, spontaneity, and trying anything once (yes, I jumped out of an airplane, but that is how I finally knew it wasn't for me). I like people and their stories. I also believe learning can come from living in the real world just as easily as it comes from a book. I can dance like the dickens.

I guess I just hope you know how much I love you. If I mess up, and I have and I will continue, it wasn't because of anything you did, it was because I'm human. Nothing in this world can prepare for you for molding individuals into something that will matter. It's hard work and with the lack of any training manual, or big ole' test, I'm just faking it. It could end up bad, but then again it could be a really great adventure that we're on together.

In the interim, I'm saving money for your future. You can use it for college, or traveling, or finding yourself should you get lost along the way. I love you to the next galaxy and beyond. Please don't forget to write to your mom when you get to where you're going. I really would love to hear about all your crazy adventures, if you're stilling talking to me or have time.

Big hug and loud sloppy kisses,

Mom

Raising Clark Kent

It's official. I will not be getting the mother-of-the-year award this year. I knew I might be out of the running when my first grader failed his vision test with the school nurse last week, but I was still kind of hopeful, you know. All hopes went right out the window when he couldn't identify any of the letters on the screen at the eye doctor. I mean, seriously. What kind of mother doesn't know her child sees a fuzzy world?

Cooper and I picked out some eye glasses that same afternoon. I liked the wire-rimmed glasses, but he had his heart set on the thicker brown ones. He is such a little guy, so almost every pair looked sweet. When I said the brown ones made him look just like Clark Kent right before he turns into Superman, the deal was sealed. Cooper "Clark Kent" Feeler had his first pair of readers on order.

The first seed of doubt started to creep in when I relayed the story to my husband. He could not believe I let our son have the final say on glasses. A bad choice in glasses could be devastating, he said. Then he relayed his own personal tale of picking out blue-tinted lenses for his red-rimmed glasses in elementary school. He never did recover. I started to panic. Forget the guilt of your kid not seeing. The possibility of my kid being picked on raised my anxious mother meter to a whole new level.

Had I, like my husband claimed, been looking at him through warm mother's eyes versus the critical lenses of cruel kids on the playground? Would he be teased for not only wearing glasses, but for our choice of thicker rims that are common in every newsroom around the country? Is there no place for a unique "super hero" in this world?

Cooper wore his glasses for the first time tonight. Holy smokes, he said, everything looks so huge. He was giddy. I just kept staring at him all night because he looks so different. It's the same crooked smile and bright eyes alright, but the glasses change his whole look. I keep wondering what the kids will say tomorrow at school. Will his world dip down because of what he looks like instead of rising up because he can finally see the beauty in the world?

My hope is that his independence in choosing for himself will override the small hurts that will inevitably come his way. Life is not always kind, but it can still be good. I also pray he can survive a mother that is clueless about mothering, but still loves him unabashedly and unconditionally. There's no perfection in this mother. Isn't that right, Clark Kent?

And So It Begins

Technology hates me. Okay, not true. I'm the one that loathes technology. I guess I'm never sure if it's worth learning because, quite frankly, it will be gone tomorrow. I don't text. I don't Facebook. I don't even Twitter. I hear about all these wonderful tools from friends who have learned to stay e-connected. I still write them letters because I feel bad.

If I'm missed on the world wide web, no one has mentioned it. I have kind friends, I know. After all this time, I've decided to start a mini blog and a friend even sent me a link on how to get started. I'm not even sure what will happen when I hit "publish post." And I guess if blogs are out by the time I figure it all out, I'll just move on. It's the writing that matters most.

I asked my four-year-old what I should title my blog. I was at a loss on how to put an umbrella on all these ideas I might be generating on my 10-year-old computer. He said, "battery brains." What?!? "Well, I got no ideas right now because my brains are out of batteries."

Oh, well, that makes sense.

Moms are the same way, I think. We organize the entire world and we are often scattered. When we finally use the last minute of our day to do something for ourselves, we're often at a loss. Words fail us. Thoughts fall away. Our brains are simply out of batteries.

I can't speak for every mother, but I miss that spark. I miss it so much that I feel sadness when I think of its going. So, I'm recharging, folks. I'm re-emerging. I'm sending something out that may have no return except the satisfaction of knowing it's mine. I own it. I keep it safe. I strike the match.