Why I Feel Like a Queen This Mother's Day

by Amy Ruhlin

These later years of motherhood have gifts waiting for us, of that I am sure. I don't know yet what they are, but I stay alert.

My daughter, and my son, are both in their early 20s. They are smitten with the idea of endless possibilities and surprising opportunities. They are embarking on their young, exciting lives, and heeding the call: "Come on in! The water is fine. You'll love it." They wade in, eagerly, waist deep. I strain to watch, standing safely along the shoreline, my feet firmly planted in the sand.

As I watch them dive in, I remind myself that this is now their time. We boomer parents had our own spotlight for many years. But now, we stand a bit in the shadows, and if we have the courage and wisdom, we will at least try to be the elders, the ones who have the sense to get off of center stage and instead, offer a supporting role. Comes a time, boomers.

My son recently took me to his college art studio where we ran into some of his fellow students. He eagerly introduced me: "This is my Mom," he said. I loved the way he said "Mom" -- there was gladness, gratitude and dare I say, pride in his voice. His hip, young friends' eyes lit up. "Your Mom! Wow, has she seen your work yet?" "Not yet!' he replied. When they left, my son and I walked through the studio together, while he gently and humbly pointed out some of his art. I could tell that it meant something to him to show his mom his work. And somehow, for the first time, instead of feeling like an older mother, I felt like a Queen.

It wasn't like when I was a younger mom. I didn't feel needed. I didn't feel like I had to have all of the answers. Or that I was taking care of him. Instead, I felt recognized. I felt appreciated. I felt honored.

So, give it up boomer mamas. Our supporting role is the best one yet.

All hail the Queen on this Mother's Day.

Why Your 20-Year-Old Self Wants You To STFU

by Amy Ruhlin

It seems popular these days to read headlines such as, "10 Things I Would Tell My 20-Year-Old-Self." Or, "5 Words of Advice I Wish I'd Followed In My Youth." When I read these articles, I can almost hear my younger self: "please, please STFU. Can't you just simply love me?"

As if we all somehow were supposed to know better. As if we all somehow, were just awful. Because we did insanely stupid things. Because we made dumb mistakes. Because we were really ridiculous, and oh my GOD, what were we thinking?

As if we were not enough. As if things could have somehow been any different than they were. As if we were not doing the best that we could.

In my thirties, I became a mother. And motherhood swallowed me whole.

I was a good young mother. A good enough mother. I don't think for one second that I was better than any other mother, but I worked hard at motherhood. I gave it my all.

I loved having young children in the house. I loved having my heart pried open by the sight of small, precious hands and the depth of wide, innocent eyes. Some days, it was just a lot of hard work, but mostly, it was a blissful time. My happiest years, when everything, for the first time, felt so right.

In fact, it all felt so right, that I think I decided, on some unconscious level, that everything before, including my younger self, must have somehow been wrong.

So, I left that part of me behind. I ditched her. I pushed her underground. I lost her. I think a lot of us do.

She hadn't understood anything, after all. She sweated the small stuff. She didn't have her priorities straight. She didn't know to enjoy the little things. She actually cared what other people thought of her. How silly she was! How foolish and shallow she had been.

But, as my kids grew up, and prepared to leave the nest, my younger self seemed to resurface with a vengeance.

Once, when I was cleaning out a closet, I stumbled upon my college degrees and suddenly found myself in a rage, waving my diplomas in the air like a wild woman, and shouting, "I HAVE my Masters degree!" Some days, I would find myself lounging on the sofa, eating greasy potato chips and flipping through magazines, just like it was 1982.

For a while, I struggled. Hadn't I  gotten myself all together in my 30s and 40s and left my foolishness behind? Was I going crazy? Was it all just hormonal? Was I having a midlife crisis?

Eventually, I realized, that in some strange way, I was making peace with my past. I realized that my younger self, like most all of our young selves, had actually kicked ass. I realized that in the midst of all of her flaws and lack of wisdom, she got me here.

I realized that making peace with our past, with our crazy younger selves, works so much better than beating up on them or giving them advice. It makes us whole. It allows us to move forward and to age with gratitude and tolerance for ourselves and for others.

I think my 20-year-self wants to write an article. I'm not yet sure what all she has to say, but I think I know her title: "10 Reasons Your 20-Year-Old Self Wants You To STFU."

The Best Lesson My Kids Taught Me

by Amy Ruhlin

 

I remember standing in my kitchen as a young mother, staring out the window and saying out loud to no one in particular, “ there's got to be a better way.” I had recently walked away from my career and much to my own surprise, decided to stay home with my children. My decision wasn't based on the notion that staying home was the more noble choice, but rather, on my inability to balance both a career and motherhood with any semblance of grace or sanity. I thought that simply by staying home, motherhood would somehow be easier.

But in those early years of learning to be a parent, I found myself approaching my days at home in the same way that I had at my work--as a series of tasks to be completed so that I could enjoy a reward at some later point in time: a quiet hour, time to myself, maybe a nap. These are all good things, actually, some of the best things, but I knew that I was missing something important.

I once read that living with children is like living with a Zen master. This was a truth for me, or at least the way that I chose to experience the privilege that is motherhood. Standing in my kitchen all those years ago, I realized that being a parent wasn't just about taking care of and giving.  It was also about receiving. And in the midst of the hard, daily work of raising children, I began to take in all that they were offering me.

I learned to sit on a curbside for hours with my 2-year-old son, and feel contentment just by counting the different types of trucks that passed by. I learned to see beauty in unexpected places, especially in a rock house that my daughter carefully created, complete with cardboard furnishings and name tags for each member of her rock family. I remembered the joy of feeling weightless in space, as I joined them on our trampoline, and I felt delight as I watched them play in the puddles of a pouring rain. I learned to stay in the moment where children naturally live.

It felt like someone had given me a present wrapped up in shiny paper with a large bow and said, "Here, open this, it will remind you of what you have forgotten and give you what you seek." And it did. My children showed me the better way, by reminding me that the rewards are right there in the moment itself.