Happy Monday,  y’all.

It’s a quiet Monday here – one girl is off to school and one girl is in bed recovering from a weekend “boot camp” church retreat. Came home sick with a cold and no voice. She’s going on 13 hours of sleep right now. But I think it was worth it, given the stories she shared yesterday before she crashed – stories she told with a hoarse whisper, her voice gone from congestion, late nights and lots of singing and shouting. Stories of faith, of friendship and of precious memories that were made.

 

One of the other moms we waited with yesterday – watching for the parade of buses to pull into the church parking lot – mentioned that she realized Saturday night that her son was making memories all of his own for the very first time. Memories that she couldn’t share with him. It resonated with me and I thought about that last night as my girl chose what to share with us – and as I heard the gaps in the stories that were most likely not intentionally kept from us, but just not part of what she chose to share.

 

It’s bittersweet. This growing up thing.

I’m so proud of my girls and the young women they are becoming.

I love watching them realize they have thoughts and opinions of their own – and helping them to sort through those (and learn that it’s OK if they differ from ours)

I love seeing them stepping out into unknown things (like a weekend church retreat) and embracing the challenges and emerging successful.

While my young one was off on her adventures this weekend, the big one was hanging out with us.  She went to church with us on Saturday night to volunteer at an event – and the staff loved her and begged me to bring her back. They were so appreciative of her willingness to serve and to dive in and do whatever was needed.

 

And on Sunday morning I fought back tears of pride as I watched her dive into a mess – a borderline special needs little boy who was having a “moment” – and respond with kindness, compassion and grace.  She calmed him down, loved on him, and provided him a safe place to recover his dignity. And then she stayed close to make sure he was OK for the rest of the hour we were with him.  I started to intervene and as I saw that she had it under control I just stepped back and let her go.  That’s her gift – relating to kids with special needs – and she is really good at it.  She loves them, and they love her.  And I’m so proud of her for what she does with them.

So, this Monday morning, as I sit here and sip my tea and look out at the dewy front yard, I’m reflecting on my two girls – no longer my babies, but young women coming into their own.  And I’m thinking of how blessed we are and wondering how in the heck they turned out like this.  You know what I mean? Super Man and I were talking last night about how so much of parenting is an experiment – you do what you think is right at the time but you never really know.  The result is often years ahead of you. You just say a prayer and hope the choices YOU make in the moment help THEM to make the right choices themselves when the time comes.

It’s the hardest job I’ll ever have.

It wears you out and breaks your heart.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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