Recently, I went on a trip with my two oldest daughters. I’d dragged them on the trip against their will. I was making them do an uncomfortable thing they had no interest in doing. Bribed with promises of eventual cheesecake, they were putting up with me. Barely. And so, having already overplayed my mom card, I set about overplaying it even more: I began giving inspirational speeches.
Oh yes, I offered piles of mounds of words of wisdom—at a standard rate of about every ten minutes or so—all about how they might really enjoy this thing I’d forced them to do, how they might really learn something from this thing I’d forced them to do, how they might actually rock this thing I’d forced them to do.
Not surprisingly, they were unimpressed. Which meant, at one point, my oldest turned to me and said, in pure and utter exasperation: STOP. TALKING. TO. ME.
And I did… after I said: JUST. ONE. MORE. THING.
Oh, mothers…
The thing is, every once in a while, what my kids really need—even if they don’t know it and have no intention of listening to it—is what I like to call a Momologue. Or, at least, every once in a while what I really need—is to give one??? Honestly, I’m not sure who it’s benefitting, but it still seems important. Of course, the timing is rarely right. Either I’m too tired or they’re too tired, or my other five kids and bazillions of pets are too tired. And even if we all agreed to listen along, who says any of those words, words, words got through? Because who even knows when they’ll need those words, words, words?
And that’s where the Momologue project comes along. A place to drop all those words, words, words for when my children might actually want them.
Let me explain: last week I attended the ABA Bookseller’s Conference in Seattle and one of the speakers mentioned a theoretical economist that spoke of leaving ideas littered on the ground—even if no one had time to deal with them yet—so that when a crisis came, the ideas were already there, waiting around to be picked up. (Honestly the details are a little fuzzy, but when I brought it up at home Justin seemed to agree that the accused economist, Milton, had actually said this sort of thing once. So there.) Books aside, I loved that image. I loved the idea of strewing ideas around my children so that if they ever need them (WHEN they ever need them) the ideas will be waiting.
So it’s true. My kids want me to stop talking to them. And I get it. But someday, someday, it might turn out that the things I have to say will matter. And by then, I assure you, I will have forgotten them entirely. After all, I can’t even remember what time I said I’d pick them up from school today. And so, for now, I’m going to start writing my Momologues down. Maybe someday they’ll come read these words, if only to laugh at me. But at least the words will be here, waiting.
Not surprisingly, I’m enlisting some help for these weekly essays. These are the people who’s Momologues I wish I got to listen to regularly and the people I trust with my own children’s future problems. (See. It’s all your responsibility now!) We’ll take turns with these Letters from the Nest, hopefully managing to get one essay off between us each Friday. You’ll meet these other amazing women as we go along, but I will say I’m so blessed to have gathered them up as my friends, and I’m looking forward to reading their essays more than you know.
We hope you’ll join us, either now, or in the future, as we write these half-scribbled letters from our nests.
Haha! I asked my oldest yesterday if and when he feels loved by me. He said, when you're talking so pretty much all the time. Guilty. I show my love by "teaching". 🤣