Saturday, April 7, 2012


bryan and i had a long talk recently about our game plan. the parenting game plan. the one we thought we wouldn't really need until our daughter is closer to puberty/sixth grade/later? it dawned on me that perhaps we don't have as much time as i would like to think to prepare our children for the world at hand. that perhaps, by the age of seven, she might be in a world that expects her to navigate paths we haven't given her the right shoes for. we see personality traits in her, at the tender age of four, that indicate she feels things on a visceral level. she is guided by emotion (as are most children, but she more than most.) i am guided by emotion. i was a sensitive kid. bryan was a sensitive kid. and we both remember the coping mechanisms we employed to survive. i remember almost everything from when i was a young child. he does not.
these are coping strategies, too, i believe.
my mom was at our home, we were eating breakfast. we were talking about how the world was so different when we were young. we were latch key kids, walking home alone with a key literally on a shoelace around my neck. my mom told a story of how i was supposed to walk myself to the bus stop for school in the morning. i called her one morning in tears because a group of boys wouldn't let me on the bus. wouldn't let me on the bus. i went home, crying, and called my mom. i don't remember this at all.
i was seven.
bryan and i lay in the dark, on our backs. the baby is asleep next to us. finn is asleep in her room, assured that she is safe, that we are always going to be here. we know this might not be true. that life is full of moments that change everything. full of instances where we learn our coping strategies. busses we aren't allowed to board. and we both know that our children are growing up in an age with dangers we know little to nothing about. that we are entering a battlefield we do not understand. that it only gets harder from here. that the biggest difference we can make is right now. every. day.
to remember that love is a verb.


  1. It's hard when your child calls you in tears for something you hadn't been able to protect her from or to help her pass through. I drove home and took you to school that day - because that's what Mom's do, and it's never an opportune time - I had to leave work to do that, but as I said, that's what Mom's do.

    You and Bryan are much more hands on than I was - either because of other kids pulling me away or work, or I'm not sure what else. I tried to be everything to you that I could be - and yes, I failed in some areas because I did not see. But I gave it the best I could and I know y'all will exceed that - it's a different world totally - and a scary one. Children today have to be aware of numerous dangers that just didn't seem to be there 35 years ago. Who ever would have thought about parents having to sit outside to watch their children play while in their own front yard, let alone down the street in the park? Gone are the days of innocence and I am sorry that is. But an armed (with knowledge) and aware child is much safer in today's world than one cloaked in innocence and naivete.

    You, my daughter and Bryan will do such an excellent job of raising your children that I am proud to be both a spectator and a participant!!

    Hugs - love you!!!!

  2. Gorgeous, as always. Your photo, your thoughts, the way you look at the world through that uniquely beautiful lens that is your mind.

    Parenting is an act of supreme hope and courage, I always say. I don't have enough of either.

    And on my first day of school, my mom walked me to the bus stop and then left. I was at the very end of the line. When everyone else finished boarding, the school bus closed the door in my face. I was too small for the driver to see. He drove off and left me standing there.

    At some point I think all of us have been told in one way or another, that we can't get on the bus. Screw 'em.

  3. well you sound like good parents. :)

    this doesn't really relate, but i have a six year old niece. she is already boy crazy. she has it bad for some nerd (LOL!), and she plans her hair and outfits to try and impress this kid. it is driving my sister (her mother) crazy, and she isn't sure what to do. she asked me to take over, but i wouldn't know what to do either! ugh! parenting! it is not easy, and it is good that i am not a parent!

  4. I was a latchkey kid. I go into a panic sometimes wondering just what my kids will remember, and how blind I have been to the age they are now.


  5. it is absolutely ALL we can do, love 'em.

    and then we let them go.

    but this love we're so busy verbing, it is everything good.


  6. oh, god. the blind terror of motherhood. i generally just turn my head the other way and focus on chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. either that or dive into the terror headfirst and wallow around, shrieking and turning molehills into mountains, certain he's *damaged* and i've broken the child and somebody please call when the real mama shows up.
    the kid turned four. i wrote about it, if yer interested. the first post i read here was yer love letter to yer own four year old...just seemed relevant.
    be well and hang in, you are doing everything just as you should.

  7. Beautiful photos. Great blog!


use your kind words.