Happy Mother's Day

So my kid is basically the best. She inspires me all the time, but this morning, she inspired me specifically to write a post about how soulful she is.

I started an email account for Olivia when she was a baby, with the intention of sending her little love notes, funny memories, pictures, and words of encouragement that can resonate with her whether she is 8 or 18. My plan is to share the password to this account with her when she becomes a young adult.

It will be like a treasure chest full of bounty to be discovered. It will let her know that all those times, I appeared was too busy (working, cooking, cleaning, single-parenting) she was always a motivation. It might alleviate some of the parental guilt I have about not being “present” enough.

So often at night, after begging her to quit tossing, lay down, and go the fuck to sleep, it is after she finally drifts off, and I have the time to catch my breath, wind down, and finish all the tasks from my to-do list that eluded me throughout the day that I experience an overwhelming urge to wake her up and say NOW.  I’m ready to play now. I’m ready to pay attention now. I’m ready to listen, really listen now (one of my favorite scenes from the movie Away We Go is when Verona makes Burt promise to really listen to their child ). 

I'm rambling– back to the email account. 

I really am writing this blog entry to share with you (and one day with her) a little moment that become a big moment for me last night.

Liv’s dad dropped her off and she said she had a surprise for me. Actually, what she really said was “Ms. Kleis said not to give this to you until Sunday (Mother’s Day), but I knew you’d check and empty my backpack after school so I’m giving it to you now.”

 1) This made me sort of sad that there is not another parental figure here to help her mount these types of unveiling on days when she is told she is “supposed” to.

2) It made me feel great that she knows I take an interest in what she spends her school days doing - that, I do, in fact read the 500 pages of communication the school seems to send home daily in that backpack.

Olivia then presented me with a book about the many “hats I wear as a mom” where she filled in her answers to some prompts. Two of my favorites are pictured below:

"My mom is a chef. She makes the best ever >>>  mettballs." 

I think it is hilarious that she wrote mettballs as if I make these from scratch. They are the precooked kind that you throw in oven at 350 degrees for 20 minutes. She also was kind enough to add that I make good "bagels" too. (I need that crying/laughing emoji here). 

"My mom is a coach. She encourages me to  >>> be beav." 

To be fair, I stole this from the show tune "I Whistle A Happy Tune" from the The King and I. I constantly tell Liv "You may be as brave as you make believe you are" (or something close to that).

She then presented me with a flower pot she decorated with twelve flowers (strips of construction paper folded to look like buds) tucked inside. As I unwrapped each bud, I saw that she had written a special message on them (I love reading kid’s spelling of words – extra points for you if you can translate some of these):  “Thak you for helping when I was sick.” “I  love you becuse you are bettyful.” “I love you because youre funny.” “I loved It when we did siseininspeerment“. “I like it when you giggl.” “My favorite thig about you is you always thir.”

Lessons learned here: I need to giggle more and do more science experiments with her.

I started tearing up and she looked up at me – so seriously and said – “ahhhh, Mom,” reaching out to put her hand on mine. She continued, “On some of them I got so carried away with writing nice things about you that I wrote on the back too, even though we weren’t supposed to - so then I had to erase them.”

I mean, best kid ever right?!

Maybe the moment for me was so big because in her own sweet way she did for me what I hope the secret email account does for her – serve as a reminder that we matter, that we are appreciated, that we are loved, and that even our quirks hold value to the people who know us the best.  

Ideas Into Actions: For Little Liv

The first email to my daughter:

Hi baby girl,

So I finally put into action this idea I found on FB: signing you up for an email account now and sending you reminders of my love throughout the years and then giving you the password on your 18th birthday (although by then who knows what form emails will take).

I will try to be somewhat judicial about what I include so that opening all of the emails/links/pictures remains exciting and not painstaking (although if you are anything like me and your Tia Ashley +Ashley Keene you never will tire of hearing about/looking at yourself :) In fact, I still try to make Daddy view old family videos of me when I was the age you are now.

Here is something I wrote when you were first born; I was an adjunct at Baldwin-Wallace College and used this poetry prompt in my English composition class (assignment inspired by George Ella Lyon's poem)- I was/am so excited to both share and recreate some of these memories with you:

I am from steel mills, church festivals, annual garage sales, bowling alley bars and a traditional neighborhood complete with bike parades and block parties. I am from wood forts and lightening bugs and summers spent at the swim club.  I am from the calls of neighborhood kids in the yard, disputes over softball scores, and the sound of feet on trampoline vinyl. I am from handmade haunted houses and staging stories.  I am from playing the organ at our fake Christmas mass and I am from a front yard that housed a big green spray painted dinosaur made all of snow. I am from Bernie’s hometown, miles and miles of beautiful smiles up and down the boardwalk, Carolina moons, and catching crabs after dark.  I am from cities, and states, cultures and continents.

I am from steak umms and dippy eggs and Sunday dinners with sauce. Sauce full of chicken, sausage, and meatballs. I am from buckeye cookies, fried fish, and macaroni on Christmas Eve night and jellybean trails on Easter.  I am from buttered fries, Kraft macaroni and cheese, and salads that are anything but healthy. I am from sour worm candies shared with Grandma. I am from a family who loves wine -  - with everything. 

I am from call me when you get there, Lalee, and I’m freezing. I am from are those eggs fresh and are those potatoes instant? I am from look at the hoopies, I worshed the clothes, grab a buggy, and you don’t even like cake. I am from “No more bread until you eat your salad”, “I’ll pay you a quarter to rub my back” and ‘I wish you two could get along.  Ya know, she’s all you have one day”.  I am from “never go to bed mad,” “we are proud of you” and “Darling, when we’re not together there’s one thing I want you to know ‘I’ll love you from here to forever and be there wherever you go.’”

I am from a family of military men.  I am from Euchre, Aggravation and most recently Pinochle. I am from a family where everyone tells the same stories over and over again and somehow they never feel old.  I am from relatives who mostly sing off key (all except the Yanno’s), but sing just the same.  I am from the song "The Twelve Days of Christmas'' and "Like a Virgin". I am from sibling rivalry and knock down drag outs with a sister who has always been my best friend. I just didn’t know it then. I am from a mom who has shown me what it means to work hard, sacrifice, and share and a dad who taught me to how to let loose and laugh. I am from a shared bed with my mom and the Snow Queen and trying to learn moves from a dad who danced. I am from a broken home, that isn’t broken at all. 

I am from a place I’d never thought I’d be which is why I want to share my past with you Olivia Beckett, mi futuro.