In a moment which I am less than proud of, I found myself wondering this weekend, “Do my children even CARE if I show up?  His baseball games, her dance competitions, the Sunday mornings for church choir, the pre-Sadie Hawkins dance photos, the orchestra concerts, the middle school plays, the little league practices? Most times, I feel like I’m the one dragging everyone out of bed, into the car, and to whatever scheduled activity is on the calendar.  Begging them to shower, forcing them to eat, pushing them into coats, hustling them into the car.  I’m usually happy to GO (although somedays I’d rather stay in my sweats and watch Project Runway) but often, they sure don’t seem happy at all.  This confuses me.  I have washed the leotards, stain-treated the baseball jerseys, refrigerated the Gatorade, packed the chairs, packed the snacks, packed the recently-restrung violin, but the people-to-whom-I-am-referring act like I am forcing them to attend their chosen events.  Am I a shortstop?  No, I have good hand-eye coordination, but I don’t have the arm.  Do I take pre-pointe class?  Oh, I assure you, I have not the balance nor the legs.  Am I in the youth church choir?  Well, I sometimes have a fresh-faced look about me, but no.  Can’t pass for 2nd grade.

     To be clear, again, I’ve gladly signed up for the mom-job, and when at all possible, I don’t miss a thing.  I cheer, I take photos, I cry in the pew, I apply the sunblock, I purchase the corsage for the dance, I often drive across town five times in a day delivering children and sneaking peeks at whatever they are doing.  Yesterday, I attended a dance competition that pushed me to a new level of “are you kidding me, Moms?”  But I am there, bending my neck to the point of nearly breaking to see my kiddos do their thing.  Uploading photos, downloading video.

     Do my children care?  Do they notice?  

     My parents went to everything my brothers and I ever did.  Every play, every baseball game, every concert.  My mom sold tickets to my high school musicals during my lunch period, and my dad stayed with me through endless community theater rehearsals for weeks of spring evenings during my eighth-grade year.   They were band parents, PTA parents, coaches.  They were backstage, they were chaperones, they were on the sidelines.  And I knew it.  Did I expect it?  Did I take advantage of it?  Or was it just the way my family functioned?   Was it comforting to look up and see the face of my mom or dad in the crowd?  Oh, to be sure.  Did I always acknowledge that with a smile or a grateful phrase?  Oh, I’m sure not.  Quite the opposite, more than likely.

     God, when I feel unappreciated, remind me to think about how some of my best memories are of my parents always being there, programs in hand, camera in bag, probably coming straight from work, from a meeting, or from a long day that I wasn’t even aware of.  But Lord, I’m aware now!  Gently tell me that my husband and I are trying to give support to my children everyday.  Give me strength (the actual physical strength, please) to keep pushing them into the van.  I will keep showing up (even if feeling slightly unwelcome) at Middle School lunch periods, driving hither and dither and then some, and continue cheering like a maniac from the bleachers, because it’s what I learned to do from my parents long ago.  And I’m pretty sure it’s how this family functions.

 Note:  It Takes a Village

     When I remember all of my own rehearsals and plays, concerts and events, I can’t help but remember that it wasn’t just my own parents in those seats.  Aunts and uncles, grandparents and friends, the Vockells.  (I love you, Suzie. )  All supportive adults who loved me, cared for me, nurtured me.  My children are also lucky enough to have many grown-ups who show up.  So a big  “AMEN!” to my village who supports and loves my children from the seats and from the bleachers.  I love you, my village people.  And THAT is how my family functions.