My youngest is leaving for college in the fall. Sweet baby girl full of life and joy, and she will be taking all of that with her on her stop in her journey. All the hard work, grit, celebrations, and lessons, most of them outside the classroom, and now the chapter is ending. The page is turning, and how I wish I could pause time. The great thief who, when I was busy running from here to there, was slowly unwinding childhood.

I know the next chapter will have joy, and if we don’t grow, we die. I know it is a tremendous gift to be here now. And still, my Momma’s heart aches. I don’t want this part to be over.

Highschool and football games, hearing the cheers and drum line from down the street, prom and promposals, early morning Starbucks runs, exams, projects, and the dash of energy and joy as my children run through the house to grab a book, grab the car keys, and then are off with their friends.

I don’t want a quiet home. I don’t want a sterile house without the remnants of my children around. I want flashcards, textbooks, and a laptop on the coffee table, and all the shoes strewn by the front door, dishes in the kitchen, all the open bags of snacks in the pantry, and dirty laundry sitting by the washing machine, asking politely to be washed. I want to hear laughter, chatter, and the TV with someone on the couch, the dog by their side, watching Gilmore Girls on repeat. I want to hear doors open with my children walking through them, and the sounds of a car pulling into the driveway bringing them home. I want to hear Mom what’s for dinner, and can we run to Trader Joe’s, and have you seen my history book. I don’t want this to end. I was not made for sterility and silence and letting go.

I don’t know how you do this. I don’t know how to turn this page. And I trust, as all the mothers before me, somehow you do. I know there will be future joys and the home will swell and fill again on college breaks and summers. And it will be like Christmas morning when the house is full. And the shoes are by the door, and I am once again a mother.

Written by Mom, whose heart is aching with this part ending

The applicant’s version

Nice to meet you, where you been? You can show me incredible things. Coffee bars, sushi, quad, and I thought oh my God look at that dorm, you may be my next forlorn, admission’s a gamble, wanna play?

New buildings, business school, I can read you like a magazine. So hey, let’s be friends, I am dying to see how this one ends, here’s my app and my scores, you can make me want go here with a tour on a weekend.

So it’s gonna be forever, or it’s gonna go down in flames. I will know when accepted or rejected if it was worth the pain of another college essay exclaiming how great you are, how much I want to go there, and more examples of me a star.

And I wonder, am I out of the woods yet, am I out of the woods yet, am I out of the woods yet, am I out of the woods? Am I in the clear yet, am I in the clear yet, am I in the clear yet, in the clear yet good.

Remember SATs and super scores, 20 essays, and clubs galore, I started crying baby please no more when I looked up, there were more. There were more.

Remember when applications were a breeze, and college admissions was made to please, didn’t need to build a rocket and go to the moon, have a tech start-up at 10 to make them swoon. But the monsters turned out to be the cost, 80k and dining plans, room and board, I am so lost.

So I need to calm down, stop looking around. And know it works out, stop the self-doubt.

I’m in my room it’s a typical Tuesday night, going through essays that I don’t like, trying to make them more concrete, provide examples so they are complete. If you can see the one I’m the one who you should accept, been here all along so why can’t you see, please accept me, please accept me.

It’s me, hi, I’m the problem it’s me. At application time, everybody agrees. I stare directly at the football teams but never at retention. It is exhausting trying to plot your life at 18 and heed convention.

But I keep cruising, can’t stop, won’t stop moving, it’s like I got this voice in my mind saying it’s gonna be alright. Cause the students gonna apply apply apply. And the colleges gonna deny deny deny.

Baby I just gonna know, know, know, the right one will work out. Yes it will work out. And I will have accepts, accepts, accepts. And will choose, choose, choose, no regrets. And will love what loves me back, it will work out, yes it will work out.

Lyrics and songs by Taylor Swift

College adaption written by Swifty, Mary Kate O’Malley

I have over 53 decorative pillows. In one house. They rotate seasonally with some sprinkled in the living room, the front room, and bedrooms, others in the basement for decoration, and others in the basement in storage. Seasons change and they retreat or debut. When the leaves turn crimson and orange, and drift from trees like large colorful snowflakes, out comes burnt orange velvet pillows, orange buffalo check, navy and gold which are later traded for tartan plaids and red Christmas pillows, followed by winterscape. When the days grow longer, the leaves reborn and the world is inchworm green, out comes yellow and white stripes, blue summer sky checks, hot pink and bright turquoise.

There may be more (there are) but some things you are better off not knowing like how many seasonal pillows you own. Yes Marie Kondo, it brings me tidings of great joy to own over 50 decorative pillows.

Christmas pillows take a large chunk of the stash. Once in my early 20s, a dream was born while casually flipping through a Pottery Barn catalog with winter-themed bedrooms complete with Christmas tartan sheets and matching decor woven throughout the room. I knew at that moment one day I would have coordinated Christmas bedrooms where the sheets matched the decor which matched the pillows, matched the season. Now every year on Black Friday while Americans are pouring into malls across this great land fulfilling their supersaver dreams buying smart TVs and tablets, and cashmere sweaters for 19.99, I am living my dream of coordinated bedroom decor. The regular flannel sheets are traded for flannel red and green plaids, grey with reindeer, and soft blues with ice skates and snow, matching pillows and bedroom decor to complete the room and my Pottery Barn dreams.

An unrealized dream is to own the Spode Thanksgiving china. My heart skips a beat every time I see it. I watch it go on sale every December but the practical side of me won’t allow it. After all, I don’t even host Thanksgiving so there is that. And fighting against gluttony, I already have 2 sets of Christmas china which comes out before Thanksgiving along with the Santa mug collection. I have over 32 crates of seasonal storage in my basement. By death cleaning standards I am abhorrent. By my standards, some have the NFL and the Final Four, I have pillows.

I watched the Netflix series on the Minimalists. If they toured my house they would grimace at the plethora of holiday decor. Or maybe they would be proud of me when I would tell them this past spring at Target I found soft blue felt bunny pillows. And I didn’t purchase them. Even though it is the only holiday without decorative pillows. I lifted with reverence and grace, spring pastels with pompoms and my heart soured. And recalling the bunnies that multiply like bunnies all over my house, with great restraint and strength I didn’t know I had, I lifted the pillows from my shopping cart and with trembling hands placed them back on the shelf. I walked away, my heart shattering into a million pieces. Only to have my sister offer me a large blue check Easter bunny pillow the following week. I know I manifested that pillow. And the dear Lord above knew what bunny pillows meant to me and wanted me to have it.

Just last week in Adli, with a will of steel and grit I didn’t purchase the glass retro Christmas trees. Even though for years I have admired them, and longed for them. It took all the determination I could muster to push through, to keep walking, to not give up or give in with my eyes straight ahead. I dared not turn for one last glance knowing I didn’t have the strength to resist such beauty.

I don’t know the genesis of my holiday decor obsession. Maybe it started with my doll house when I was a young girl. Or maybe it’s too many Martha Stewart magazines. Or maybe I feel your home is an extension of you, and life should be celebrated. And I want my family to feel peace, calm, and happiness when they enter.

My grandmother had seasonal drapes. I remember her dining room, where we would gather every Sunday for brunch after mass, all aunts and uncles and cousins, brothers and sisters gathered together, elbow to elbow about the table. During the spring and summer, she had light breezy drapes and in the fall they would be taken down, and replaced with rich heavy velvet ones caccooning us in dark earthy tones. I felt a thrill when she changed the drapes. The ceremony of a new season, a new start, a new holiday to celebrate. Maybe one day my children will see Byer’s Choice Carolers and know the magic of the season has arrived. Or catch out of the corner of their eye wooden nutcrackers lined at attention. And they will remember the yearly tradition of the Nutcracker with the Pennsylvania Ballet and our collection standing watch. They will see needlepoint Christmas stockings and feel a wave of nostalgia remembering Christmas morning and rushing down the stairs to see what treasures the man in the red suit left them. Or see ceramic bunnies and recall baskets filled with treats, candy, and love.

And so dear Marie Kondo, and Minimalists. I hear you. I get it. I love cleaning out a junk drawer and closet and feel the rush of satisfaction of reducing and donating unused items. But I draw the line at my pilgrims, my pumpkins and ceramic jack-o-lanterns, my turkeys, my shamrock pillow, and leprechauns. Life is for the living. Celebrate what is before you, bunny pillows and all.

written by Mary Kate O’Malley

I forgot, or pushed it away, or denied it, or didn’t want to think about how I will pack up her things and we get in the car and drive to college where I will drop her off. Somehow I forgot that saying good bye is part of the deal.

I am not sure how I will manage the empty bedroom miraculously tidy for a teenager, or the unoccupied seat at the dinner table, the empty spot in the car, not hearing her soft voice, and hear her chiding with her brother and sister, her grace, her poise, presence. She is my peace child, born wise and sage and full of grace. That peace beats in the heart of this home. I scarcely know how I will manage without it.

This child, this beautiful child that I longed for, and prayed for, who has grown to a beautiful young woman and at times I pause in awe that she is mine, and have no other explanation than the grace of God.

I cried at preschool graduation and kindergarten to follow, and every moving up ceremony since then… and I suppose this is why it takes 18 years to prepare for this – the asks keep getting bigger.

This is life isn’t it, the journey of a mother, love indescribable, and in amazement you watch these creatures grow wings more beautiful and bold than you could ever imagine. And though you want to whisper stay, just a bit longer stay, you open that magnificent door to great unknown and declare fly, beautiful child, fly.

Written by Mary Kate O’Malley

For the teenagers, because you are never too old for an Easter basket

I used to think that when my kids were past the age of believing I would feel remorse and saddened with the magic being aged out. And the wonderful thing is that I don’t miss it at all. I enjoy Easter baskets, Christmas stockings and gifts from Santa just as much as when they were young, with a lot more credit and open conversations. Giving is giving, and is always a gift to the bestower.

Having to explain the Easter bunny was always a bit of a stretch anyway. How did he get into the house? And he was life sized? But a bunny? How did he know what you would like? Did he watch you like Santa? So many questions and no good answers. I remember as a child being scared of the Easter bunny. It feels more like a plot twist to one of the horror movies my teens watch than soft and cuddly. A human sized bunny waits until dark and enters your home while everyone is sleeping…

Aside from the candy, here are some other last minute teen Easter basket ideas:

• I am one for traditions, some families have the giant eggs, I have always opted for the large chocolate bunnies in their baskets. Babs, my favorite instagram sensation says you need 2 years for something to be a tradition. We are well engrained with coloring Easter eggs, something we still do, and large chocolate bunnies in their baskets.
• I like to streamline and think about items I can get for everyone. One year it was basketballs, or practical items like chargers, this year and most years their baskets contain Gatorade water bottles. These disappear like socks in the dryer and so while spring sports are kicking off it is always good to have extras.
• My daughters asked for the Rare Beauty by Selena Gomez liquid blush, some colors already sold out in Sephora and online. The beauty of teen baskets is they can tell you what they want, and don’t want to avoid returns and exchanges.
• Because I keep things even, my son is getting a monetary contribution in the same amount for the x box.
• Cell phone chargers, ear pods or portable chargers are always useful.
• This year my kids are getting socks! They disappear like the Gatorade water bottles.
• I have large hair clips for my daughter and combs for my son (trying to keep it balanced even though it really isn’t).
• Bath and beauty products are always a good filler
• Cell phone cases
• Journals or books
• Gift cards to their favorite coffee or sandwich shop
• Electronic toothbrushes to balance out all of the sugar

Happy Easter to you and yours!!

Marykate O’Malley

Because the Eagles are in the Superbowl, a repost. What will you do when you meet your kairos.

Fly Eagles Fly!

***

I bought the tickets months ago thinking… January is quiet. January is sleepy. January is when you can enjoy a show and relish it which can be hard in the midst of the Christmas bustle… So I bought the tickets. And later realized the little voice in the back of my head whispering… there is going to be something that night came to fruition. Feeling tres miserable realizing I bought the tickets to Les Miserable for the same night as the Eagles playoff game. And like any time I dismissed the little voice in the back of my head, it was right. C’est tres vrai, Les Miserable.

I called the theater and tried to move the date but that meant seats spread apart and to be honest I seem to care more about this than anyone. Me. Who still doesn’t even understand football. What are downs anyway? And I don’t want to sound critical, especially of something I don’t understand, but it seems like a lot of time is wasted during football games. A lot of stopping the game, setting up plays, time outs, more time outs, halftime, the referees stopping everything to discuss a play. I think they could shave off at least an hour if they took a step back and really evaluated it. But then I guess that means less commercials and … anyway… Me who cringes with every tackle, and says things that are met with eye rolls and ‘Mommmm’ like ‘someone is going to get really hurt. I mean look at that poor guy’… ‘was that really needed?’, ‘isn’t there an unnecessary roughness rule?’ They need some Mom refs out there. Things would change pretty quickly. 

I didn’t even watch the last game. We went to our closest friends in Eagle regalia and my friend and I adjourned to the dining room where we poured over photos from high school and college. And read letter after letter from friends, and beaus, and family laughing until we had to dry our eyes, remembering us at 17, and 18, and 20. We emerged from our visit down memory lane thrilled to hear the Eagles won.

Philadelphia is electric with Eagles love. They sang Fly Eagles Fly at the start of my spin class this morning and during the morning announcements at the schools. Septa buses beating GO EAGLES between stops, shop windows, stores, even Starbucks has a specialty drink displaying Eagle pride. I wore my Eagles shirt to mass, buttoned my jacket to the top not allowing my impropriety to show. And when they asked us to pray for our special intentions I bowed my head and asked for the Eagles to win.

The priest spoke of kairos, and decisions, action, opportunity meeting divine timing and happiness. Kairos, the idea turning in my head all day, what will you do when you meet your kairos. Tonight maybe the Eagles will find theirs. But whatever the score, whoever the victor, it is has been an exhilarating season, and in my book we are always winners. So while I sit and drink in some of the most touching and beautiful music ever written, my heart will be beating green.

You have to admit – the Eagles have a great song! FLY EAGLES FLY!!

Written by Mary Kate O’Malley

Dear College Admissions Officer,

You are reading my daughter’s application. One of thousands. Reading about her grades, her activities, volunteer initiatives, clubs, jobs and life over the past 4 years. Measuring it against your rubric of academics and grit, and well rounded time management machine to decide if she is the right person for your incoming freshman class.

And what is most important about her has nothing to do with her GPA and AP classes, her ACT score and athletic pursuits.

My daughter has eyes that shine like stars. Deep blue from her grandmothers and great grandmothers before her, that reflect everything around her. They are bright and laughing or stormy and piercing but they are always true, and communicate everything.

She is hard on herself. Got that from me. And she works incredibly hard. Also from me. She is meticulously neat, something I greatly appreciate as you can imagine. And determined. Beneath the sweetness is a steel interior.

If you ask her, she will astound you with all she shares. You need to ask. You should ask more.

She is fiercely protective of her younger brother and sister. She does great impersonations and has us peeling in laughter with her quirky wit. She has a lovely singing voice, like a lark. She is driven and goal oriented, a high achiever. But she isn’t about the accolades and rewards. She does her best because that is how she is wired. Even if no one is watching, it is how she is wired.

She has a laugh that starts in her belly and comes up through her shoulders and if it is really funny – her head goes back and it’s like magic hearing that laugh ring out. I could listen to it all day.

Nothing gets in her way. If it needs to get done, she will get it done. And no fuss about it. There is a practicality to her that is beyond her age. As her aunt would say, I would trust her with a mortgage payment she is that responsible. Or your children or your pets as are entrusted to her in her various jobs.

She sees things as they are. And she won’t tolerate not living up to what is the right and just thing to do.

She appreciates breakfast in the morning and likes her ice coffee with almond milk and lots of ice. I wonder how she will manage breakfast next year. And my heart breaks a little knowing it won’t be me making it for her.

She has a slow burn and when it went too far you will know. She is a loyal friend with a listening ear, the one everyone calls for guidance and support. She is my girl. My daughter. Maybe you future student.

She has taught me so much. She made me a Mom. And I will miss her so when she goes. She is more than her grades, her sports, her classes. More than your school and what she wants to study.

She is a girl with a dream of tomorrow and what she can bring to it. She is a girl charting her path towards your campus or another, the next stop on her journey.

So remember, we are giving you our children. Entrusting you with their dreams. We are handing you the future.

Eyes that shine like stars and tell you everything. She will tell you everything, if you ask.

Sincerely,

Mom

Written by Mary Kate O’Malley

My mother always said if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. So I learned to rely on hand motions. Universal language hand motions. No, not the hand motion you are thinking. She didn’t raise me like that. I mean like when you throw your hands up. In unison. And it communicates everything. It’s the universal hand motion and I am pattoning it right here, right now, in this post and you all have a front row seat.

Throw up the hands.

Now to break down and how it works: face your hands palm up, now straighten your arms along your side with the palms facing out like a straight jacket but more loose, yes like that. And then imagine you are on the sidelines of a close soccer game, and the ref doesn’t call off sides. The other team scores to give them the edge and there are 2 minutes left, in a championship game. Now because parent behavior has strict adherence to guidelines and you signed a 17 page contract (truth) with a notary (it’s like a mortgage but for youth soccer) you need to adhere to the strict protocols in place. This is where the hands come in.

You don’t say anything and just throw up the hands. In unison they are raised. Quickly, dramatically, you shake your head and the face follows. You all know the ‘bad call’ face. And it is a very powerful message you are sending. Everyone knows. Maybe you even walk away and come back like a figurative take a lap. If sitting on bleachers or in the stands and you feel emboldened, you can stand and throw up the hands, maybe look around you with a ‘can you believe that call’ face. If you do this, do it quickly. You are up with the hands then down. I feel like coupling standing with the hands go up is another level I am not comfortable with, but it’s an available option.

There is no question what you are communicating by your behavior. And yet here is the genius you: said nothing. Mom is happy and you are following the soccer parent code of ethics guidelines.

Now here is the secret. Lean in. You can’t use it all the time. It will lose it’s command, it’s strength. It’s domineering power. You need to use it sparingly only when absolutely necessary like state cup games, championships, overtime, or sudden death. Restraint is the mighty superpower of the hands go up. So when they do it’s a stand, it’s a statement, you are making a bold declaration.

The universal language of youth athletics. I now shared the secret sauce with you. Use it wisely, use it with great discipline and restraint and only as needed. Your mother will thank me.

Written by Mary Kate O’Malley

I am doing analysis, there is a pattern to this I can feel it…

It’s usually a Monday night, sometimes a Sunday, and twice last month it was Wednesday. Mom do we have… (Moms, take out your number 2 pencils it’s time for a fill in the blank worksheet) balloons, streamers and ring pops? We are decorating the lockers tomorrow for the juniors. (it is 8pm, I have been up since 5 and Target closes at 10). A hot glue gun? Glitter glue? Mom, do we have white t shirts?… its for math class oh and I need I need fabric markers we have those right? (math class?) Mom do we have model magic? Posters? Pipe cleaners? Popsicle sticks? Red felt? Do we have the entire arts and craft section of Michael’s in our basement?

The requests usually come in after 7 or 8pm. Home from sports, homework is being completed, then the light bulb goes off. It is usually cold outside, below 30 degrees especially this ‘spring’ with winter continuing through May. How about wood glue on a Sunday night? Or a canvas on Monday at 9pm. That was fun.

In my fantasy I email the teachers. I know that you work very very hard and try to make the lessons come alive for our children. I get that. And SO appreciate it. But I am hitting up Target two and three times a week. They know me. I know them. I know the hours and know I can find acrlyic paint at 9pm on a Wednesday night or at 7am when they open. I know the cleaning crew because they are always there when I arrive in the morning. They are great by the way, super helpful and they know where everything is. Gold stars. Wondering, can we be a little less creative? And involve things like crayons and markers? I have those. It’s nothing personal, just the time, and the trips, and another thing, you get that right?

Or I could stick to my (hot glue) guns. Make the hard call. Years ago I established a family rule: I need 2 days notice (because Amazon Prime). But then they won’t have what they need for the project and will let the entire group down, or will be the only kid in algebra without a t shirt and a math joke (yes that is a thing) or the only kid who didn’t decorate a locker and now I have the moral weight and responsibility of ruining another child’s high school experience because I didn’t want to be at Target when they opened at 7.

So I run to Target again, and thank God that a new one opened 5 minutes from my house. On the way out I scoop up an extra set of XL twin sheets for my daughter’s dorm room next fall and perspective settles in. I will miss the Target runs. I will miss the buzz of high school and already do. Strange to miss something while you are in the midst of it, knowing these days won’t last forever.

Dear Target, You are always there for me. I love you. Mom

P.S.

Teachers are my heros. And there are no words to express the deep gratitude I feel for all they have done for me in my life, and my children. And I would run to Target any day for the creativity so thank you to the teachers for keeping it engaging. The last couple of years have been a challenge and we have all experienced on a small scale what you do everyday and the awe is still there. Thank you for molding the future and giving our children all of you.

Written by Mary Kate O’Malley

I watch parents holding hands of young children heading on and off the beach while I walk with children taller than me, deciding on destinations together. Children grow and we expand.

My oldest will be headed to college in a year. It’s hard to imagine not knowing the comings and goings, the kitchen table talks, the meals, the chatter. So love what’s yours. Love what comes to you and like the tide when it is time for them to pull from shore, know they will return. These children belong to tomorrow, to a world beyond us, their destiny, their dreams. We are merely the safe keepers, at times of secrets, or favorite foods, how to slice their sandwiches when toddlers, or passcodes as teens.

We stopped to watch the sunset over the water our last night at the beach. The couple beside us told us they had been there every night the entire week and finally the perfect sunset arrived. The sun descends in one stage of life and rises in the next. This is how life moves. The tides pull, the seasons cycle, children grow and move like life.

Years ago at the American Museum of Natural History in New York my children and I sat reclined in the planetarium during Journey to the Stars while Whoopi Goldberg narrated celestial history. And while I remember nothing of the planets, the stars and galaxies, all I recall is that we are made of star dust. We are formed of sea and star. The same ratio of salt in our blood to the ocean, ratio of water to earth. Composed of star dust the universe breathes in us, we exhale light, we carry galaxies.

We are all stars orbiting one another.

There is a rhythm to the movement, an order to the growth. And so love what is yours. Love the breakfasts, and the bus stops, the sidelines, picnics on the beach, all the ‘don’t forgets’ and ‘did yous’…. Love them all. Children expand and recede from shore. And what recedes returns, for love always returns to love.

Written by Mary Kate O’Malley