I AM ME: A Poem for World Down Syndrome Day

Hello.
It’s me.

You can call me…
sweetheart
kiddo
sunshine

Call me…
student
equestrian
swimmer

Call me…
artist
dancer
singer

Call me friend.

I am me.

I am…
charming
stubborn
silly

I am…
affectionate
moody
kind

I am…
imaginative
exuberant
bossy

I am sweet.

I am me.

I have…
parents who adore me
sisters who tease me
a little brother who follows me around

I have…
grandparents who dote on me
teachers who are proud of me
friends of all shapes, sizes and colours

I have…
fears and dreams
favourite songs and movies
strong opinions about my own life

I have Down Syndrome.

I have
Down Syndrome.
But I am not Down Syndrome.

I am me.

So here’s my homage to the lovely “Lose the Label” campaign (@Lose_the_label). Because we are, all of us, more than our diagnoses and disabilities.

March 21 is World Down Syndrome (aka Trisomy 21) Day. You know, 3/21 for Trisomy 21… get it?

In honour of the unique and wonderful people we know, who happen to have Down Syndrome (especially the one we feed and hug and tuck into bed every night) I am posting a link to this tearjerker. I defy you to watch it and not get choked up:

Dear Future Mom…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ju-q4OnBtNU

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

MY FIRST MEMORY

I could feel the grit of sand beneath my toes, the heat pushing down on my head and the icy tickle of the incoming tide.

I could hear the roar of the surf and the gentle buzz of adult conversation.

I could smell the salt and tang of ocean.

Perhaps my mind has simply filled in those details, like an artist shading and highlighting to give the picture more depth. What I DO know is that as I stood at the edge of the ocean, an enormous wave knocked me down and dragged me under the water.

shock

cold

choke

terror

Until my Dad reached down, pulled me out of the water and held me tight in his arms.

safe

It was a split second in time, so heavy with sensation and emotion that it imprinted permanently on my young mind.

It’s easy to overlook children’s earliest experiences, especially when they are too young to form lasting memories. But those first three years shape our understanding of ourselves and the entire world. In a way, those traumas and triumphs, however small, are the most important memories of all. Even if we can’t quite recall them. Even if they are hazy or incomplete. Even if they are only a feeling. They become the scripts in our psyche – how we interpret events, what we expect from life and, ultimately, who we are.

At a very young age I learned that the world can be a scary place.

That waves are stronger than me.

And my Dad is stronger than the waves.

safe

So here’s me, at age 2. I am convinced that this memory, and countless others like it, are the foundation if my confidence, resiliency, intimacy, trust… and faith. A good reminder that the endless menial tasks of parenthood – keeping babies safe, fed, warm and comforted – have lifelong effects.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

DOES DOWN SYNDROME NEED FIXING?

You are not broken, sweetheart.

At least, not in any way that really matters. Not like people who are spiteful or small-minded or utterly self-absorbed. I hope the day never comes that you suspect “special” is a code word for defective. Or that having “needs” is a shameful weakness.

There are people that think this way. Ignorant people who simply don’t understand. Cruel, stupid people who simply don’t care. Less than there once was, but still… too many people.

Part of me wants to take a swipe at anyone who suggests you need fixing. To crouch in front of you and bare my teeth and unleash my primal maternal instinct on them all. Because the possibility, the mere hint of the idea that you are less than anyone else is repugnant.

You are different, sweetheart.

This is the truth. You work harder than anyone else around you. So many skills and activities which other people take for granted are a real struggle. Your health has to be monitored closely as you contend with a number of medical problems and risk factors. It takes longer for your brain to process the words you hear and the memories you are trying to recall. Your best efforts don’t always make the words clear enough for us to understand. You are often frustrated and overwhelmed.

I want to fix that for you. Not because you are less; because you deserve more.

You are so precious, sweetheart.

Your sense of humor and your kindness and your stubborn will come to mind. And so many other wonderful qualities too numerous to describe here. There is no one in all the world like you. The world may look at you and see Down syndrome. I look at you and see… you.

Down syndrome is part of your story. Maybe you wouldn’t be quite so exceptional if you didn’t have all these struggles. This reality has significant challenges, but there are gifts also. One extra chromosome has not been a tragedy for you.

You are so precious, exactly the way you are, sweetheart.

So when I was asked to speak on a radio talk show this week (CBC Radio – The Current) about breakthroughs in genetic research (Researchers turn off Down syndrome genes), it was harder than I expected.

Of course when the news agencies use provocative words like “eradicate Down Syndrome” it conjures up thoughts of Nazis and final solutions, not dedicated scientists striving to make the world better for you. Of course I have reservations about safety and risk factors. Of course I hope that the professionals involved will continue to be respectful of our children’s needs, and strengths. Of course I wonder if this is yet another false hope alongside the dubious therapies and vitamin regimes often peddled to desperate families.

But after a deep breath and a closer look I realize that it is incredibly good news.

I’m thrilled about the possibilities the future might hold. Targeted therapies which ameliorate the harmful, even life-threatening effects of Trisomy 21 are more possible than ever. Research may not translate into reality for many, many years, but it isn’t overly idealistic for me to hope that early onset dementia (which affects 60% of adults with Down syndrome by age 60) will not be a problem for you. After all, they still have 52 years to figure it out.

So why the difficulty? Why a panel to express a range of opinions? What could possibly be controversial about this?

We all agreed, from Dr. Jeanne Lawrence (the head researcher who now has a HUGE fan in me), to the show’s host, to the rest of the panel, that anything which leads to longer, healthier lives for people with Down syndrome is a wonderful thing.

But it always comes back to the question:

what if we could “fix” Down Syndrome entirely?

(We can’t, by the way; the geneticist made it very clear that while the research makes the treatment of symptoms of Down syndrome a possibility EVENTUALLY, eliminating it entirely via gene therapy is extremely implausible.)

Nevertheless, this is where controversy finds the most traction. Is Down syndrome a problem to be fixed? Or is it a part of our genetic diversity to be embraced?

There was a mother on the other side of the country, and the other side of the argument presumably, who was on the air with me. We don’t disagree about much. I appreciate her viewpoint and share her enthusiasm for the unique Down syndrome culture that has emerged in recent years. It makes me happy to know that you’re a part of it.

People with Down syndrome are worth celebrating. They are a remarkable group of unique people who share a common struggle. Some lead meaningful, rewarding lives. Some don’t. Some are kind, affectionate and openhearted. Some aren’t. Some are funny. Some are serious. Some are sociable. Some are shy.

None are pitiable creatures to be patronized, nor angels to be revered. First and foremost, they are individuals who each have their own story. They are not extraordinary because they have Down syndrome, but because they overcome and thrive and contribute so much to the world. The Down syndrome community is inspiring.

But Down syndrome itself is not something I celebrate. As grateful as I am for the many positive aspects of our experience, it is a medical condition that needs treatment, just like diabetes or asthma. So when asked if I would eliminate Down syndrome if I could, my answer is yes.

I would choose this for you, sweetheart.

I am so proud of all the challenges you overcome almost daily, and of the person you’re becoming because of it. But I would bulldoze every one of those obstacles if it were in my power. Life is hard enough.

There was a time when a child with Down syndrome was considered a hopeless case, when parents were encouraged to stash them away in an institution and try again. There was a time when children with Down syndrome wasted away and died due to a number of undiagnosed medical conditions. There was a time when children with Down syndrome were not expected to learn or participate or reach any level of independence.

We’ve come a long way since then. I can only be grateful for the research that has brought us this far; not just the education and social support, but medical science also. Now minor heart defects and thyroid deficiencies and a host of other problems are detected and treated as a matter of course. Maybe someday, speech delays and low muscle tone and leukemia will be dealt with as efficiently. And maybe someday, Down syndrome itself will be little more than a passing mention in a medical history.

I want that. For you and for the children with Down syndrome who haven’t yet been born. But it was hard for me to express that, both on the radio and here in the blog. Because I don’t want you to hear me wrong.

You are not broken, sweetheart, not in any way that really matters.

You are different, sweetheart, and life may never be easy for you.

You are so precious, sweetheart, exactly the way you are.

So here’s us, grateful for what is, and grateful for what could be, just as long as it involves many, many years with our sweet girl!

Beautiful photos by Taliah Leigh Photography

Related articles

• Breakthrough may one day prevent Down syndrome(newsfixnow.com)
• Breakthough! Can Down Syndrome be turned off? (wnd.com)
• Scientists take step in “fixing” Down Syndrome(reviveuhealthblog.wordpress.com)

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

THE 3 YEAR OLD

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Every year on their birthdays, Glen and I write a Birthday Letter to each of our kids. What they were like that year. What strengths and talents we see in them. What words of wisdom we have for them.

Someday, they might even appreciate the gesture.

From Mom…

I write about you ALL the time! This past year you’ve hogged the ink in my journal and the word count on my blog. 

Sometimes I wonder if I’m overdoing it. If one day, you’ll look back and shake your head at all the gushing and worrying and over-analyzing. Will I embarrass you?

A decade from now, I can practically guarantee it. But right now, you don’t know the meaning of the word. That might be the best part of being 3. Especially a 3-year-old YOU!

You are wholeheartedly and unabashedly yourself. You have no use for limits at all…

Not social conventions.

Not medical diagnoses.

Not the laws of gravity.

Not fences or child-proof locks or boundaries.

And while this tendency can be both exhausting and terrifying for us, I hope you don’t lose it entirely.

You are my exuberant, half-wild, but entirely charming boy! This year we will try to keep our wits and keep you alive, without taming you completely. If you need to run, run toward us, not away. If you need to climb, chose somewhere safe. If you need adventure, take us with you.

You are a fearless explorer in perpetual motion! Right now your most common phrase is “I GO TOO!” as you race as fast as your little legs can go toward your next adventure. You were not made for sitting still. Or staying in bed, apparently, which has caused no end of late night power struggles and overtired shenanigans. I know it’s hard for you to downshift from your high speed lifestyle, but trust me, sleep is good.

You have one of the happiest natures I’ve ever seen! While your moments of frustration are impressively loud and passionate, once the tantrum has passed, that toothy grin comes back in full force. Happy is your default setting. And you’re always eager to share the sunshine. Our Child Development Worker coined the phrase “aggressively affectionate” to describe you. Not all your friends and cousins appreciate the full-body tackle-hug the way we do, so this year we’ll work on reading people’s cues and showing love in other ways. If all else fails, know that Mommy is ALWAYS up for one of your tight-squeezy-whole-body-melting-into-it-Hugs (ALWAYS… like, this offer will not expire during the teen years or adulthood or, you know, ever).

You are an adorable chatterbox! This goes against all the boy-girl stereotypes, which shouldn’t surprise me, since I know how you feel about staying in bounds. Without a doubt, you are the most talkative child we’ve ever had. This time last year, you only had a handful of words, which you rarely used, but you’ve blown us (and your speech therapist) away with your progress lately. They call it a developmental leap. I call it, Unleashing Your Inner Announcer. Wherever we go, whatever we do, your cute little voice gives an enthusiastic running commentary.

I’m not going to lie. You keep us hopping. I’ve reached heretofore unknown regions of exhaustion this past year. But chaos has never been so fun.

I love being your Mom!

Happy Birthday 3 year old!

From Dad…

Dear S,

When I wrote your birthday letter last year, I barely knew you. We were still just figuring out this whole daddy-son thing, and you had just had your entire world turned upside down. New home. New family. New food. New routines. 

Everything – new.

One year later, we’ve all come a long way. We’ve learned to anticipate at least some of your moves, and you’ve learned how to play us to get your way sometimes too.

If I could sum up the past year in one word, it would be RUNNING. You, running, always on the move, finding ways to escape just when we thought we had you locked down, creating danger where we thought we had ensured safety. Us, running, trying to keep up with you, attempting to even get one step,ahead… occasionally.

You’ve forced us to become more creative and resourceful. If we’re not trying every strategy under the sun to keep you in your bed at night, we’re divining inventive ways to make it impossible for you to climb the deck railing and fall into the backyard two stories below.

You’ve forced us into action. For a family that loved their peace, quiet and a good book, the addition of a hyper-energetic little dude who can’t sit still for a second was quite the adjustment. It’s been good for us.

Most of all, you’ve forced us to love. Not that we didn’t love before, and not that it was against our will. But you, my son, are undeniably lovable. Sometimes we get frustrated by your latest escapade, but then you flash us that ear-to-ear grin and instantly transform our righteous anger into laughter. It’s really not fair. But it’s probably going to get you out of all kinds of trouble over the years. Because who can resist?

So here’s to you. Happy Birthday 3-year-old! And just so you know, I’ve been working on the assumption that by the time you’re four, our life will be slightly less frantic. Do you think maybe we can make that happen… please?

Love,

Daddy

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

MY SON

Of all the things that surprise me, a whole year after our adoption, the biggest is the undiminished pride I feel when I slip the words “My Son” into a conversation.

Capital letters: MY. SON.

And I might… possibly… slip them in more often than is strictly necessary.

Perhaps it is those years when all those typically “boy” things (which my girls disliked no matter how enlightened and gender neutral we tried to be) – the dinosaurs and matchbox cars and hockey gear and train sets – sent a little ping of grief across my heart. All the things I never got to have or do or be with the baby boys I lost.

Perhaps it is the length of time we had to wait for you. Wondering. Imagining. Making plans that ended with “… if we have a new baby by then.”

Perhaps it is the way I feel we earned you. Not like a possession or a prize… but coming home at the end of a hard fought, life changing journey.

And perhaps this is how adoption, and every other scenario where kids don’t come the easy way, is different. Most of the time, having a child requires only a small amount of planning, if any. Two of mine came without any planning at all (surprise!). They are not any less (or more) precious for it, but I took being their Mom for granted.

It just happened. It didn’t require much thought or soul searching. I never felt the need to prove it or defend it. I didn’t have to work hard to get there. Those maternal instincts came pre-assembled.

But you, My Son, we made this Mother-Son thing together. We built it ourselves.

So when I talk about you, I puff up my chest and emphasize the words: MY Son.

So here’s me, an obnoxiously proud Mama. Even more than usual (and I was already pretty obnoxious, according to the oldest kids).

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

THE WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD

Most people who’ve spent time as the Responsible-Adult-in-Charge-of Keeping-Beloved-Child-Alive-and-Accounted-For will eventually feel this feeling, even if only for a few seconds. Of all the ups and downs of childcare, this is the worst.

Worse than answering the same question, breaking up the same fight or issuing the same clear direction for the 9,837th time. That day.

Worse than labour and delivery.

Worse than endless government paperwork.

Worse even than cleaning up after a violent stomach flu, one that explodes on both ends.

It is that moment of sheer, undiluted panic, when you turn around and your child is Gone. Out of sight. Missing.

Your entire body is on high alert. Stomach in your throat. Heart pounding. Adrenaline pumping. Your brain instantly replays every single missing child crime show you’ve ever watched. For a moment you look around and call their name and try to stay calm. Then any sense of dignity or propriety is discarded as you frantically search and come up empty. Your entire being narrows to this single task… Find. My Baby. Now.

Usually, this dissipates quickly. You turn around and there they are… right behind you. Around the corner. Under the bench. Playing with a friend. You heave a sigh of relief, chuckle at your overreaction and carry on.

But we all know, not every story has a happy ending. So the panic is genuine. Every time.

Today at soccer camp my son’s coach turned around to help the other kids. Just 30 seconds to untangle the parachute. And when she glanced up, he was gone.

One of my favourite things about our church’s soccer camp is the huge number of dedicated, enthusiastic volunteers who run it. Practically everyone between the ages of 11 and 85 pitches in, in some way or another. There are hundreds of kids at camp, but there are hundreds of leaders too. It’s well-organized and safety conscious.

Everyone in the area dropped what they were doing when S went missing. Instant search party, right in the middle of camp. With so many adults all around, it seemed amazing that anyone could slip through. How did such a little guy get past everyone unnoticed?

Just last week I met with our social worker and filled out a Needs Assessment for our boy. We put an extremely high mark for “Safety Concerns.” He is fast, agile, impulsive and has absolutely no sense of danger.

The week before that, I met with his new preschool teachers to discuss his needs for the fall. He is bright and engaging and loves a group setting, but he needs CONSTANT supervision. I must have said it a dozen times, “You can’t take your eyes off him, not even for 30 seconds.”

This is our biggest worry: That our rough and tumble explorer will come to harm. Child-proofing can only do so much. He has super-human determination and a flair for creative problem-solving.

We have child locks on the doors. A fenced and double latched yard. A puppy “backpack” that is actually a leash. A one-on-one helper for Sunday School. “Watch the boy” is on the task list for any family outing.

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” is our motto.

Today… I was his coach at soccer camp.

So here’s me, still a little shaken after a heart stopping 10 minutes of drama. He had ducked down in the ditch right beside us to play in the rocks. He was close by and safe all along. But it’s a 10 minutes I’ll never forget.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

OUR VERSION OF NORMAL

Sometimes, I forget.

As we walk hand in hand, jumping over each crack in the sidewalk, while she tugs on my arm… “Sing Mommy! Sing!”

It’s just us today. A rare Mommy-Daughter outing, with no
 siblings to compete with distractions.

This is sunshine and happy and me with my Good-Parent hat on.

This is the ordinary kind of awesome.

This is normal.

We walk up to the counter at Burger King
(Great Parent would have talked her into Subway, but Good Parent heard she wanted “Fies” and aimed to deliver)

Anyway, we put in our less-than-optimally-nutritious, but yummy order AND I notice the looks.

For a minute, I’m thrown. I look around and wonder what’s going on.

Sometimes, I forget.

People are staring at us with big grins and smile-y eyes. The kind of looks reserved for fluffy bunnies and newborn kittens. Awwwww… One lady nudges the guy next to her and nods in our direction.

And it clicks. Of course. Now I remember.

All my children are winsome – uniquely beautiful in their own way. But none of the others get this kind of attention.

It’s not a bad thing. Although it does reinforce my little diva’s belief that she is the Centre of the Universe (thank heaven for a little brother on that count).

It’s not a bad thing, but it does remind me, that OUR normal, isn’t exactly… well… normal-normal.

OUR normal involves extra appointments in far away places with all sorts of “oligists” (and an excuse for Mommy-Daughter time, with, perhaps, a detour to Burger King).

OUR normal looks tiny and slightly wobbly, but is fiercely determined to open the heavy doors “by mine-self” (while we wait, and wait… and wait).

OUR normal smells just a little bit off (which is why I carry pull-ups for 40 lbs+ in my purse at all times).

OUR normal sounds like my almost 9-year-old singing “Skinn-a-ma-rink-y Dink-y Dink” at the top of her lungs, while sticking her hand down her pants (and an admiring public who think she’s adorable for it).

OUR normal includes a lot of extras – extra work and extra people and extra effort… and extra attention wherever we go.

But,
it’s not a bad thing.

In fact,
Sometimes I forget.

I forget about Down Syndrome. I forget about the hassles and the heartbreaks and the headaches that inevitably come. And we just live our ordinary awesome, everyday plodding, bittersweet regular life.

Because, for us, this IS normal.

So here’s me,
and today I read a post by Sipping Lemonade (Dear Mom with a Prenatal Down Syndrome Diagnosis)
and I remembered the days, around age 1, when I didn’t think we’d find normal again.

And yet, here it is all day everyday. Not exactly normal-normal, but close enough.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

WHAT MY DAD DOES

He fixes things.

With power tools. And goofy jokes. And ice cream.

He fixes the little things – baseboards and light switches and toilet bowls. He fixes playhouse roofs and sticky doors and bookshelves. He putters and fusses and rearranges until every is running smoothly. He jumps on every squeak and creak and unnatural sound we’ve been content to overlook.

He worries about money.

Our money. His own money. The government’s money. “Bunch of crooks.”

He makes budgets and savings plans and investment suggestions. He uses coupons and goes without and is always up for a “great deal.” He buys things for us anyway. He passes me a handful of cash on his way out the door – “for groceries.”

He makes plans.

To improve. To expand. To make our life easier.

He draws it on napkins and scrap paper. Then measures and figures and makes supply lists. A new idea, or 10, carefully sketched to dimension – “just in case.”

And when you listen very close, you can hear just how much he loves us.

Because my Dad’s love is practical like that.

Thanks for everything Dad!
We love you!
Happy Father’s Day!

So here’s me, so grateful to the man who  taught me to appreciate the True Story, and the great deal, and ice cream (no matter the time of day or weather), and to look for a gentle, intelligent, silly, responsible, loving Dad for my own kids.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

This Is The WORST Best Lesson In Life

It’s a game we play, and replay, a lot at our house.

“But it isn’t FAAAIIIIR!” they whine.

I act Alarmed. Affronted. Confused. “Who told you life was fair? How dare they!”

It’s not entirely an act. I happen to think that teaching our kids they are entitled to a life of ease and comfort is irresponsible, possibly cruel. Someday the real world will come calling. If they haven’t had an opportunity to build important coping skills, they will likely to fall to pieces. The small, everyday disappointments of life are an important curriculum.

You won’t be able to watch that movie tonight, because Dad is watching his team lose the Stanley Cup.

There’s a hole in your favourite hoodie (the only thing worse than this is my suggestion of sewing on a patch, apparently).

Your sister has a sleepover tonight and you don’t. You’ll have to hang out with your mom instead.

I’m sorry, but your sister ate your homework (true story).

All valuable lessons, if handled correctly. Somewhere between “Vlad the Insensitive, Destroyer of Dreams” and “Schmoopy the Rescuer, Enabler of Dysfunction” lies good parenting.

My parents certainly didn’t subscribe to the “protect-at-all-costs” parenting philosophy. In their mind, suffering builds character, even for kids. They didn’t push us down the stairs or pinch us when we smiled too wide. But they didn’t apologize for the reasonable disappointments life brought our way – doing more chores than any of my friends, wearing second-hand clothes, bypassing the candy aisle, bringing lunch instead of buying… a whole lot of making do with what we had, without complaining.

This wasn’t easy to swallow as a child. And if I’m being honest, it’s still a struggle. Although I wasn’t raised to believe my life SHOULD be easy, I still feel somewhat surprised and ripped off when it isn’t. “But God, it’s not FAAAAIIIIR!”

Because it’s really not. Life isn’t fair.

Lessons I’ve learned from Disappointment:

Perspective: As I write this, on my personal laptop, in a warm house, dressed in a new (second-hand, but still newly bought) shirt, after eating a filling lunch, while my healthy son naps and my well supported children attend a well equipped school nearby, I realize that whining about life being unfair is pretty, well, unfair, to the billions of people who could only dream about a life as good as mine. Nevertheless, my small disappointments gave me a taste of suffering and dose of reality. Life is like this. Bad stuff happens (the slightly less poetic, but much more child-friendly truism). There’s not always someone to blame. No one is entitled to a trouble-free existence.

Health: How many of the worst patterns/habits/addictions we hold are attempts to escape or numb the pain life brings our way? I can personally attest to the tranquilizing effects of too much food, which I begin to crave whenever things start going wrong. One of my children asked if it’s true that ice cream is medicine? Ummm… A healthy person is learning to accept this discomfort and process it in a healthy way. Cry. Pray. Laugh. Create. Throw socks at the wall (really, it works).

Selflessness: Selflessness is learned in the hard places. After we process the disappointment, we have a choice. Where will my focus be? Will I wallow in my misery? Or will I think beyond me and what I want? Without a doubt, the instruction most often handed out, but not always followed by myself is: “It’s okay to be upset, but it’s not okay to make everyone around you miserable just because you are.”

Gratitude: What comes easy is often taken for granted. When I’m familiar with disappointment, then getting what I want/need/hope for is a gift and I will truly appreciate it. Our daughter B was born the year after we buried her brother Simon. Although her diagnosis with Down Syndrome threw us somewhat for a loop, it paled in comparison to the glorious fact that she was ALIVE and healthy.

Compassion: Disappointment is very real to the person feeling it. Whether anyone else understands or not, there it is. Someone who has faced their own disappointments may not be any better equipped to understand a unique sorrow, but we are open to the experience. Where it would be more convenient and comfortable to stuff our own pain beyond conscious reach and whitewash over the pain of others, the student of disappointment is not afraid to go there.

How to Grieve: My small disappointments have prepared me for the devastations in life. Not entirely. Nothing can. But it’s a start: the basic skill to face the hurt, work through it, find the joy in the midst of it and reach out to others regardless.

Disappointment isn’t lethal.

Disappointment is a natural part of life.

Disappointment is a good teacher.

I believe it and I want to live it… but doling it out as a parent is a lot harder than I expected. Perhaps it is my generation. Perhaps I’m just a pathetic softie. It’s hard to say no. It’s hard to watch those sad little faces. It’s hard not to jump in and make everything fair and smooth out the rough edges and bribe them back to happy.

So, I’m thankful for the times we really can’t afford it. Or there isn’t enough time. Or enough energy. Or it just really grosses me out (see: pet snake argument).

There is nothing wrong with WANTING to give your children everything. There IS something wrong with actually giving it to them. Unless you’re hoping to raise spoiled, greedy, miserable brats. If so, then by all means, appease and rescue and avoid disappointment at all costs. You’re on the right track.

So here’s me, hoping we’re all disappointed just enough to build strong character and no more.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

WHAT MOM TAUGHT ME ABOUT RELATIONSHIPS

Mother’s Day is always bitter-sweet for me. Before I lost Mom to cancer, it was just sweet. We moved all the time and so she was truly my closest friend. She knew all my dreams and hopes, she gave me space to be myself even when it was awkward and stilted, and she derived great delight in watching me become the person that God had intended. She had a saying, “Find your children fascinating, and they will always be so.”

She was dying when I left for law school overseas. People had tried to talk me out of going – they knew it would be the last time I saw her even if I was in complete denial about it – but she was furious at any hint that I might be dissuaded from my dreams. Shortly before I was due to go, she called me into her room and told me in no uncertain terms that I was to get my butt on that plane to Scotland. My last memory of her is her standing, looking very small and frail, at the door waving as we drove off to the airport. I am told that once we were out of sight, she collapsed and had to be helped back to bed. “They don’t make movies this sad,” she told her best friend.

There were many motivating factors for Mom to make sure that I made it on that plane. She believed that I had worked hard for many years with law school as my goal, and she didn’t want to be the one to get in the way of those dreams. She also knew that I was slowly withering away in Texas, and I had to get out. My years in Texas gave me some tremendous gifts for which I am thankful, but I always felt like a fish out of water there. Going to Scotland gave me the chance to breathe again, and Mom recognized this as the necessary next step in my development.

But she was also concerned about the relationship I was in at the time. I was dating a guy (let’s call him Alex) who, in her mind, wasn’t the right fit for me. Going to school meant that I was moving 3,000 miles away before the relationship got too serious. At the time, I couldn’t understand this – Alex was amazing! And he truly was a great guy. But she asked me once, “Can you talk to him…I mean, really talk to him?”

In retrospect, I believe her inquiry was borne of painful insight that she had into her own marriage. My dad was a wonderful man in a lot of ways, but she often felt lonely with him. He was a pastor, so he worked a lot. My parents were great spouses and parents, but I don’t know if they were great friends. I don’t think she felt that she could really talk to him.

This shaped the way she taught me about dating relationships. Sex was a very open topic in our household, and I was fortunate enough to escape the whole “you are damaged goods if you sleep around” dogma. Sex was clearly taught as something to be saved for marriage, but my mother spent far more time talking to me about what type of man I wanted to spend my life with rather than simply what I would do once I found that man.

Texas was a great place for learning about different types of men. When I was a teenager, we didn’t do the whole courting thing. Every girl started to “car date” (the guy would pick you up in his car after meeting your dad…who was usually cleaning his shotgun) around the age of 15, and it was expected that you would date numerous people before you got married. While it scared the living daylights out of me at the time, I wouldn’t trade those experiences for the world. I got to meet a wide variety of guys with different personalities and temperaments to see who fit me best. To this day, I don’t ascribe to the belief that there is one person out there for you, but I do believe that there are certain personality types that will suit you better and make marriage less tumultuous. Dating was my opportunity to find out what type of guy I was looking for as a life partner.

Over the years, my mother offered her input and guidance. Of one boyfriend, she said, “He doesn’t light up when you walk into the room. You deserve that.” Of another, she said “He didn’t open the car door for you. Chivalry is important.“ She did love one guy but unfortunately I didn’t, so that was the end of that relationship. And so when she asked me whether I could really talk to Alex, I took her seriously. Yes, he had great character. Yes, he was good looking. Yes, we had similar goals in life. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that there were things I just couldn’t share with him. I kept far too much of who I really was hidden from his view.

We did date long-distance, and it took time for me to break up with him. But when I met Eric, the first thing that jumped out at me was that we could talk. We actually started out by arguing, but we talked for hours and hours and we haven’t stopped. (Well, except for the few times during our dating years when I kicked him to the curb.) When the passion ebbs in our relationship, when we are stressed by the circumstances of life, and when we don’t agree on various points of view, we still have enormous respect for each other…respect is grounded in our deep friendship. Turns out, Mom was right.

Now, I am a mom. After enduring the bitter years of being both motherless and childless, I now have the sweetness of raising my own daughter, Riley. She has already had her first crush. We have had the first of many sex talks (in age appropriate terms, of course). Her body is beginning to change, and I already recognize the signs of hormonal fluctuations. Before I know it, she will begin on the path of looking for her life partner. Without a doubt, I will have challenging decisions to make about balancing the concepts of purity and sexual responsibility. I hope that I will do so with wisdom and grace.

But as I guide my daughter, I will do so with Mom’s model in mind. I will watch her with fascination to see who she is growing to be. As I learn to understand her better, I will have conversations with her about what type of guy will fit with her personality. I will support her as she goes through the difficult and yet giddy period of dating. I will speak honestly into her life about her choices and hope that she will listen…if not in the moment, at least when it comes to making the final decision. Most importantly, I will do my best to help her understand the importance of friendship and communication as a basis for marriage so she can choose wisely.

And I will do all of this with that an ever-present hollow place in my own heart…the one that represents how much I miss Mom; how I wish she had been here to meet the man I finally did choose, to see her granddaughter be born, and her daughter become a mom. It’s a scar that reminds me of how much I needed Mom and how hard it is to do this without her. But it also serves as a daily prompt for me to think back on all the things she did teach me, and how important it is that I never forget. Because of it, I pray every day that I am half the mother to Riley that Mom was to me.

Mother’s Day will always be bitter-sweet for me. I can’t make it through without thinking of what I’ve lost, but neither can I get through it without being in awe of all I have.

ERYN-FAYE FRANS, Canada's Passion Coach ®

ErynFaye.Com