Special.

When I first returned to grad school, I remember that I had visions of emulating Mr. Rogers. Not his fame. Not even really his medium of puppetry and television. Just his wholehearted authenticity and work to make the world a better place for children.

I'd kind of forgotten of that inspiration lately so I was delighted to read these letters this morning, via my daily treat read of a site, Letters of Note:

letters via the fabulous Letters of Note

What a remarkable exchange, especially knowing that it was probably replicated hundreds, thousands of times with other young and old correspondents. Just brim-full with compassion and...namaste.  It reminded me to look up one of my all-time favorite articles, a 1998 profile of Fred Rogers in Vanity Fair magazine (reposted here; you might want to know there are a couple of profanities).

Indulge me with another favorite (I think I posted this before but I can't find it for sure).  I dare you to watch it and take the 10 second challenge he issues. 

I can't be Mr. Rogers. I'm just not that guy, not that good or thoroughly guileless, don't have the sweaters or the single-focused discipline. 

Over time my interests have evolved to be oriented more around parents than children. But this morning I realized I still take a great dose of inspiration from him. I think parents (everyone, really) experience processes of development and growth and change in their roles with accompanying emotions and challenges that can be equally bewildering and novel. Mr. Rogers's preschooler friends are not the only ones trying to figure out their world and thirsty to know they are known, understood, and supported. We don't outgrow that.

So, in honor of Mr. Rogers, I'd like to say to you, reading this: you are good and capable and special.  Just the way you are.

Your blog friend and neighbor,

A.

Liner Notes 40-46 : Things I apparently forgot to say

40. To determine when to flip pancakes, wait until the edges set and start to bubble. Cook them on medium to make sure that the middle gets done and the outsides don't burn*

41. Check the bottom of dishes to see if they're microwave safe. Otherwise, you might explode your roommate's bowl when you're cooking lunch for that boy you know.*

42. Sometimes awkward people will overstay their welcome or make you feel uncomfortable with their lack of boundary respect.* Not everyone reads social cues very well or wants to get the message. Be kind and compassionate while also finding a way to be firm and stand up for yourself and your discomfort. No, I'm sorry you can't come into our apartment right now. We're all studying/busy/have plans.  Or we feel uncomfortable when you show up alone at all hours and expect to hang around our apartment...maybe next week we can all get together with a group. 

43. Staying up really late will catch up with you eventually. Case in point, 3:30 a.m. is too late to stay out, weekend or no.* I'm pretty sure most people will back me up here.

44. Sometimes the hype about attending the football game makes the actual game a disappointing let down.* This applies to most over-blown hype. It's hard to live up to.

45. It's a good idea to double check where your classes are held to make sure you'll be at the right place the first day.* When you realize your mistake and read where the class really is, it's a good idea to note the right building so you don't rush into the wrong classroom a second time.*

46. When serving guests breakfast and you have only a couple of dishes, consider giving the guests the plates and serving from the pans, not the other way around.* :)

. . .

With the first of my children having left home this fall, I'm writing occasional Liner Notes, bits of advice to my kids concerning my take on how to be a gracious, awesome grown-up-type person (both trivial bits and major advice). Why "liner notes"? Because, back in the day, I pored over the liner notes of my cds, curious to find the story behind the music. That's what I hope this will be: the story behind the music of growing up and setting off on your own. (Or at least a ready-made catalog of how you can avoid making my mistakes.) Feel free to chime in! What would you add?

*actual events in the life of my freshman...small hiccups that will just provide fodder for good liner notes of her own someday. Lauren is having a fantastic time so far and seems to be making the most of every minute. I love hearing about her great new friendships and adventures and almost constant hostessing. We miss her but love knowing she's happy in her new setting.

Do you have any great freshman disaster stories?

. . .

Facing West by The Staves

Yes, my heart faces west at least several times a day. 

Take two

Here's Maddy's first second day of school, sophomore year. It was a rainy + chilly day, perfect for the cheerful yellow rainboots and a cozy sweater. 

Oh, I love this girl.

^And even though this is a little overexposed, I love it anyway. It captures her.
Here, I'll add a slightly underexposed one to balance things out: 

. . .

When Maddy brought home all the paperwork and syllabi for the year, for some reason I recalled something Elizabeth Edwards once said. During her son Wade's early high school years she decided to read some of the books he was reading for class so they could discuss them and she could hear his burgeoning analysis and thoughts about life.* 

Brilliant. Now that the kids are older, I feel a bit separated from them in their studies. I'll proofread an essay here and there but mostly Lauren and now Maddy and Sam have sailed their own academic ships. So in light of that, I started thinking that I'll read along with Maddy on a few of her books this year. 

Here's the list for her sophomore English class: 

The Catcher in the Rye, Salinger
Song of Solomon, Morrison
The Turn of the Screw, James
A Separate Peace, Knowles
The Crucible, Miller
short stories, Shirley Jackson and others
Ender's Game, Card
The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald
Walden, Thoreau

And films:
The Front (Woody Allen)
Persons of Interest (Alison MacLean)
Walkout 

Pretty great books, right? It'd be kind of like a low-key, mother daughter book group. That I...crash and wrestle into my own territory and attend uninvited? Is this a sweet & lovely idea or borderline helicopter parentish?  I can't trust my judgment on these things anymore. I swing wildly from benign neglect to hovering. I blame the emptying nest and the fleeting years. Savor is my mantra. Gather and savor.

*p.s. In a sad turn of the story, later, when Wade died in an accident before his senior year, she would read the books for that year out loud to him at his grave. Heartbreaking.

On the shifting of family plate tectonics

When I got home from the dropoff trip, I opened Lauren's door and sighed at its emptiness. She pretty much packed up everything and cleared the room out, partly because it needed to be that thoroughly cleaned (she's an accumulator, that girl) and partly because bedroom space is at such a premium around here that we might need to use it for other uses when she's gone.

Later in the day, G said "oh, you opened her door! I've kept it shut because it's too hard to see it so empty and Laurenless."

We realized, G and I, that part of our melancholy is because we are both oldest children in our families. We've never been the person left behind before! We did the moving out, intoxicated with new freedom and forward momentum and oblivious to the shifts in the family plate tectonics we left behind.  I have a new appreciation for those youngest children in families, who say goodbye and adjust, goodbye and adjust, goodbye and adjust, bearing witness to the dwindling resident family numbers and the countdown to an empty nest. 

So I want to apologize, these decades later, to my youngest brother. Sorry, Chris.  Being left behind kind of stinks.

That's not to say what we have right now, with the four of us, isn't wonderful. It is, and all the sweeter for realizing how quickly the time will fly until we will say goodbye and adjust, goodbye and adjust, again. We've shifted our places at the dining table to be more cozy. Maddy and Sam get along famously and seem to be closer than ever: friends as well as sibs. We text and call Lauren like crazy and love to hear about her life and update her on ours. For instance, Maddy is in the throes of watching the disgusting driver's ed movies and Sam is rereading the summer book assignment for 8th grade for good measure and learning Somewhere Over the Rainbow on the ukelele.  Life is good. We're adjusting and shifting.

. . .

FYI, Lauren has started a blog of her college days. Email me if you'd like to know where to find it...I asked and she's fine with us living vicariously through her. :)

Stepping outside

 

On Friday evening, everyone was swirling around the kitchen after dinner. Dishes were done. Sam was strumming Hey, Jude on his beloved new ukelele. Laughter. Glow. Singing. It was delicious, hyggli. And, suddenly, too much. I stepped outside to the twilight yard and sat on the patio to cleanse my palate of the sweet heavy rich thoughts and memories we have been serving up lately.  

Lots of happenings around here in the last week: Sam's birthday on Monday, lovely family times, Lauren's breathtaking patriarchal blessing last night, her birthday today, sorting and packing and shopping and (tomorrow) flying west with Lauren to deliver her at university. All wonderful, happy events with an aftertaste of leaden, sweet melancholy.

Truth is I've been avoiding writing here. The emotions have outpaced my ability to step outside of it all to reflect and do it justice. I crave sparse and spare and breezy lightheartedness.  Luckily I live with these guys:

"Pteradactyl!"

Or, at least, I do for another 12 hours, give or take...  

See? I can't be trusted not to take a maudlin u-turn.

I know: She's going to have a fantastic time. She'll be back home in that bed of hers and I am her mother whether she's near or far. But I'm fighting those pesky lumps in the throat today, this week. Far seems                             far.