IMG_8993How will my sons remember me?  Will they remember when I was at home, at their school, on stage, a certain role in a movie or maybe screaming like a crazed lunatic at someone that (I felt) might do them harm?

I know how I remember my mom.  And no, she’s not gone.  She’s alive and well and living in Maine (too far, but surrounded by family).  I think of her often, especially now that I’m a parent too.

She was our room Mom.  Not always mine, but either my sister’s or mine.  She was the ‘Picture Lady’.  She would bring classic paintings from the library to our classrooms and explain them to us.  Brilliant right?  I knew she was amazing back then, but I had no idea how amazing until now.

I remember falling on the playground one day, skinning my knee and tearing the white tights that so perfectly matched my purple and white striped leg warmers…  I was devastated, and ‘poof’, she was already there.

I have boys.  They are in 1st and 2nd grade.  The same age I was when I began stockpiling memories of how unbelievably involved and dedicated my mother was.

I was never a baby or kid person, never dreamt of the Mommy mode, hoping to start a family and fall into a place that would make my Momma proud.  Just wasn’t in my DNA.  And I wonder about DNA – more often than most.

Being adopted, and raised by the consummate mother, lovely and soft spoken, a picture of perfect parenting was something I constantly appreciated but never wanted to emulate… until now.  But the simple truth is, I just can’t.

I can’t stay calm and parent on.  I can’t bring in someone else’s art and try to explain what it means.  I can’t PTA without causing a ruckus.  I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to hold up the responsibility and schedule of being head room mom.

What I’ve found is that no one at their school expects me to.  My in-laws and husband don’t expect me to either.

The staff at my son’s school are beyond gracious and have allowed me to pop in with my camera to capture moments that most parents, unfortunately, will miss.  They’ve allowed me to be my son’s legs when his aide couldn’t be there.  I was welcomed into the festivities of a classroom holiday party so that I could help Dane participate, just a little bit more, during their ‘reindeer games’.

This week I was asked to share my love of theater with my oldest son’s class.  It was beyond exhilarating to see the same light in a seven year old’s eyes that I feel when I talk about the things that I love, the things that make me feel three decades younger but over 10 feet tall…

I don’t know how my boys will remember me but I hope they smile the same way that I do when I think of my Mom.  I hope they ‘remember me’ while I‘m still here. I hope they know that no matter what I share with the people around them that what I want the most is to make them proud and hopefully inspire them to want to be remembered too.