Are you there God? It's me, Amy.

 

Being the Mom of a Marine is the best feeling in the world, and the worst feeling, all wrapped up in one. It’s tough, it’s beautiful, and it’s everything in between. 

I should be a wreck right now. My son was scheduled to leave last week for a mission. He would have been directly in the tiny space between Isreal and Iran. The fighting would have been going over him. We discussed worst case scenarios (which I tend to always focus on). We discussed horrible things like life insurance policies and the big 'What Ifs'. We discussed things that no parent would ever, ever, ever want to discuss with thier child, let alone anyone! Then multiple 30,000 pound bombs were dropped and my little worries for my son became worldwide news that effected the world. 

When a horrible event like a embassy bomb closed the airspace, we were spared the heartbreak, while so many others were (and are) trapped within it. He couldn’t get out. He couldn’t land. There was no airspace. His mission was abandoned. 

Today’s tiny blessing for me isn’t really a blessing at all and not at all tiny. There are military families that have family members ‘over there’…some that left days prior to when my son was to leave. 

Today I will send up a prayer for the mom who’s curled up in front of the TV, holding her breath and holding on. She’s never prayed like this before; loudly, silently, tearfully; hoping that somehow, some way, her words make it past the ceiling. That someone’s listening. That everything will be okay.

Are We There Yet?

30 years. I was writing a quick post for my daughter Hannah on her 30th birthday. As I sipped my 2nd cup of coffee of the morning, I started to think about 30 years and 'how quickly it goes'. I look at myself as a new Mom in pictures and videos and I miss that version of myself. I often think of myself as all the versions that I have been. In the 'new Mom version' I see a young girl full of worry that I wouldn't get it right. I see a Mom building a family and starting from scratch. A blank slate. Wondering if I get it right and doing everything to make sure that I DID get it right. I was building a family with bare hands and big dreams. I was starting from scratch, guided mostly by instinct and a quiet prayer. Every little decision felt like it mattered. Because it did.

Has 30 years really gone by 'in a flash'? We have been through a lot in 30 years. My hopes 30 years ago was that I would raise happy children. I wanted to make sure that they had strong core memories and stories to tell of a childhood that was full of wonder. 

As I sit here today, alone in my house while my children are most likely still asleep at their own houses, I feel at peace. We did it! I often listen to them tell stories about growing up to their friends. I even have their friends telling me that their own childhood was better because we impacted them in some way or some trip or some school event. We created this life that we are living in today. We did it together. It wasn't always easy; in fact, some of our hardest days often rise to the surface. But we did it with grace. We did it with love, We did it together; our tiny little team we call family.Welcome to what I’ve come to think of as the After Party — the quiet, meaningful season that follows all the building, the striving, the long nights and full days.

This is the space where the fruits of our labor ; the love we gave, the choices we made, the lessons we learned begin to show themselves in the lives we’ve shaped and the people we’ve become. I find myself hoping I get the gift of time; time to see what the next 30 years will hold. To watch grandbabies grow with the same sparkle I once saw in their parents’ eyes. To witness weddings and careers and ordinary days turn into extraordinary memories. There will be laughter, and maybe a few tears. New chapters will unfold before us. And somewhere along the way, we’ll turn to each other and say, “Wow, that went fast.”

But in truth… it didn’t.

It was full. It was layered. It was life. And we were here for all of it.

Tucked Inside A Tuesday

I think the name 'Hopscotch and Heels' doesn't fit my writings anymore. I started this writing journey when the kids were little and I was balancing being the ever-present Mom, while trying to maintain some sense of who I was, Hopscotch and Heels was created to show the juxtaposition between the dirty work of being a mom, both mentally and physically, and the sense of self, with trying to put the word 'glamorous' in front of the title of Mom. I was trying to wear a crowd while dripping in spaghetti sauce and hot football fields and horse barns. My crown resembeled more of a chauffeur's hat than anything that looked like a queen. As the years have passed I have dug the crown out from the back of some dusty closet and it still kinda fits...kinda. SO my writings have changed over the years. They have become more 'life' centered as we have empty-nested, and grandma'd, and widowed. The new blog name that will be out next week is Tucked Inside A Tuesday. 

As we get older (gulp) we start seeing the reality of life...it ends. Grandparents and parents are the hot topic on Facebook lately. It's our age! Our own parents are 'aging out'. More and more of us are having the first Father's Days and Mother's Days as 'orphans'. 

Tucked Inside a Tuesday. Life happens when you least expect it... sometimes on a Tuesday...randomly...when you're doing something else. Not just dying. Change. A spontaneous event can change your entire trajectory of where you thought you were going...sometimes it's for the better and sometimes, well, not. 

As I moved over the last month, I have had a LOT of 'unexepected encounters' with my past. I have discovered so many memories. As I place my items in their new home, I can't help but feel like a packrat. Where do I put all this stuff...and how do I ever part with it? I AM the keeper of the family memories. I didn't sign up for this role. I think I just 'had the space'. It's everywhere. I come from (apparently) a long line of people who love to hold on to items that make a memory. I am sure that hoarders feel this way about, well, everything. I think I can add 'Hoarder' to my resume bio. My poor children will go through my stuff one day and curse me that I left them with all this stuff. Some of the memories aren't mine. I have inherited my Aunt's and my Dad's memories. I am sure I will figure out who some of these people in these albumns are some day...or not. But, as I have space in my garage and a random extra bedroom closet, these memories will live so that someday, perhaps a random Tuesday, I want to visit them again.

There are always leftovers with love. No matter how final the goodbye, something stays behind: 

a look, a laugh, photo, a moment that clings to the edges of time. Love doesn’t vanish. It scatters itself in the spaces we once shared. You’ll find it later, folded into the quiet, tucked inside a Tuesday. The leftovers. Almost as if they are saying, "Here. I’ve loved you. Keep the leftovers. Warm them when you need to remember".