gettingthruhighschool

[gettingthruhighschool]

You guys are in the know already from Facebook (I think?) but just in case you missed the critical news, I’m moving my blog to a stand-alone site at the request of several avid readers who hate tumblr (sorry tumblr). This is where you can find it and follow if you want (please do)!

[gettingthruhighschool]

The House That Built Me

If this post had a soundtrack it would be that Miranda Lambert song. (Cue it up. Go on. Or, ok -just listen to it later.)

Today is my birthday. I’m 48. Five years ago I blustered that 40-something WAS NOT OLD but 48 is, for real and in truth: o-l-d.

It’s ok, being old, I’m good with it. Except that like every other human on the earth I thought I’d have gotten more done by now? Anyway.

Today I got up at 4:15 and woke Grace up and we flew to the city I was born in for a family wedding tomorrow and a college tour of Marquette University today. Before that, I wanted to drive her to see the houses I lived in when my family lived here. She’s never seen them. She’s been to Milwaukee once, when she was a baby, for a McInerny reunion, but she’s never been to see where I grew up.

For some reason, now that I’m old (48! Seriously: what?!) and she’s a year away from leaving the house that built her, I feel like my childhood is calling to me, pulling me back to share it with her. Like time is running out on how much more of me I can give her.

Now that we’re here, standing in front of this gorgeous house I loved—still love—it’s anticlimactic. I mean, of course it is. It looks smaller. The street doesn’t seem as wide or as clean. I’m nervous about loitering in front of it like a would-be intruder casing the joint, and from the corner of my eye I see Grace is glancing around in clear discomfort but pretending, when she senses me looking at her, that she’s interested.

I explain I only lived in this Church Street house for five years. She’s lived in ours for 16, I can tell she’s not impressed. I try to detail all the memories from those years that make it my one true childhood home of the four we moved through before I turned 18, but they bleed together into an incoherent rant that even I can’t pay full attention to, so I stop talking and tell her this is the house that built me. I resist the urge to start singing even though the song is on volume 700 in my head.

She’s a little antsy to get on with things. Get to the college tour. And five years ago that would’ve bottomed me out. I would have desperately tried to get her into my head and heart to be one with me in this full-color, 3-D memory book.

But now that I’m old (48!??!!) I know a few things. (is *this* wisdom?) I know she’ll remember this day and this place and my emotions, and she may not fully understand why it was so important for me to be here with her. At least not until she’s 48 and walking down the street we live on now telling stories of playing mermaids in our pool and sleepovers every night in summertime and hide and seek and flashlight tag and running from imagined (maybe real?) Fischer cats.

But then my beautiful soul of a girl, she squeezes my hand and laughs at my stories and takes a (terrible because I can’t take good ones) selfie with me in front of that house. And in an understated but completely full moment, I feel like she understands me, this, right now, today. And that is one hell of a good birthday present.

[gettingthruhighschool]

Accidentally raising an activist

Last Monday Grace called me at work to say she’d be late getting home. Breathless, (I think because she was trying to get to her next class on time, but maybe a little excitement too?) she explained that she and Maddy had been trying to persuade the administration to bring ProtectHer to the school. And that as a result of their work to date, they’d been invited to address the faculty, administration and Headmaster during a meeting after school. I will admit I had no idea what she was talking about. Not the organization, not this effort she’d apparently been undertaking since the start of school, nothing. I will also admit I nervously googled ProtectHer wondering what it is and what, exactly, she’d be talking about to all the teachers and the entire School administration. (It’s pretty neat, check it out if you don’t know.) As it turns out, I’ve accidentally raised an activist who cares really deeply about protecting women from abuse, sexual and otherwise. And is willing to go to bat for it. How cool is that? I asked Grace how the presentation went when I got home. “Oh, it was good. I think we made our case.” That’s it. But today I got an email from a teacher and friend who was writing to tell me how proud she is of Grace. Specifically how she was impressed by how confident and funny and awesome Grace was in that meeting. It was like sunshine on my heart reading that note. And Grace showed me an email from another teacher about how impressed he was, how he’d be glad to help them. And on a day when we were all mourning the twisted violence in Las Vegas, it was a good reminder that while we can’t control the crazy of other people, that doesn’t mean we are helpless. We can’t end all the bad stuff that happens. We can’t end violence against women, or against anyone. Not alone. But that doesn’t mean we give up. So proud that my girl is trying to make a difference. That she believes she can.

[gettingthruhighschool]

Rising Junior

My girl is done with sophomore year. *writer’s note: I can’t seem to find a balance between private moments that shouldn’t be public (mostly because I’m selfish and I want them just for my own heart’s memory) and posting more often...but I am going to try because the whole point of this was to highlight the journey. And you guys cannot imagine how much I love hearing that you read what I wrote, like it, can relate to it. It’s nice to feel like we’re in it together even if we’re mostly alone, navigating*.

We are on our way home from our annual trip to New York, the big apple, the city that never sleeps. We started going when she was eight, and back then - before homework and her social life - we went in January, for a long weekend, saw a show, hit the American Girl store. The years have changed the trip and not just the timing or itinerary. We go now in June, after school is out so she doesn’t have homework and misses minimal friend-events. We go mid-week, and we no longer spend evenings from 6:00 on in the hotel room with room service and age-appropriate movies. We’re not up walking the streets, her little hand clutching mine, at 6:30 am - she’s barely conscious before 9, so I get a long run, coffee and sometimes a shower and another walk before she’s ready to roll. This trip every single waiter and bartender offered her wine and I *think* a few were flirting with her. I won’t kid you, it feels weird to be the old lady nobody’s flirting with sitting next to the little cutie everyone’s making eyes at. Like, not in a jealous way? More like: huh. So this is happening. (I know it shouldn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, and no I’m not flirting back so settle down, I’m just trying to be real you guys.)

We visited NYU and Columbia. We bought sweatshirts at the bookstores and talked about living in New York. At Penn station watching the board for our train to come home she said “Why is it so crowded…who in their right mind would want to go to Boston from New York?” Me: “well, us. And also people go for meetings and vacations–” she gave me a blank stare that said *stop talking I know why but still* and said aloud “New York is way better than Boston.”

And something in me broke a little, which is weird because I know I’ve lived here longer than anywhere else in my life but I still think of myself as a midwesterner, or a nomad, not a Bostonian. But I feel loyal to Boston for letting me camp here (while I actually live my whole life) anyway. And I realized that the hurt was more about missing the little girl who used to ask me if she could buy our house when she grew up because she never wanted to leave North Andover…that girl is gone. I know I know. She’s there she’s just changed, shape-shifted into an almost-adult, but it feels like she’s left just like the woman she is wants to leave.

She might come back of course. I mean I realize she’s 16 and life is sneaky the way it takes your plans and folds them up so they get all messy and hands them back in a way that feels right, is right. Things change. Plans change. But her dream now is to live in New York, go to school here, live here after. Maybe forever.

It’s weird how you dream of your kids’ future for like every minute but when they start sharing their ideas - even when they are the same or better than the ones you imagined - you pull back, stop short. You’re excited but scared. Scared it won’t work out the way she’s dreaming, scared it will. You realize suddenly (even though it’s been happening since the day you saw two lines on the EPT stick) that you’re absolutely not the main character in this story. You feel like a jerk for selfishly, egotistically thinking you ever were.

And then you give your beautiful, smart, big-dreaming girl a hug and smile. And write a blog about it because you can’t talk without crying right now and you don’t want her to feel sorry for dreaming about her life because IT IS NOT ABOUT YOU.

(At least that’s what I do.)

[gettingthruhighschool]

The Worst Part

Last week Grace and Owen had some kind of stomach bug or food poisoning. Lots of vomit. (Yuck.)

When Grace gets sick, she has a tendency to faint post-puking. Watching someone faint is pretty scary. Watching your daughter do it in a bathroom where there's no place soft to land is scarier. So when she's sick I sit with her in case we need to do a trust fall to protect her noggin.

2 a.m. Monday. Marble floor (sure I'm bragging, I love those floors). Toilet-side. And she's asking me to tell her stories from when she was little to distract her from the present.

I run through some of her favorites. The Bitty Baby dolls she loved so much and named Attic Ladder and Garage Door (both of those things were broken in our house when she was a toddler, and I talked a lot about them in her formative language period) (I mean, I guess? Or else she's just weird about naming things). The way we watched The Lion King so many times I could do any role on-demand--Simba, Nala, Scar--OR recite the whole movie, including songs, for her wherever we were, plane ride, free swim, Disney. The way she needed to bring all four Teletubbies everywhere where we went. How she loved the park so much that she threw a screaming fit every time we drove by and couldn't go, so I would drive three miles out of our way in order for her to NOT see it if we didn’t have time to go. How she played the Madeleine CD non-stop on a nineteen hour roadtrip to Chicago and sang each song over and over and over.

At a break in stories, she looked at me with those big green eyes and said, "Is this the worst part of being a mom? Staying up with everyone when they're sick? Cleaning up puke all night?"

Without hesitation, I said "Not even close."

She laughed and said, "then I don't wanna know what is."

Then she got sick again and I could hear Owen throwing up in his room and we stopped talking so I could get my Lysol on.

She didn't ask again but for purposes of closure I've been thinking about what the worst part is anyway.

I *think* it's the undeniable, uncontrollable drive/desire/need to see your child happy, healthy, complete. Because for a while, when they're little, you fool yourself into thinking you have control over those things. Take them to the park, the pool, the beach, give them a hug, a book, a cookie: boom! Happy! Give them veggies and fruit and a walk and a bike (with a helmet of course), fresh air, Shazam! Healthy! Find ways for them to learn new things, hobbies, sports, skills. Wow! Complete!

But as they grow up and away, they get sad for reasons you can't understand or make better. They eat crap and catch viruses (if you're lucky, that's the only sort of sick they get). And they give up things that you think are important, things you think help to make them whole, and you can't MAKE them love or do them anymore.

So you might pretend it’s all good - you’re chill with them figuring their own stuff out but lets be honest: your heart aches for opportunities you think they missed, wonders what else you could have/should have done-said-been. Spins through scenarios hoping they will still reach the fullness of themselves, in spite of your inability to MAKE THEM HAPPY.

In adult relationships we learn at some point that we can't take responsibility for other people's happiness. It’s my job to be kind and generous and loving, but if the person I’m loving is not happy I have to get comfortable with the fact: it's not my fault.

But with our kids. God. It's so hard to divorce from the idea that we can somehow control their well-being, make them happy. Maybe you shouldn't let go of it? Maybe we're wired so we can't?

Whatever the reason, the ache of wanting only the very best/most/highest for Grace and yet also knowing I can't hand it to her is the worst part of being a mom. I watch, I worry, I hint and prod and suggest and support and try to be cool with sitting back and watching her become an adult and letting her make herself happy, healthy, complete. That ache is a deep, quiet, constant worry about something you absolutely cannot control; it is not debilitating but is always on and it’s exhausting and it's the by-product of loving another human so much you can't even be logical. And today, I think it is the worst part. (But cleaning up vomit all night is pretty awful too.)

[gettingthruhighschool]

November 17. GRACE IS SIXTEEN YEARS OLD TODAY. I remember 16 minutes (stunned: what just happened? Also, why does she sound like a kitten?). I remember 16 hours (drunk on hormones and painkillers: I can't believe we made this perfect little person, isn't she perfect? For real, I think she's actually perfect. *sigh of joy*.). I remember 16 days (exhausted: oh-god-please-please-please-sleep-and-don't-make-me-nurse-again). I remember 16 months (permanently sleep-deprived: why is she biting me when I tell her we need to leave the park?). I think this is how I will remember 16 years (bragging, proud, overwhelmed with love): this young woman is smart, kind, funny, resilient, quietly confident, boldly opinionated, laser-focused on her goals, determined to make our world better with gentle kindnesses and big plans, and I am so proud to be her mom I could write descriptions of her all day. Seriously, that's probably what I'll be doing today. Happy birthday to the person who changed me forever, for the better.

[gettingthruhighschool]

The first Sweet 16 party. ❤️

[gettingthruhighschool]

Sports, love and letting go (aka tryout season)

Grace decided not to play soccer this Fall. There are a lot of reasons, and if she doesn't want to play? Ok. We made that deal last year. She's not breaking a commitment. She played hard last season and hated it most of the time. Well, every day: Hated. It. And that makes me really sad. She loves soccer, has always loved playing the game. Her coach was, well, different. Broke the mold for a catholic school JV coach. She told the girls they looked "like assholes" in post-game chats, for example. Which seems extreme for a group of 14 year old girls but...ok? On several occasions during games she threw her hands up and turned her back and told the girls "I'm done! You guys coach yourselves." They didn't play as a team under her guidance, and Grace didn't have fun. Honestly, it was hard to watch. But I am sad that her response is to walk away. I'm bummed she didn't want to spend the summer getting faster, fitter, footskills-ier, so that she could aim for the varsity team. I am sad that she didn't believe she would ever make it. I am sad because I think it means she doesn't believe in herself. Or understand the power of wanting something and training for it and GOING FOR IT. I worry this means she will walk away from challenges in life instead of working toward a goal. (Because I am crazy like all parents and can't take decisions like this at face value and am compelled to extrapolate life direction from almost everything.) Plus. I want her to have the sports experiences I had in high school and college. The ones I still draw on when I think I can't keep going, or wonder if I'm strong enough to deal with the day ahead. The failures (fading so hard in a 4x4 relay I think they stopped the clock out of mercy) and the wins (championships, medals, crying from happiness at winning and doing it with my best friends) shaped me in ways I can't even list. The challenge of balancing the demands of varsity sports with school, a job, friends, was really good training for life, which is even more relentless. Maybe. MAYBE. The thought tickles my brain and I shrug it off....but maybe: Sports aren't going to be the thing that she leans into to feel stronger, better, whole. Maybe she's NOT LIKE ME. This is so obvious, but is also a revelation to me. And I do not like it, even though I love who she is as much as I will want my last breath on earth to last: desperately, completely, knowing it won't be with me forever, just as it is. We have so many expectations for our kids. One of them is that they will make decisions like us, see the world the way we do, be successful within our framework of "success"...letting go of that framework is a difficult, selfless, necessary act of loving these little people who are turning more and more into grown ups every day. But damn. It is really hard.

[gettingthruhighschool]

Friends

Grace had a friend come stay with us for a few days. We didn't make any special plans - in fact I didn't know this girl was coming until a couple of hours before she did, so not only did we not make special plans, I barely saw her because I was at work, running, or playing tennis, and when I was around they were in Grace's room giggling or binge-watching Separated at Birth (pretty good show from the twenty minutes across three episodes I saw) (like, a cute-ish teenage drama not like OHMYGODICANTMISSIT like The Americans kind of show) or in the pool giggling and playing with the boys. But what I saw and heard made me so happy. Normal talking, excellent vocabulary and smart thinking, polite and nice but age-appropriately giggly and chatty too. I can't go to school with Grace. And she's not in elementary or middle school, so I don't get to meet her friends, form opinions, KNOW them until she's decided they're the friends for her. This is, of course, the way it's supposed to be. But I spent a lot of years trying to pick her friends. Imagining this certain girl and she would be such great friends and planning camps together for them with the other mom only to find that as it turned out, while pleasant, that girl wasn't Grace's best-friend-to-be. I care because I know how important friends are. Like family, they shape you and love you and motivate you and encourage you. And like a dysfunctional family, the wrong ones can be big bad news. It's exciting to consider that the people with whom Grace chooses to surround herself, will have as much (more, I guess, though I am loathe to admit it) influence on what comes next in her life as we will. And it's scary to imagine what the wrong people might do. And scarier to know that even if I meet her friends, I will probably not be able to tell the difference. Which is why I have to trust that Grace's judgment is best. And based on the last few days, I do. (Sigh of gladness.)

[gettingthruhighschool]

Metaphors and Call Time

Grace is in another play. Today's performances are a matinee and an evening, with a random odd hour in between during which the producer sometimes has a little pizza party...but today, she didn't. So like we all do (because: parents) I juggle timing for play dates and cleaning and sheet-changes and groceries for my mother-in-law's visit and Father's Day shopping and prep and skip church with Doug and the boys (don't fret Mom I'm going tomorrow) to go pick my actress and her sweet friend Molly up to grab a snack. After that, the plan is that I'm dropping them back for call time (that's theater for when you need to be there) at 5:00. Then I'm rushing to meet Doug and the boys and Gram Pat for dinner before we all go to the evening performance at 7. It's all good and I'm happy to get to see her anytime, but after she's been on stage she has a special glow that I soak in like a prisoner seeing blue skies after years of gray jail-cell views. It's really, really nice. She is so happy and fulfilled. It's amazing. So, at 4:08 the lovely girls hop in my car and tell me everyone's going to Fuddruckers, can they. (I'm using the period on purpose. They used words that made it sound like a question but it wasn't really a question.) I say sure. They're not really hungry. I say let's go to starbucks and you guys can get a smoothie and then go sit with everyone. They enthusiastically agree. We're waiting for our drinks. I say so you want to go down and I'll hang out here? I know the answer is yes. I am excited for a few minutes alone, by myself, with nothing to do so I am waiting for a yes. I want her to go be with these people she hardly knows but who are all friends because they're in this show together. I mean, I really WANT the answer to be yes. But still. When Grace says yes without a blink of hesitation (followed by and can I have twenty bucks?) something catches in my throat. It's so obvious she's growing and becoming an adult and it's exactly what I want. What we all want (isn't it?). For our kids to become independent and happy and want to spend time without us. But. It's hard to watch her walk away. Like a metaphor, a movie scene, foreshadowing everything that's coming, and yes. I am near tears again. But. In a good way?

[gettingthruhighschool]

The giver

Today I picked Grace up after her last exam of Freshman year and took her to lunch. At lunch I told her that her dad and I had bought tickets to the blockbuster Broadway show, Hamilton, for her (amazing, right?!) and that after lunch, she and I were headed to New York to spend a few days and see the show. I didn't really tell her. I wrote a note and she read it while I video-ed it so I could send it to Doug and the boys and just swim around in her joy and excitement. She read the note. And she was SO BLOWN AWAY. So happy. Joyful. (Slightly suspicious that it was a prank... which made me wonder how mean she thinks I really am) Her grateful and excited reaction was totally worth the weeks of feeling like I might burst from the excitement of the secret. Motherhood high! WOOT! I rock! At this point I am basically high giving and hugging myself at the same time which is EASY when you can pull a surprise like THIS off! But then, I told her I was going to post the video I took, and she was like: NOT IN MY HOUSE, and I was like wait, what? I just spent a million dollars and a month (or 8) of energy planning three AMAZING days for you and you won't ALLOW me TO POST A DAMN VIDEO? (Which honestly is super cute and she looks so happy it makes my heart full to the brim but you will never know what I mean because I can't ever share the GOSH DARN VIDEO). So I did what I always do when I am truly, deeply offended and outraged. I started crying. And mumbling "no, no I'm fine, it's nothing we're good, it's good I'm good" when she asked if I was ok, while also berating myself for letting so small and (really, she has a point I mean why did I want to post it so badly?) legitimate a request send me to tears? I was the teenager and she was the calm momma in that moment and it was even more enraging and embarrassing to realize THAT. Not for nothing, but this kid is like an iron will wrapped up in a darling, sweet-faced girl, because EVEN IN THE FACE OF HER MOTHER CRYING, she stood firm on no-go to the video going public. Why was this such an emotional trigger for me? Maybe it was just a natural let-down from that moment when you think the perfect gift (dollhouse, book, iPhone, sweet photo in the perfect frame, trip to NYC with priceless memories waiting - whatever) is going to magically transform everything and the day will be full of fairy dust and rainbows and you might actually grow wings and flutter together on a wayward breeze down to the city...and then you realize. Oh. Oh, wait, this is still real life. And then it hits you that really, the perfect gift is not supposed to be - and never was - about you and your Facebook feed at all. Or even about the THING you are giving. It's about her. About knowing she loves music and theater so much that this gift will mean something extraordinary to her, to who she is and will be because she will always feel that you know her, deeply and well, to have done this for her. And that will be true even if nobody knows she went. Parenting is humiliating. Even after your kids are done yelling at fat people in Target: "hey is that guy pregnant like you momma? You seem fatter but maybe he will have a baby like you!?" And it's wonderful. And confusing, because just when you smugly believe you are a grown up mother in charge and in control you start crying because your daughter doesn't want you to post a video to Facebook. (I mean, really?) And then you remember. It's all about the love, and the child...and you hop on a train and start the magic of three days in an amazing city, loving that kid with everything you have because she is part of you and even though it's hard to imagine you created a person so complete, and so perfect: there she is. ❤️

[gettingthruhighschool]

[gettingthruhighschool]

I thought this would be easier

I say that about most things in life. So does Grace. So I guess she gets that from me? We’re so confident we can get it done, whatever it is, that sometimes we are surprised halfway through that we’re working so hard. Or that some complication popped up. Or that someone else doesn’t want the same thing we do and makes it hard to accomplish the goal.

I thought this blog would be easy to write but it turns out there are so many very personal moments she shares…I don’t want to share them all. Because they’re private. Yes. That sounds responsible and smart! But also because they’re just mine. With her. And I want some things to just be ours.

Then I think: wait then why am I writing this at all? The whole point is to document the journey!

Last night I picked Grace up from her voice lesson and I was running late/didn’t estimate timing correctly in the first place and needed to bring her along to my school board meeting at her old school, where the boys still go to school. She sat at the reception desk and did homework while the meeting happened and when I walked out of the meeting and saw her my first thought was “who’s that pretty woman?” Time is flying. And I’m not catching it. I’m barely even keeping an eye on it.

So I keep reminding myself to just sail with it.

[gettingthruhighschool]

Smart in other ways

I spend a lot of time thinking about how Grace sees me. I want to be a role model, a good example. I want to be her hero. Or at least not be a hot mess where she can see me. It generally doesn't stress me out because I don't lack confidence and generally I like who I am. But I am always thinking about it, and so I try to be strong, to keep my temper, to be kind, caring, optimistic... to be humble, to be hard-working and responsible and cheerful and healthy and good. It's exhausting because maybe you are all those things every minute but I am not. Sometimes I get carried away trying too hard to be those things, and do stupid stuff like act strong when what I really need is a hug and some help. Or pretend to be happy when I'm really sad. Or forget that being a normal human who says dumb stuff is an occasion for laughing hard at yourself. Yesterday I said something that I meant in a nice way but came out really wrong. Grace was talking about her friend Kelsey, who is super smart in math and science and loves those subjects the way Grace loves literature and history, said "I can't wait for chemistry next year!". Grace is in honors math and honors Chem next year. But she isn't looking forward to chemistry. Not like that. And that was the point of her story. So I said "I think it's so nice that you have friends who are smart in other ways." She gave me a look and then burst out laughing. "Oh yes. You're smart in OTHER ways, Grace even though you're a moron in math" she mocked me. And I was so busy trying to explain what I meant that I almost missed a chance to laugh at how stupid what I said was. But thanks to her, I didn't miss the chance. And neither did she. 💚

[gettingthruhighschool]

What are we doing to our kids?

Last night Grace couldn't sleep. I went and snuggled with her (because, yay! She needs me!), but the usual back rub and soothing talk didn't work. Maybe because I was essentially narcoleptic and kept falling asleep mid-sentence, but that's not the point.

Finally, after a couple of hours of tossing and turning and sighing and crying in frustration (her...I was busy falling asleep every two seconds) because she couldn't sleep and "how-can-I-get-through-tomorrow-without-sleep-I-have a-french-test-and-an-English-quiz-and-at-acting-we're-rehearsing-my-parts-and-what-if-I-didn't-spend-enough-time-memorizing-them", I got her up, we went downstairs to chat and have some warm, cozy drinks and a banana. My mom swears by the banana as a natural sleep aide. I'm not convinced but last night I was so tired I figured it couldn't hurt to give it to Grace with the assurance it would help. (I'm sorry to admit that approach describes about 50% of my parenting.) (Ok. Maybe 75%.)

We talked over steaming mugs and if it hadn't been 1 a.m. it would've been a completely awesome mother/daughter highlight reel. She told me how stressed and confused she is about school, and specifically about course selection for next year. She doesn't want to pick the wrong class. She's worried about talking to her counselor tomorrow because they were told that the classes they choose should be designed to help them get to their career of choice. And she's not sure what she wants to be when she grows up. Gasp.

And this, people, THIS is where I LOSE MY MIND. When I was 15 I was dead-set on being either a Broadway star (until I blew my lungs out yelling Bruce Springsteen songs in Nathan Bill Park with Shannon, Sharon and Gina before hitting the Cathedral basketball game, I swear to God I had a stage voice!) or a member of Congress. Um.

I had no idea a career like the incredibly successful double-decade one I've made in public relations even existed. You know why? BECAUSE IT KINDA DIDN'T. My clients now didn't exist then, and high-tech PR wasn't a thing until the 90s. You know, when people started buying high tech stuff, so marketing it mattered. And even if I had known. There. Is. Plenty. Of. Time. For. A. Career. There is, however, a finite time for children to be children.

My point is. The pressure we are collectively putting on our kids to HAVE A PLAN. BE SUCCESSFUL. OVERACHIEVE. Is a nightmare. Can we just agree to let our kids be kids. Students for the sake of learning. Athletes for the fun of playing. Volunteers for the beauty of giving. Carefree, young, unworried. Because life is a shithole of responsibility and stress from the time you leave school until the moment you die (punctuated by moments of happiness and navigated with a cheerful heart, life can be marvelous, but it is NOT easy) and high school should be a glorious four years of learning and being curious and inspired and educated, JUST FOR THE SAKE OF LEARNING THINGS.

The world is changing so fast. We can't possibly anticipate what things will look like in ten years. But things like algebra, calculus, biology, history, literature--these are full of tangible facts and objective and subjective learnings that help kids (and people) understand HOW TO LEARN NEW THINGS. Isn't that why we have school? So that we have a collective knowledge base as a culture, and speak a common language of human experience? So we can work to figure new stuff out?

And don't even get me started on the stress of "should I be in honors or AP to get into the college I want to go to" because seriously: LET OUR KIDS LIVE IN THE PRESENT. All we have is this moment, right now. The world could blow up (hello, North Korea) or we might win the lottery (if Leo can finally nail an Oscar, anything can happen you guys), or our lives might stay on the exact course they're on right now. The future is out of our control. The past is unchangeable. Learn. Laugh. Be happy. Take a big bite out of every opportunity at hand and who knows where you'll end up?

Grace and I ended our chat with that thought, back in her bed, snuggled up and the very last thing I murmured was that I have her back, forever. And please, baby, don't stress. Let some things go. And that's all I remember, because I fell asleep.

[gettingthruhighschool]

If I had a hammer

Last night I did it. I constructively offered an idea for how Grace could adopt a new habit, one that might help her deal with stress and sleep better AND give her better sense of perspective and a feeling of being in control. It's called "regular exercise" (when she's not playing a sport) (so: now)...and unfortunately, suggesting it to a teenage girl is the equivalent of saying "Hey! You are fat." Which to be clear IS NOT AT ALL WHAT I WAS SAYING. She is NOT fat. But any student of human communication, or any woman, or mother, or daughter with a mother (tricky way to say: pretty much all of us) can tell you that what I meant matters a little. What she heard matters way more. And the result was an hour of tears and snuggling and me apologizing for what she heard but not what I said because really, I am an enormous advocate of daily exercise. I'd be in a straight jacket if I didn't work out every day. Every. Single. Day. It's the only thing in my life that ONLY I CONTROL and I need it. It gives me perspective. Strength. Escape. Endorphins. Alone time. Friend time. Endurance. Distraction. Focus. It's my drug of choice. It's the hammer - versatile, powerful, productive - in my toolkit for dealing with life. And I want her to have that! As life becomes more complex and nuanced and hard - I want her to know she is in control of herself, her body, her behavior, her attitude. And as life offers her chances and opportunities I want her to feel like she can take them on - physically, mentally, spiritually. The thing is. This girl is truly amazing. She handles so much, she is so brave and so determined and so kind. And she's smart. And funny. And empathetic. And generous. And thoughtful. And stoic. She played soccer for her school this Fall. She's in a play now, and won a leading role (Gertrude in Seussical), she sings (seriously, really beautifully), she plays indoor soccer once a week (for fun), and she's an all A and one B+ student in all honors classes in her freshman year at a high school she chose BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CHALLENGING AND A GREAT ADVENTURE TO GO SOMEWHERE NEW WHERE SHE DIDNT KNOW ANYONE. Oh. She also unwinds by writing short stories and novels which are really beautifully crafted and written. I say all that to brag (I mean, of course) but also to highlight how incredibly idiotic it was of me to drop my constructive hint in the middle of her week, because she OBVIOUSLY knows how to handle a lot. Really well. And she's putting her own toolkit together for dealing with life and guess what? It might be different than mine. That doesn't mean it won't work. And also. I am a girl so I TOTALLY GET body image sensitivity. So why I didn't think a little more about how and when and what I said...I'm not sure. I still think carving out time for a daily sweat would make her feel better. I also think she has everyone else in the whole world telling her she's supposed to be really skinny and physically flawless, and despite my intent, I made her feel like her biggest fan in the whole world (uh, me, if that's not wildly apparent) was telling her that too. ARGH! Parenting is a series of well-intentioned, bumbling, loving, spur-of-the-moment (because there is really no time to sit and ponder your move), sometimes brilliant decisions that all need to be just SMOTHERED in love so our kids remember the most important thing: they are loved. More than anything. I love you Grace. More than anything. And whatever becomes your hammer, I know you'll use it to build a life so, SO amazing. And I'll be watching you, cheering for you, unequivocally on your side, your biggest fan, always.

[gettingthruhighschool]

Mixed Tape

Yeah. If you’re older than 30 you know what I’m talking about. Today they’re called playlists and they take about a hot second to create. Back in the day, they could take days. Recording from one cassette to another. Maybe even off THE RADIO and then if the DJ talked over the song you had to start all over. But you did it. Because it was a gift, to spend that time and curate those songs for a BFF or BF.

One of the million things I love about Grace is her beautiful singing voice and her love of music. She explores new artists and tunes like it’s an adventure and she doesn’t want to miss anything…she has her own tastes that happily coincide with mine sometimes, and we’ve introduced each other to new songs and bands. We’ve seen T-Swizzle (that’s how our BFF Taylor prefers we refer to her) and she went to One Direction in 7th grade…but we also saw Parachute at the Armory in Somerville on a mini-acoustic tour. She listens to everything, and she loves music for the meaning, to escape, for a message, for the poetry, for the fun.

So anyway. I make the kids playlists sometimes. And I made one for Grace on her 15th. It’s called (wait for it) “For Gracie on her 15th” and I love it. I’m not sure she’s really listened to it as a gift (and that’s ok) (she hears it because I actually am still playing it for myself now) so I’m leaving it here too. With the reasons why I picked the songs. So she’ll always know.

For Gracie on Her 15th I hope you dance, Lee Ann Womack : listen you guys. Grace was a colicky little thing. She cried pretty much ALWAYS from birth to four months. I did a lot of walking, a lot of singing…that’s all that kept her happy. So not only is the message of this song amazing to give your daughter (“when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance”) (I mean. YES!) but it’s basically our theme song for my maternity leave with her.

Amazing Grace, Celtic Woman: if I have to explain this, you’re not really paying attention.

Fifteen, Taylor Swift: yep. Perfect. ‘Cause she’s 15.

Boston, Kenny Chesney: because I hope someday she’s bold enough to follow her own path, to know herself well enough to take a big chance. Plus if she lives on an island somewhere I will have an excellent vacation spot.

Brave, Sarah Bareilles: because being brave is…well. Brave. Don’t be silent. Don’t say empty words. I love this song.

Firework, Katy Perry: she IS a firework.

God Made Girls, RaeLynn: such a fun song. I want Grace to always celebrate being a woman, and this song does.

The Best Day, Taylor Swift: because if I play it enough now, maybe someday Grace will cover it when she’s a famous singer and dedicate it to me.

Pig on Her Head, Laurie Berkner: homage to Grace as a toddler. Favorite artist, circa 2003.

Birthday Girl, Matt Nathanson: any chance to put Matty on a playlist TAKE IT.

Grace, U2: again. You get it.

How I Love You, Rob Laufer: this is a love song. And when I hear it, all I think of is how honest and true my love for this kid is. She made me my best self just by being born: I’m right where I belong.

It’s Who You Are, AJ Michalka: TRUTH in verse. Great song.

My Little Girl, Tim McGraw: “chase your dreams but always know the road that’ll lead you home again.”

Fast, Luke Bryan: it’s going way too fast. “Keep tryin to make the good times last as long as you can, but you can’t…it just goes too fast…” Plus. Luke Bryan.

Never Grow Up, Taylor Swift: impossible. But still wish I could freeze time and make it last longer.

So if you drive by and I’m singing my face off (always) AND crying a little (it happens, don’t judge) this *might* be the playlist I’ve got spinning.