i have nothing to offer except folding your shirts

Dear K-

I’m sorry about your parents. Don’t let them keep you from being yourself and finding your own personal satisfaction in what you do. I’ve been blessed with fairly supportive parents; a father who showed up for every single game, drove me to the endless tournaments on every weekend of summer, and sat in the backyard for hours while I hurled softballs at speeds upwards of 60 mph at his body. Sometimes I worry about the day when he won’t be around anymore. Then who will be left to be proud of me? Who will be left that I will actually want to be proud of me?

I’m sorry they weren’t there for you. There’s a lot of room for letdown when it comes to parenting. The ladies at work are older than me, and most have children or currently have a child growing in their belly. So, they talk a lot of parenting and raising children. Every single trivial detail is highlighted and spun out into a grandiose tale of personal triumph or humiliating defeat, no matter how old the child. Ethan threw a tantrum because he didn’t want to go to daycare and mommy lost her temper and yelled a bit too harshly and now she feels sorry for it but knows she can’t soften her position on the matter. Drew brought his girlfriend home and they got drunk in the basement together at his parents’ house and father caught them together on the couch. They wished he wouldn’t have dropped out of college, wish he would have stuck with it and tried a little harder.

The woeful stories actually don’t worry me as much as the happy ones. What about when Ethan brought his mommy flowers from the yard and told her he loved her? What about when he gave her the picture he made at school and she oohed and ahhed at his talents? When Emily asked to first start shaving her legs and her mother realized her little girl was growing into a woman, why do I get more upset at these anecdotes rather than the miseries?

Because I don’t think I have it in me to pull it off. Do I have the patience and the enthusiasm? Will I suddenly gain the enthusiasm that I currently find lacking in my approach? I don’t think I can jump and clap whenever a tooth is newly lost, grabbing my pocketbook and eagerly anticipating the evening when I can slip currency under a babe’s pillow. What if I just bury them in the yard? I’m not strong enough to continually smile with every gift of a macaroni necklace, or a glittered construction paper picture frame, or a mudpie. It makes me feel empty and distant. I wish I could be the supportive mother, the ever faithful source of strength, comfort, and advice. But no one is perfect, especially me. There are too many little factors beyond my control, and at the moment that prospect terrifies me greatly.

I will fold the shirts, cook the meals, sew on the missing buttons. I will someday be a suitable wife. But I'm not sure yet that I could be a proper mother.

I’m glad to hear you enjoyed the coast. You know I am always a strong proponent of travel and exploring new locations.

Head up, head up,
-K