There’s this food blog I really like called A Full Measure of Happiness. Lauren Zietsman, its writer, is going to think I’m a crazy stalker lady for writing this (hi, Lauren!), but I love it. Her recipes are fantastic and perfect for everyday cooking (her almond butters? Her Indian samosa casserole? Hello.), but even more than that, she’s got a voice that just carries through to her reader. It’s bright and cheerful, and for that reason alone, I check her site often for updates.
One day, to my dismay, a short while back, she mentioned that she was going to back away from posting as frequently. Basically, she said that life was getting in the way of blogging (or blogging was getting in the way of life?), and she felt guilty for not spending enough time with her priorities–the human kind, I mean (I’m paraphrasing wildly, so if you read this, Lauren, forgive me…). But as I read through her comments after that post (told you, stalker–Lauren, hi!), what struck me the most was a comment her mother made. She said to her daughter, and I quote this time: “Enjoy actually living your life, and never worry about having to fulfill ours with yours.”
It struck me somewhere right between my heart and gut: Enjoy actually living your life, and never worry about having to fulfill ours with yours. What a brave thing for a mother to tell her child. What a loving thing for a parent to truly believe.
I did then what any good blogger or writer would do: I copied her words and borrowed them for my own use. Because Lauren’s mom summed up in one sentence how I want to raise my children. She said exactly what it’s taking me (naturally) an entire blog post to say. I feel like if I do a good job, a really good job, of this mom thing, and if David and I, as a united front, raise our children with an eye to their futures, they will go. Our kids will run out into that world, because they know it is so much bigger than they can imagine, and yet so very attainable. If I do my job right, they will be brave. They will chase that job, that dream, they will live in that city and dive into those waters (with proper SCUBA gear, please, children. And maybe don’t tell me about it till afterward?). They will live, because why else in the world are they here?
Saoirse and Quinlan and Cian, if you read this one day (and if you are, shut down the danged computer and go outside, will you?), know this: I had you so I could send you out in the world–not keep you close. You will have to remind me of this when you’re leaving for college in Indiana (ahem) and I’m clutching at your ankles, wailing in agony, but: do not live for me. Live for yourself, live for others, live for God. But not me. That’s not your job. I have my life.
You go get yours.