About twenty years ago, I started my first personal blog with grand aspirations to write about midlife and all things motherhood. When I told my mother the name of my blog, “Confessions of a Middle Aged Mom,” she laughed at me. “Honey,” she said, “you are a long way from being middle aged.” At the time, I was a 30-something stay-at-home mom raising two very young daughters. They were my life. My days were filled with the mundane chores of housework and grocery shopping and constant cleaning, and my calendar was filled with playdates and doctor appointments and enrichment classes for my girls. By the end of any given day, our family room looked like a cyclone had blown through with toys scattered everywhere. As someone who struggles with OCD, something I will write about in a future issues, this was a challenge for me, and by extension, for the rest of my family. Yet when I look back on those days, it is through rose-colored glasses. I miss the mess, the constant activity, the feeling of exhaustion and relief that accompanied tucking my girls in for the night, after bestowing goodnight kisses and hugs and caving in to their demands for extra story time and cuddles.
Now, my children are older. To respect their privacy, I won’t write about them (much!) except to say how proud I am of all their accomplishments and hard work and the young women they’ve become. The worries I had for them in their childhood mostly centered around their physical well-being: What am I giving them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? How do I get them to go to sleep without having to crawl out of their room? Are they signed up for enough activities to keep them from getting bored during the summer? Do they have clean clothes for school for the week? While these concerns were ever-present, in retrospect they seem less consuming to the worries I have for them now: Are they safe when they get behind the wheel? Will they be able to support themselves after college? Are they taking care of their health? Are they making the right relationship choices?
When I was growing up, I always knew I wanted to be a mother. That was never a question in my mind. Some of my earliest memories are of playing dolls with my friends in my childhood home. We transformed my bedroom and my brother’s bedroom, much to his dismay, into our private apartments with our baby dolls. We would write out letters to each other in crayon and “mail” them by sticking them on designated shelves in the linen closet in our hallway. We would make plans to meet outside with our dolls in strollers, or take them to the “movies” in our family room, where we watched classics like “Pippi Longstocking,” “Mary Poppins,” or “The Never Ending Story.” Playing the role of mother was practice for the future I envisioned. And in that future, while I was older with children of my own, my parents would remain unchanged, filling the same role in my life that they had in childhood: a source of constant support and advice, a safe place to fall, taking care of me just as I would take care of my children. For a while, this was the case. For nearly twenty beautiful years, our extended family made incredible memories together. However, in the past few years, (and this year in particular), I noticed a shift. I witnessed for myself how fast life can change and what it means to see your parents get older, and ultimately, how it feels to lose a beloved parent. Suddenly, I’ve found myself “sandwiched” between taking care of my own family and taking care of my parents.
In March, I turned 50. My husband threw a beautiful surprise party for me, and I had a blast surrounded by my friends and family. Now, when I look back at the title of my first blog, I understand why my mom laughed. I was nowhere near middle-aged at the time. I was still so young and embarking on the adventure of motherhood. Now, it’s safe to say that title applies, and I embrace it proudly.
In my column, I plan to write about all of this: reflections on my early years as a mother, being a mother now, discovering myself as a person once again, my role of daughter, loss and grief, joy and celebration, …and all of this through the lens of my Jewish faith. While not every column will involve Judaism directly, it is what defines me as a person. It has become the basis of my writing. It is woven into the fabric of my soul.
I invite you to enjoy my column and thank you for reading!
