To My Big Boys,

Thankfully I was wearing my sunglasses and big cowgirl sun hat when it happened.

You were far enough away, you wouldn’t have noticed anyway. I was smiling the best I could and giving you the thumbs up each time you looked to me, to check that I had witnessed the massive wave you just rode.

Yep, I saw it. In between my gulping sobs, I saw it. The massive wave, that I was scared of as I stood on the sand, I saw you catch it and ride it.

I was so proud of you and excited for you, so even I was surprised by the tears that were flowing underneath my sunglasses.

Oh my big boys. Lovers of adventure and adrenaline, anything fast and furious. How does nothing frighten you?

It’s in moments like the one on the beach this week, that I realise I hold my own fears, plus yours, on my shoulders and sometimes I think it gets all too much for this mother’s heart.

Just yesterday you were walking beside me, holding my hand and squealing when you saw a shell. Well, it feels like yesterday to me. How did we get here so quick?

Wanting to get to the back of the big waves, all by yourself? Wanting to kayak, all by yourself. You know when I couldn’t see you anymore from the shore, and you were on the other side of the island, I almost couldn’t breathe. This is what it’s going to be like from here on in, I kept telling myself.

Adrenaline, freedom, excitement, adventure, risk, faster, deeper, further…..that’s what you want. I know, you keep telling me. I know you feel ready, but I am not.

Be patient with me, my boys.

You see, we’re different. I have never loved or needed adventure or adrenaline. Safe and secure has always been my chosen place to be. I am happy there. The little girl you never knew, she didn’t do fast, or adventure, or adrenaline. She avoided it at all costs. Her fears were big and she was little. Sitting still was an option. Watching was an option. I didn’t like the feeling of being out of control or adrenaline pumping through my veins. I still don’t.

But you boys, God has given you to me and I am so very thankful. You have opened up a new world to me that I didn’t know existed. I love your love of life and you are teaching me so much. How to live in the moment, how to move and enjoy it, how to fit so much in one day and to experience the world around me from participating, not just watching.

But, even after all that, I am still me. That little girl, who gets scared, but now, not just for myself, but for you boys, flesh of my own flesh.

It’s hard to explain to you how a mother’s heart works. I don’t even know myself sometimes. But I do know, it’s different to fathers. Oh your Dad loves you more than life itself, and he would do anything for you, but his love feels stronger sometimes, like it could carry you for miles. I watch him watching you and he is filled with pride and wonder at you, all at the same time.

So am I, don’t get me wrong. But there is something in my heart that wants to protect you and keep you safe and keep you just a bit closer, for a bit longer. I want to cheer you on and release you to be who you are, and keep you my little boy, for like, forever, all at the same time.

But I can’t. I know that.

So, be patient with me. I will get there. I can’t say I’ll catch up, because I think you’ve already passed me in some stuff.

I know we’re different and that’s okay. I can see glimpses of who you are becoming and I will champion you and cheer for you and help guide you as best I can.

The good thing about my soft heart that so easily breaks, is that it’s a guarantee that I will always be there.

I may be running behind you, breathless, but I will always be there, my boys.

Always.

It’s 6am and I can’t sleep.

My mind is a jumbled mess of Christmas to do lists and random thoughts and although I feel bone weary, I decide to get up. Maybe if I start writing my mind will quieten down?

It’s rare I am up before one of my sons, so there is something special about a quiet house, where everyone else is snug and sleeping and I have the lounge and the peace all to myself.

Staring at my Christmas tree and watching the rain outside I can’t help but wonder what next year holds? What’s around the corner that I can’t see or plan for yet?

I feel like this past year has been one long lesson for me in Just Showing Up.

You see I love answers. I love solutions and systems. I love logistics and procedures. Set a goal, define my next steps and BOOM  – here is the outcome!

But in this past year it has become painfully obvious that this life ain’t going to always follow my Action Plan.

This past year I have learnt how to sit in brokenness with someone I love dearly.

No amount of coffee or casseroles was going to solve it this time, so I learnt how to sit in the brokenness and in somehow just sitting there, hopefully share in some of the pain. I had to learn how to keep fighting the urge to solve or fix and just keep showing up instead. To weep with a friend in silence, without answers, has taught me that sometimes we need to just BE, especially when there is nothing that we can DO.

The same goes for my children as they get older and the issues they face in their own little worlds can’t always be fixed by me. Oh, this has to be one of the hardest lessons for any parent. I can see your struggle, I can feel that hurt or confusion, but there isn’t necessarily an answer or solution this time, buddy.

So we show up. Listen, encourage and BE there and learn how to watch them grow from tough lessons that we would prefer they didn’t have to go through.

The same goes for my marriage too.

After only a short 15 years, I am still learning that although large and fancy gestures are lovely, nothing can replace small daily acts of kindness towards each other.

Why is it is so easy to show kindness to nearly the rest of the world and yet it be such a struggle to extend it to those we love the most?

The daily ritual of kindness is like oxygen to a marriage. Without it, the stress and strain of this life will suffocate even the most solid of relationships.

I struggle with kindness when I am weary. And the problem is, this is the season of life when I feel a constant weariness. So, I have had to learn this year how to keep choosing kindness, in-spite of how I feel. Between you and me, I think I will keep working on this one for the rest of my days.

If I had one wish for the next year it would be less drama and less pain for the people I love around me, but I know deep down that this won’t be the case. I have learnt that much already.

So next year I will keep doing the same as this year.

Just Show Up. Be present. Sit in it. Listen. Walk beside.

Does it feel like enough? Not always.

Will it lighten their load? Maybe.

I am going to fight the urge to make new year’s resolutions that I know I can’t keep and instead resolve to Keep Showing Up for those around me, regardless of time or cost.

E x