We've Made It Through So Much

Last Tuesday I went shopping during my lunch break. As I entered the store, I passed a woman pushing two infants in a double stroller. When E and Z were babies, everywhere we went strangers stopped to tell me they had twins, or their daughter had twins, or they were a twin. I try to refrain from this behavior, but once in a while I have to let a twin mom know that I survived and that she will too. But on this occasion, I said nothing but clapped my hands together after I walked past and said, "Thank you, Jesus," out loud in Target.

I haven't prayed to Jesus since I was 14 years old, but I was moved in that moment to be grateful to whatever force in the Universe got me through the double-barreled-all-night-nursing stage, the climb-on-furniture-in-search-of-dangerous-objects stage, the indoor-sandbox-of-oatmeal-and-cocoa-powder-on-the-floor stage, the run-off-in-opposite-directions-in-a-busy-store/parking lot/ fairgrounds stage. I made it through pottytraining times two, learning to ride a bike times two, and daycare, preschool, school and homework times two.

Challenges still lie ahead—high school, girl friends, driving lessons, college searches—but we've made it through a lot, and I was at the store that day to buy eighth grade graduation cards times two. That evening, two tall young men, dressed to the nines, would stand on the stage of the school they've attended for nine years and accept their certificates of recognition. Which is a moment I never imagined when I pushed two tiny babies in a double stroller.

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It Goes By So Fast

Eighteen years ago I held my first child in my arms. Approaching his one-month birthday, he was holding his head up and his eyes had cleared from milky newborn blue to bright, sparkling sapphire. Everything about him seemed longer, stronger, and less babyish. I turned to my husband and cried, "He's growing up so fast!"

I had no idea.

That baby graduated from high school last Friday. I spent the morning, when I should have been getting ready for work, searching through photo albums for his first-day-of-preschool picture. I remembered it so clearly: his lime-green Oscar the Grouch sweatshirt and the faded red Australia baseball cap that he never took off. How enormous his mini backpack appeared. How tiny he looked walking up to the school's red front door (that part I misremembered—the door was gray). How full of hopes and dreams and possibilities I was. How both nervous and eager to learn he was.

I'm not going to say it seemed like yesterday, but damn if those fifteen years didn't fly by. Which is not to say there weren't interminably slow times—that year I had two infants and a four-year-old, which is shrouded in a fog of exhaustion; age eleven (or was it nine?), when my sweet boy became a sassy know-it-all; the hour-and-half betwen 6:30 and 8:00 p.m., which lasts a lifetime when you have young children.

I finally tracked down the album with the photo I sought and went outside to take its corollary—the last day of high school. I wished him well, watched him drive out of the driveway, and burst into tears. My baby had grown up so fast!

That evening, after a comedy of errors trying to get everyone to the Civic Center on time, I watched that baby march across the stage and receive his diploma, now a self-assured and self-aware young man, and one of the most content people I know, ready and eager to move onto the next stage. I didn't cry—I'd released all my tears that morning. I didn't feel sad or nostalgic or wistful. I felt happy and proud and full of love for this man, that baby, that little boy.

This post went out last week to subscribers of my newsletter, along with some bonus material. You can subscribe here.

Graduation

M's first day of kindergarten...

...and last day of eighth grade.

What can I say, Mamas, but hold onto your babies tight. And if your little boy has a fluorescent green Oscar the Grouch fleece sweatshirt, don't give it away when he outgrows it, because you're gonna wish you'd saved it to make into a pillow you can cry into.

Super proud of this kid. He's worked hard all through elementary and middle school, never lost his spark and love of learning, and accepted his accolades with grace. I'm excited to see what the next four years bring, but still wondering how the last nine (er, fourteen) went by so fast.

Graduation

So, I graduated from my MFA program Saturday night, and it was pretty incredible.

I remember at my first residency, watching the graduating students file into the auditorium in their black gowns. At that moment it hit me, "I'm getting a masters degree!" Because somehow, through the application process, the writing and reading in preparation for residency, the applying for financial aid, the packing and moving into a hotel for ten days, the sitting through nine-tenths of the presentations and workshops and readings, it hadn't quite sunk in that what I was doing was real. Serious. And then I knew, that would be me someday in the black gown.

Last week's residency was the best one yet (not counting Ireland, of course, which doesn't really compare). There were no workshops, there were no evaluation forms to worry about filling out, I got to spend a lot more time than usual with people in my class, getting to know and love them a lot better. I also stretched myself in new and surprising ways:

First, I gave a one-hour presentation on figurative language. While I've never felt called to teach, I found that I really enjoyed preparing for and giving the presentation and it seemed to go over well with my audience.

Next, I read one of my stories to a packed roomful of students. Although I have been practicing reading my own work in the public speaking club I attend, this reading, before actual writers, and following on the heels of two really incredible readings, had me nervous and shaking, but after it was over, I got lovely feedback from my friends and even a few students I didn't know.

Finally, I gave one of the student commencement speeches. It took me a long time to write the speech. Or, actually, it took me a long time to not write the speech before I finally sat down late Wednesday night (yes, three nights before graduation) and wrote up something I was happy with. It seemed to go over well, too. I was super nervous before going up on stage (I clapped extra-long for things preceding my speech in hopes of prolonging the time before I would speak), but once I was up there, looking out on the familiar faces of my fellow graduates, the faculty, and my family (all three boys slumped and curled in their seats like they'd been held in the auditorium for a month rather than twenty minutes), and especially after I made one certain faculty member laugh really hard at one of my jokes, all nervousness dissipated and I just had a good time giving it.

Now I'm feeling a bit nervous about what comes next: submitting my stories. Finding the inspiration and motivation to write new stories. Keeping the momentum going and creating a writing life. But stepping into that unknown space turns out to feel good, once the anxiety subsides. So here goes...