It’s coming.
Well, for a bunch of you, it’s already here. School. Morning routines. Lunches. Homework. Extracurricular activities. Uniforms. Logistics.
“What’s for dinner?” (No idea.)
“Mom, can you help me with this math?” (Absolutely not. Ask one of your dads.)
“Lindsey, will you take me over to Mom’s? My shoes are over there.” (ALL of your shoes? EVERY SINGLE PAIR OF SHOES YOU OWN is over there? Sigh. Fine.)
And the worst of the worst, around 10 PM, “Hey, do we have any posterboard?” (Sigh again. I think Walgreens is still open…)
We had Meet the Teacher last night for the middle schooler and the elementary schooler. The high schooler has already met with his counselor and gotten his schedule (and started swim practice already, for heaven’s sake). Yep, we’re there.
And was it really that long ago that I was gearing up for school?
I remember laying out my first-day outfit in elementary school.
I remember being traumatized by the emergence of ‘the in crowd’ in middle school.
I remember never wanting to miss a day of high school because something funny would inevitably happen at lunch that we would laugh about for days.
For as old as I am, those memories are still shockingly clear. And those were good days.
I make it a point to tell my kids as much as humanly possible. They know from experience that I will err on the side of TMI every time. (Look, they’re my kids. They’re already gonna be in therapy someday. May as well try to screw them up in the best way possible, right?)
I remember one night when Beau was around 11 and we ended up the last ones at the dinner table. Girls weren’t even a blip on his radar at that point, but I wanted to get there first.
We were joking about ‘girlfriends’ and stuff and he was telling me how he was SO not there yet. (Thank You, Lord.) I leaned across the table and locked eyes with him. “Listen, I just want you to know I will break the Girl Code for you. I will give you ALL the answers.”
His eyes got big and he nodded emphatically, leaning in closer with interest. “Okay,” he said. And then he just stared at me expectantly.
There was a pause. “What?” I asked him.
He held out his hands, “Well, give me the answers.”
I busted out laughing. “No, you goofball,” I replied. “I mean when you have QUESTIONS. I’m not just going to start TELLING you stuff.”
He looked bewildered and shrugged. “But I don’t know what to ASK,” he told me.
I grinned at him. “You will,” I told him. “Wait for it.”
And now at 16, he really doesn’t ask that much. But that doesn’t stop me from telling him. Or ANY of them really. Anything I can think of.
When Sydney was pretty young, I started showing her some self-defense moves, talking her through what to do in scary scenarios, giving her things to watch out for.
I was in the middle of one of my lectures in the car one day and she finally looked over at me with concern in her eyes and said slowly, “Lindsey…did something…HAPPEN to you?”
I laughed and told her no. “I’m not trying to scare you, Syd. Just want you to be prepared.”
Oh, what would I tell them now? On the edge of 4th, 8th and 10th grades, what do I want to say?
Beau, the high school you go to is bigger than my college. You’re seeing and hearing things today that I didn’t face until I was much older. You’ve grown up in the age of terrorism, wide acceptance of homosexuality/gender neutrality, social media and Siri. And yet you remain unshaken.
You’ve always been your own person and almost completely unaffected by peer pressure. Sometimes I think it’s because you’re so solid. And sometimes I think you just aren’t paying attention. And either way is fine with me.
I’m sorry you’ve basically had to chart out your entire career path starting in 8th grade. I never took a single AP course and you took your first one your freshman year, with several more starting Monday morning. What it takes to get into college now is unbelievable.
But thankfully, you’ve got unbelievable in you. I remember telling you when you were just a kid that even at that young age, you were one of the best men I knew. And that’s still true. Please, please just keep being you. The world could use a few more Beau Statons.
Sydney, I do not envy you. Middle school is not typically the best time of a girl’s life. And yet, when I was your age, I was awkward with a bad haircut and zits. You’ve got more polish and style in your pinky finger than every other middle schooler I know combined. And you make it look easy.
You must not have gotten the memo that you’re not supposed to flourish and blossom in middle school. You’re supposed to be hormonal and mean and difficult. Instead, you have become the best version of you that I’ve ever known. Soft, kind, empathetic, always aware of the feelings of others, often volunteering to carry much more than your little shoulders should bear.
You’re a deep well, sweet girl. And there will be many people who will try to fill that well with garbage, just to make you as shallow as they are. Protect that heart. God’s got big plans for that voice of yours. Don’t let it get lost in the noise. It is pure and precious. And the gift of influence is a powerful weapon. Use it for the good of others and you WILL change the world.
And my sweet Caroline. What would the world be like without you? I regularly find myself wishing you were my age so we could be best friends. But alas, I will settle for being your mom. And that’s a pretty sweet gig, in and of itself.
There are so many gifts fluttering around in your soul, like butterflies looking for a place to land. Strength. Softness. Courage. Sensitivity. Justice. Mercy. I see the tug of war in your eyes. Don’t worry, babe. It’s all on a spectrum. There’s a balance, but you will never fully attain it. Just stay close to God and let him bring out the individual traits when they are needed the most.
You are different, my girl. It would be an insult to your Creator and a disservice to the world if you tried to fit yourself in any kind of mold or be someone else. I want you to love who you see in the mirror as much as I do. I want you to treat yourself with respect and grace. And I want that heart full of God’s love to continue to overflow and spill out on everyone around you.
Oh, kids. It’s a crazy world out there. Much crazier than is evidenced by your Smalltown, USA life in Delaney Park. And yet just months ago, the evil out there invaded your lives when a terrorist killed 49 people a half mile from your safe little sanctuary of home. There is great darkness out there, sometimes much closer than I like to think.
You’re children of divorce. The books said you’re supposed to be sullen, angry, disrespectful, having friend problems, having school problems, detached, issues galore. And you all feel it, to be sure. I’ve seen the tears, the strain, the extra effort it takes to do the simplest things.
But man, you guys have RISEN to the occasion. You continually break all the stereotypes of divorce victims, almost in defiance of the pain you were dealt at such young ages. To say I am proud of you is an understatement. I’m regularly in awe.
And clearly, your parents in this house don’t have it all together. We regularly show our weaknesses, own our issues and apologize when necessary, to show you that perfection is thankfully not the goal.
The goal is REAL. And real is the oxygen of relationships. Please don’t try to impress us with all your As, your awards, your accomplishments. We don’t want your trophies (though we absolutely celebrate them with you). We want YOU.
There are few things in life I can guarantee, but here are the promises I CAN make you:
I always want you to be real with me. No matter what you’ve done or how you feel, I can take it. And I want to. Don’t ever try to be brave to protect me from whatever is going on in your life. I want in. Always.
I always want you to call me. I don’t care what time it is, where you ended up or how you got there. I will come get you. I don’t care if your feelings don’t make sense or the words are too hard to get out. I want to hear them. And we’ll figure it out together.
This home is safe for you. The words “I don’t have anyplace to go” have no place in your vocabulary. No matter the state of our relationship, no matter what’s happening, underneath it all, you are my child, this is your home and you will ALWAYS belong here.
I know I hug you too hard, hold your hands too tight and lose more tears and sleep over you than I care to admit. But know this: Deep down, I know you’re not mine.
Whether you grew in my body or inherited me on November 13, 2010, you do not belong to me.
God called dibs on you before time began. And you are His. First and foremost, always His. (At least you’ve got ONE perfect Parent.)
And secondly, you are your own. You are your own person. You have rights to be protected, brains to make decisions for yourselves, instinct and intuition you should trust, bodies to command to glorify their Maker.
No matter who you date, marry, work for or become related to, you are not a possession. You are not territory to be claimed or a prize to be won. You are gift to whoever is lucky enough to have you in their lives. Especially me.
So as you walk into another first day of school, go in the unshakable knowledge of who you are and Whose you are.
And if you ever start to forget, I promise I’ll remind you.
