Hearing From You

Each year on Mother's Day, one of the women in our church sponsors the alter flower displays with this dedication: "To all the mothers who won't hear from their children on this day." I don't know this woman well, so I don't understand the particular story behind her annual message. Is she a mother who is estranged from her child? Did her child go missing and was never recovered? And the fact that she refers to "children" also disturbs me. Does she have more than one child she "won't hear from"? I've asked some of my friends at church who have been members there longer than I, yet no one seems to know the history of this poignant message.As a mother, I think it would be devastating to be ignorant of what's happening in your child's life. My son and I had a ritual that developed as soon as he started school~started having a life away from home, so to speak~a ritual he called "day telling." Sometimes it took place over dinner, but most often at bedtime. And yes, it was largely another delaying tactic in his never ending effort to avoid sleep. But I fell for it every time, because I loved hearing every miniscule detail of his day, of the time he spent apart from me. Naturally, when children grow up and have lives and families of their own, we don't expect the same level of communication. But I'm still just as tickled to hear his voice on the phone as I was to hear him call out that it was "day telling time." Mothers need to "hear from their children," no matter what age or stage of life they're in.

Every Mother's Day, my heart goes out to this woman. When I see her in Coffee Hour, I want to hug her, to say how sorry I am that she doesn't hear from her child, for whatever reason.

I consider my own good fortune on this Mother's Day, my luck in having a son whom I "hear from" on a regular basis, and who still happily shares stories of his day, as well as a mother whom I speak with (if not spend time with!) nearly every day, sharing the good and not so good news of our daily lives.

And for all those mothers whose lines of communication with their children have been severed, may you "hear from them" very soon.

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In an effort to enable more mothers to hear from their children in days to come, consider visting CODEPINK and joining the effort to celebrate Mother's Day in its original spirit - a day when American women unite for an end to war. In 1870, Julia Ward Howe called for action with her Mother's Day Proclamation:
We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands shall not come to us reeking of carnage, for caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We women of one country
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.

Whew!

Whirlwinds, cyclones, hurricanes, dervishes...all perfect ways to describe my life these past few days, even weeks or months, really. From the time I get up in the morning, until I finally lay my head on the pillow each night, I feel as if I'm in a constant state of motion.

Yesterday, as I was driving (for the third time in one day!) toward the high school for (yet another!) rehearsal, I found myself teary eyed. Maybe it was the warm spring breeze and cloudless blue sky, or perhaps it was the song I happened across on the radio, a folk song called 45 Years From Now. Most likely it was because yesterday was my 31st wedding anniversary, and I was remembering what my life was like in those newlywed days. I had so much time back then...each day seemed to last an eternity, because I was home alone while Jim was working long hours, building his career. I worked too, but desultorily, part time music jobs, teaching piano lessons, taking some classes here and there. Mostly, I played house. Decorating, cooking, shopping, all the things that 21 year old girls with their first home like to do.
The pace of my life stepped up quite a bit when Brian was born. Still, the days seemed endlessly long, with so much time to fill, caring for and playing with an active, curious little boy. There always seemed to be time for walks in the park, or sledding on the hills, reading, watching movies, play dates and games.
Truthfully, sometimes during those years, time weighed heavily on my hands. For many years, Jim worked excruciatingly long hours - 60 or 70 in a week. And he traveled, too, for extended periods of time. I learned how to live almost alone, almost a single mother sometimes. In those days, the time between dinner and bedtime was horribly long, and I clearly remember feeling overburdened, restless, and resentful.
It's a cliche, I know, but I would love to go back to those days, to the time when my life revolved around nothing more than a child and a house, (and occasionally a man), when the due date on a stack of library books was the only deadline I needed to worry about, when the most pressing thing on my agenda was baking chocolate chip cookies or playing another round of Candyland.
Where did all that time go? The older I get, the faster it speeds by, and I'm constantly trying to cram all my responsibilities and committments into days that seem to be getting shorter and shorter. The proud young "homemaker" who cleaned house religiously every Monday and Thursday, tried out one new recipe from the Betty Crocker Cookbook each week, and was up to date on every episode of Dr. T. Berry Brazelton's What Every Baby Knows, has not dusted or vacuumed in weeks, relies on Papa Romano's and Chin's Chinese far too often, and hasn't even spoken to her son in almost two weeks. Whew.
So, how do I fix this mess I'm in? How do I dial back a life that is out of control and spiraling into disaster? Because this past week has left me feeling that disaster is lurking around the corner unless I find more time for myself and the things that are important to me.
I'm moving that question to the top of my list of things to figure out~as soon as I have the time.
PS...I wrote this poem last summer, and it's very appropriate to this post...
Time
Flying doesn't begin to describe what happens to it
More like disintegrate, evaporate, eviscerate
My lack of it cuts me like the sharpest of knives in my drawer
The one I use for carrots or steak Little pieces of it get swept into the dust bin tossed away before I know they're gone Panicked I rummage through trash hoping to find a morsel I can still put to good use Elated I grab scraps - ten minutes here fifteen there Could it be I've found one hour soggy and tattered amidst the rubble? Clutching this treasure this time of my own, I weep Then throw wide the door and fly

Brave New World

This afternoon I was at school, chatting with a couple of boys from choir while we waited for the girls to finish rehearsing a dance number. Suddenly, a petite blond comes dashing up, jabbering frantically. "I'm supposed to take a make up math test RIGHT NOW, and I just got my PERIOD, and I'm like, just GUSHING all over my clothes, and I HAVE to go home, and I'm, like SO SCARED to tell Mr. Boone I can't take the test because he's ALREADY mad at me, and I don't know WHAT to say, and I REALLY NEED you to go with me to talk to him RIGHT NOW!!!!"

Now, I've known Kayla since she was in 6th grade, I know her mother and her grandmother, but she wasn't turning to me for help with her feminine problems. No, throughout her entire diatribe, she was staring right at Robert, her 17 year old male classmate. Robert gave me a rather sheepish look, shrugged his shoulders, and went out the door with his distraught charge. Brian, the other boy witnessing this drama, looked puzzled. "What was that all about?" he asked innocently. "I couldn't understand a word she was saying."

I don't know about you, but when I was 17 and in high school, I would rather have died a thousand deaths than admit to a boy in my class that I was having my period, much less that I was "gushing all over my clothes" and had to go home and change. Obviously, times have changed. Even the fact that I'm writing "publicly" about a subject once considered completely taboo is proof that I myself have entered this "brave new world" where nothing is sacred. And the reaction of the boys involved today was interesting as well. Robert seemed relatively non-plussed about his role in this little drama. And when I attempted to explain Kayla's request to Brian (in as delicate a terms as I could manage), he finally nodded knowingly. "Well, Mrs. Rowan, it's okay that she asked Robert, because he's...well...you know...gay."

Admittedly, Kayla is a Drama Queen par excellence. This girl has some kind of crisis every single day ~ last week, she came running into the auditorium and literally fell to her knees in the middle of the aisle, sobbing hysterically because she had just found out her boyfriend's parents were getting divorced. She has no control of her emotions, no sense of appropriate response or behavior, and reacts all out of proportion to the event. Honestly, she can be a real pain in the butt.

However, she's also a bit scary. Young people who have trouble controlling their emotions are prone to drastic actions that can be dangerous to body and mind. At least Kayla doesn't keep her feelings bottled up inside until they erupt into self destructive behaviors ~ like my friend Liz (who incidentally is still in very grave danger as I write...but that's another story entirely). I can't help but wonder if this brave new world where anything goes is more than a little overwhelming to teenagers. It seems they're almost expected to have some sort of angst in their lives in order to "fit in" with all the celebrity "crisis du jour." Last year, Kayla had a bout with anorexia. Robert (and Michael and Dan) are dealing with sexual identity issues. Katie is bi-polar, Rose just celebrated one year of sobriety, and Jessica's boyfriend is in jail for child molestation. And these are just the kids I know from sixth hour choir.

The world is certainly different. I know I'm showing my age with statements like that. I don't know how "brave" the world itself is, but I think you have to be very brave to grow up in it.