Month: February 2026

Oh, the Things I Don’t Know

I don’t know how to properly do my nails, my hair, or my makeup.

I don’t know how to invest in the stock market.

I don’t know how mirrors work.

I don’t know how to change my car’s oil, or empty the diaper pail, or mow the lawn because my husband has always done those things.

I don’t know how to ski.

I don’t know how to skateboard and I plan to keep it that way (though my husband would really love for me to learn).

I don’t know how to make the perfect cup of tea or how to brew a pot of coffee.

I don’t know how to grow a garden.

I don’t know how to hold back tears and I don’t know how to hide it when I’m angry or hurt.

I don’t know how to speak French and that’s something I’ve always wanted to learn to do.

I don’t know how to save for college for a kid who is a freshman when I should have started saving when she was a baby and I don’t know how to fill out the FAFSA, or when college applications begin, or how to find the best scholarships.

I don’t know how time can pass so quickly and we’re already talking about colleges and careers. (Wasn’t she just that toddler in those brand new glasses calling her bathing suit “baby soup”?)

I don’t know to pick things up with my toes (though much of my family does).

I don’t know how to sew.

I don’t know how to stop comparing myself when I see someone else who has or does something better than me.

There are lots of things I don’t know actually: how to cook ground beef, how to do the splits, if I’ll ever make it to all seven continents, if I’m good (and I mean really good) at photography, whether God exists, how long I’ll live, how to clean the furnace filter, why I never got to have the home birth I wanted so badly, if quitting nursing school was the right decision, how to draw faces, how to clean a shower the right way, how to fold a fitted sheet, and on. And on. And on.

There are so many things I don’t know.

But there are also a few things I do, like how to love my people, how to be a friend who shows up, and how to say I’m sorry. I know how to take photos fully on Manual, how to find good light, how to do a double exposure. I know how to keep trying to be the best mom I can be, even when I mess up. I know how to save money when traveling by using points and miles. I know how to plan an epic vacation. I know how to pick out a book that my 6th grader will love. I know how to organize a closet and how to follow a recipe. I know how to write when I’m inspired and I know that what makes a good writer is writing every day, even when you’re not feeling inspired. I know how to do a cartwheel. I know how to balance my checkbook. I know a good friend when I see one. I know how to make a cheesecake.I know love is not always flashy or loud, but it’s gentle and forgiving, determined and persistent, steady and always able to recover if both parties are willing.

So I do know a few things. And the rest, I guess, I’ll learn as I grow. I’ll learn as I go.

Or I won’t.

And that’s okay too.

Note: this was inspired by a post by @rachel.larsen.weaver.

I Want to Remember You This Way, 2.0

I want to remember you this way.

Two years old,

blonder hair

that sometimes still curls at your neck,

round cheeks,

thinner thighs

but still soft,

still squishy.

Your blue eyes still sparkle.

You still drink mama milk.

You still reach for me.

But now,

you wave with a stiff arm and a jerky hand

when you leave the room.

“Byyyee!”

as you blow a kiss.

You yell my name

“Mommy! Mommy!”

(no longer “Mama”)

when you want my attention,

over and over,

louder and louder,

demanding that I watch,

that I acknowledge,

or that I give you something

I already said “no” to.

You say things like

“no!” and “yessss” and “peeease.”

You tell me frogs say “wibbit!”

and monkeys say “oo oo ah ah.”

You tell me you want “mawkies”

(ahem, milkies)

and “kindy”

(ahem, candy)

all the time.

I’m still waiting to hear “I love you”

but when I ask if you love Mama,

you nod your head emphatically

with raised eyebrows

and wide eyes

that tell me you really do.

You love to jump in puddles,

to point at “wooms” (worms)

and to look for airplanes.

You love to hide in plain sight,

to have marshmallow tea parties,

to run from Daddy in the living room,

and to take your “shush” (brush) to bed.

And while you sleep,

you still clutch your “Zhuzhu” (Goosey)

in a pudgy hand.

And when I’m gone and then I come home,

you run to me,

wrap your arms around my knees,

and say “Mommeeeee!”

as though I’ve been away too long

and our reunion is what

you’ve been waiting for.

You make friends with a simple smile and wave,

you hug strangers with your whole body,

and your face lights up when you see a dog,

or a cat,

or a bird.

You lean close to look people in the eye.

You notice things.

You love with abandon.

And that is what gets me —

your willingness,

your open heart,

your innocence.

You don’t know

that people are being shot for no reason,

that grandmas go missing,

that daddies sometimes die.

You don’t know any pain greater than

falling off the coffee table.

Yet.

I know it’s coming.

I know you’ll some day ask, “why?”

I know some day you’ll say that you hate me.

I know that some day,

the pain will run deeper,

the tears will fall harder,

living will hurt.

But for now,

I want to remember you this way.

I want to remember your softness,

your giggles,

your wispy curls and chubby cheeks,

your pouty lips,

your acceptance,

your sweetness.

Most of all,

I want to remember

the way you lead with your heart,

arms open,

ready to love,

forever believing

that everyone is worthy of it,

and capable of it

too.