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(Edited from a 2012 blog post.  I’m no doubt stuck in the past, which would account for posting AGAIN this epic picture of Tate killing it on the lacrosse field, 2016. I love to take credit for my kids’ accomplishments because I made the sandwiches.)

Most of my freaked-out mom days are pretty much gone now. They got chiseled off by all that child-rearing intensity, and many uncharted surprises. Toward the end, when something crazy happened with them I acted like I’d achieved a healthy attitude = a robed-smokey-curler-cusser-mom attitude.  “So what, I never signed up for any of this anyway”-flick-flick-ashes. Just kidding (but not kidding), it depended on the day and how “spiritually fit” I was (sorry). Selfish Mom signed up for what it looks like on Instagram to be a Fancy Mom. Reality Mom got a car full of excellent screamers (they’re not likely to get into my car anymore, though, to say nothing of car seats. Come to think of it, teenagers should be required to ride in car seats).

I learned to keep freak-outs gently masked, because there were so many bodily-injury events over the years, excluding this one: A Son rolled our battle truck at sixty+ MPH and suffered not a scratch, casually calling us for a ride home from the side of Roche Harbor road. He said he was going fifty, which in translation could be as fast as seventy, so we averaged it. I for sure gave Steve a “How much more of this!?! HOW MUCH?!” rant (eyes me sideways over his glasses, estimates tactics). 

RING! RING!

T – “Mom, hi.”

Me – “Hi.” whycallingyoushouldbehome.

T – “Can someone come get me? I rolled the truck”. (someone?)

Me – “Hold please.”  To Steve “T rolled truck.”

Husband – Looks over glasses, silent (can’t be trusted). “I’ll get him.”

Me – “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Once home, T gave us his driver’s license and keys – very civilized. Me, not so much.

After all these years their vulnerability is just a fact of daily living, I guess. Like the time W decided at 19 she should don her backpack and fly to Sicily alone, never having ridden public transport anywhere. Where’d she get so much starch?! And Izy taking off for 7 nights to sleep (etc.) in bushes, + 360 backroad bike miles. Who are these people?! I’m crazy about them.

My goal these days is to stop wondering how life is going to “shake out” – it’s too dang stressful. The longer I live, the more obvious my/their/our vulnerability becomes. We are all – at all times – on the verge of infinity and beyond.