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Browsing Tag: parenthood

And We All Shine So Brightly

Note: I’ve been struggling a lot with writing about my kids as they get older. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to post something similar to what I’ve written below only to cringe and delete the whole thing because…well, I don’t want to violate their privacy. It’s one of the big reasons for my long periods of silence here: I want to document these moments in our lives–but in a way that means my kids will still be speaking to me when they eventually read them. So please bear with me as I navigate this tricky new part of the road.  *     *     * Saoirse stopped me the other night as I was saying goodnight before bedtime. “Mom?” she said. “When you were in fourth or fifth grade, did you ever feel lonely or left out?” She looked like she was going to cry. I’d spent the day with her on a class field trip, and was able to watch her–quiet, reserved–sitting with or talking with just one friend at a time, maybe…

Counting the Ways

Saoirse and her team finished up their novice basketball season this weekend. These girls exceeded all of our expectations (Saoirse: “I didn’t think we were going to win one game!” Her dad–her head coach–sheepishly agreed): they were undefeated this season save one loss, and I never thought a group of 3rd and 4th graders could grow so well together. It was amazing to watch–and reaffirming, quite honestly, to witness firsthand how steady hard work can make even the biggest doubters say, “Oh, okay. I wasn’t expecting that.” As I said good night to my oldest girl after the last game of her tournament, I told her how proud I was of her. She asked why–what was I most proud of?–and I had to sort through the reasons to get to my answer. (I’m a mom, you know. Ask me how I’m proud of one of my kids and I turn into a mushy pile of Elizabeth Barrett Browning poems.) Saoirse’s gotten faster this season. She’s more confident, more sure of herself, more in control…

The First is Ten

My biggest girl turned 10 this weekend. Let me have a moment to let that sink in. I could go on about how talented Saoirse is. The music. The writing. But you don’t want to hear it. And I can’t tell you about it without the seams of my skin bursting with all of sorts of brag-y pride. I could tell you how strong she is, how much she’s grown, how steadily she’s become confident in her own body: the way she moves down a basketball court, how she runs across the school parking lot toward me at the end of the day. But you don’t care about that. You have your own kids and nieces and nephews to admire. I could tell you how much she seems like me though she looks like her dad. How he saw her during class a couple of weeks ago–the children were doing a writing exercise–and was taken aback by how the class business swirled around her, but she kept her head down, did the work, didn’t get distracted by questions and chatter and conversation. It…