Ladies Who Lunch


It’s breakfast time.

Chocolate milk is stirred, bananas are shared, almonds are complained about.

Last night’s dishes overflow the right side of the sink. In my mind they’re “organized” and not “undone”.

My children’s chatter whisps by me as I fit Mason jars and silver spoons, a baking dish, and a grill pan side by side.

I note the stories my kids are telling about forgotten math work sheets, the best chapter book ever, necessary sneakers, and again with the unwanted almonds.

I pause, wondering about the holes in their stories that I can’t ever seem to fill.

My heart hurts in the good way that means I’m letting go like everyone insists I’m supposed to.

In one of those early days when Kayli was small and Chloe was impossible and Brody was a mere thought in my mind, another mother –- one with older children and years of experience and the kind of knowing that sat deep in her cocoa colored eyes – told me to parent my heart out now because all of a sudden all you’ll be able to do is cross your fingers that you did a good job then.

This struck me then because I was tired and I was parenting all the time. Do this, not that, say please, be nice. 

And it strikes me now, in a disbelieving sort of way, and I wonder if I’ve reached that time this mother was talking about; when my fingers are no longer laced with theirs more often than not.

I brush this thought away as Kayli brings up her dishes. She rinses and loads them. She’s still chatting about that book, that math sheet, those almonds.

“So if you feel like it’s a Dunker Day… “ she’s saying. I tilt my head her way wondering what she’s saying.

And then she smiles that sweet smile that (thankfully) matches the three-year-old version that I saw when I was told to parent big and let go bigger. It’s then that I realize she’s inviting me to have lunch with her – her favorite lunch at school, Italian Dunkers.

And I accept this invitation in two ways.

Yes, I’ll come have Italian Dunkers with you because I want to and I’m honored that you asked me.

And yes, I’ll keep parenting you because I want to and I’m honored that, this too, you’re asking me to do.

Parent big and let go bigger, yes.

But find the (new) ways to hold on, to be there, to say yes.

8 Replies to “Ladies Who Lunch”

  1. Every night, after dinner and karate and homework, my son comes to Bill and me, asking us to watch something with him on TV. Together as a family.

    He is 16.

    He drives himself to school, to karate, out with friends on a Friday night. (This is terrifying by the way. But necessary.)
    On school nights, however, he still wants to spend an hour on the family room couch watching something we all enjoy.

    These are the moments when I let my mother-heart believe I’ve done at least a little bit right.
    We’ve let go BIG but he still comes back to us.

    And yeah. He doesn’t want his almonds either :-)

    Keep it up, mama. You’re doing it right.

  2. Galit, you fill me with warmth (and my eyes with tears) every time I read one of your posts. You are exactly where I am right now.

    Except instead of joining Dunker Day, my son is asking me to watch The Walking Dead with him.

    And I steel my nerves and do it, because tomorrow, he’ll be big enough to watch zombies through his fingers without me.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s