The Who That Matters

Inflate. My oldest daughter stayed at home this weekend. She said she needed to inflate with her family. I love that word. It's a new metaphor for me and perfectly said. Tiff inflated by taking pictures of her family in the fallen leaves in her backyard. She lives in the mountains where leaves leave their rack earlier than they do in our valley. My leaves are still green with flecks of yellow. We still sit on the deck wearing a sweatshirt. The red glow of the heater drips down on us as we watch the World Series with a bucket of peanuts and a beer. It's different for Tiff. Things are a little complicated right now and the strength of her family is built up by sitting in a pile of leaves that haven't gone musty quite yet. How wonderful is that simple reality. We may see the familial glow in their Christmas card this year. 

We have a big family built of parcels from here and there, and when we get together, we glow. We light up the sky from Idaho to Vegas. Every facet of the one and many are magnified in a spectrum of the darkest places to the most joyous. We are pieces with a common denominator of love and we are a misfit family of yours, mine and his.

We finally took the significant turn this year from being separate parcels to one family. It took me awhile to give up the thought of being a mother to a 40-year-old. When the girls raised their arms in a sink-or-swim wave, I finally stepped up and became what they needed--a Mom.

Count Them. We have ten children. We don't differentiate between in-laws; his, mine or yours, and an inheritance divided by ten isn't hitting the big booty for any of them, but we hope it's a confirmation that each are loved equally. Some get more face time than others because of geography. But the last year has been one of the most painful and joyous for me because this mother finally got it. I learned years ago that the most valuable gift you can give a daughter is self-confidence. I relearned it this year.

SIDEBAR: Twenty-plus Christmas Stockings hang from every inflated surface in our house. We hang them from Christmas hooks on our two mantles, couch tables, and TV cabinet. And eight dogs' stockings sit on the floor. The grandkids' count most and a couple of them get to decide which stocking each of us get that year. They paperclip each name to the stocking because one year, Santa had gotten confused when the post-it notes fell on the floor. The homemade camo fleece is the most favorite, then simple sheepskin and the grand-daughters cross their fingers for the leopard one. The expensive elaborate needlepoint ones are last to go and usually get assigned to a grandparent. The only ones that are constant are the big gold one and the big red one. That's Papa's and Kelly's; if we give each other a gift, it is in the stocking.

When we started Stockings, we made fleece. There were just a few of us and I cut the pattern from a page from the newspaper and made a couple seams. Those get a small orange in the toe because I didn't gauge size very well. (More things stick out of the top than the beautiful ones.)  Delightfully, we keep growing, so we add one each year. We do toothbrushes, an orange, candy and something significantly small. Scarily, the oldest will get a gift card to a gas station this year. Last year, all Twenty-something agreed that a family trust fund to pay for college books would be a good trade for a crappy game or widget. We still do books for everyone because we believe you can live without gas, but you can't live without literature.

What matters is most often magnified at Christmas. Our last Christmas was exceptionally joyful because everyone was there. The glow could be seen from Space. Then...

...And as the year progressed, I found myself without my Dad--hard enough by itself, but then I sat helplessly watching J.D. revive his Dad on the living room floor--I was frantic to let my children know that they matter.  Because of that, I finally listened to the screech coming from our daughters. Four of them have lost their father. Step-fathers are a good trade, but the importance of first-fathers can never be replaced. And while I was listening, I learned what is in their hearts. Remarkably, it is the same as mine. I WANT TO BE SIGNIFICANT. And I want to be acknowledged by you.

No matter how old or wise, or experienced, or how well we fake joy, we all need recognition that we matter. And from my experience, my Mom is who provides that. I hadn't transferred that reality to all of my children. I'm so proud of them but I've been a half-hearted mother to nine of them because I didn't insert myself and wear the parent pin. I've attached it to my lapel and to get it off, you'll need to pull my heart out. It's there to stay.