Last year I met Jennifer Blair at a week-long writer’s workshop, along with fourteen other people from every corner of the globe and all walks of life.  Jennifer’s wit, wisdom and intelligence filled up the room for all of us….but her wattage increased exponentially whenever she spoke of her family….her boys, John and Matt, in particular.  So, I asked her to turn the tables on this Mother’s Day weekend—-taking a sail down memory lane—letting John and Matt know how much it has meant to be their mom…….Jennifer remembers, well.

DEAR JOHN & MATT…….

Being your mom has been the ride of my life, filled with every imaginable emotion—–joy, sorrow, happiness, hilarity, fear, frustration, pride, exhaustion…….you name it.  But the most all encompassing feeling is love.  I have never known love like the love I feel for the two of you.  The men you have become, the diverse and active lives you are living, only makes me want to continue to grow and experience the richness I see in you.  I guess that’s the way it works.  You “grow your kids”— then they “grow you”.

Certain moments are forever etched in my heart and mind—-like the day we were up at the old garden plot. You were little guys, around 4 and 6.  Dust was swirling through the air where I had just walked down the  path—when the two of you turned, running and laughing, toward me.  The setting sun and the film of dust engulfed each of you in your own glowing halo, your blonde hair flying.  I can see you and hear you and feel you this very minute.  Full of love and wonder.  How beautiful and innocent you were. And, you were mine.

The same feelings overhwhelmed me the day each of you came into the world.  My first thought, with you, John, as a brand new mom was, “WOW! This getting pregnant-and-you’ll-eventually-produce-a-kid-thing, worked!”  A miracle.  Your long torso immediately reminded me of Dad.

And, Matt, you followed in the family tradition of quick deliveries.  Even though we informed the hospital, it was a good thing Dad was there to catch you…..you arrived, au naturale, while the doctor was taking his coffe break.  My sons, healthy and strong.

You, two were pranksters.  From the get go.  The day you locked me out of the house, after we had spent the afternoon, playing in the garden hose was one I will never forget.  There I was, vowing to “get you!”, as I tried to find my way into the house.  You raced around the house, laughing with hilarity, behind each locked door.   But, “Ah-Ha!” I found the laundry room window open!  Just as I was dangling halfway in and halfway out—-there were the two of you, running back outside to give my backside another cold, wet blast!

Then there were the calls from school—–one in particular—left your Dad and me staring at one another in disbelief.  “Mr. & Mrs. Blair?  Can you please pick up John from school?  He’s hacked the computer lab—again—so we are suspending him from school for three days.”  Oh great.

School itself, was one long series of project rescues.  Remember the Greek time-line, done production-style at my office?  Scanning, enlarging, copying, cutting and pasting, for hours, one Sunday afternoon.  We were in that one together!  The science fair project also became a family affair—”Eggs-in-Space” was one I will never forget as we dropped paper-wrapped egg fabrications out of the upstairs window onto the sidewalk below.

And, oh, the collision of science and boyhood—-when the door fell off the microwave.  I thought it was just old.  It was years later, John, when you spilled the beans on Matt.  Drying damp gunpowder for his model rockets did not work out so well!

Halloween and holidays were the highlight of the year for me.  It started with your bluebird costume, John.  We crafted wings and a tail out of two blue feather dusters.  You discovered if you “shook your tail feathers” you would get extra candy when you went out to Trick-or-Treat.  And, so it began.

After that do you remember the amazing Ghost Busters costumes we made?  Dad came home with computer circuit boards and we used cardboard boxes, vacuum cleaner hoses and all sorts of contraptable goodies to pull that one together.

Christmas was my favorite, favorite time though.  With presents piled half-way up the tree—-both of you and Dad would groan, “Mom, you’ve overdone it, again!”  Music to my ears.  Our tradtion of putting hints on each gift and taking hours to unwrap every wished for item was pure joy.

Matt—-you were good at taking things for a “test drive”.  First, it was the sailboat.  We only found out about it from the neighboring boat’s owner when he called Dad to tell him that you had dented his boat’s cradle.  Uh oh.  Actually, I thought it was both horrifying and……amusing.  I did not find it quite as funny when you decided to take my Yukon out for a spin……across the football field.  Hmmmmmmm.  The things that could happen when I was out of town, working.

Then, there was the phone call from Dad.  The one where time stood on its head and the blood drained from my face.  He had just come from the Doctor with John.  They found a tumor.  John might lose his arm.  I barely remember driving home from work that day—but I will never forget going into the garden with Dad, our leaning on one another, crying in fear and disbelief.  We had two weeks to wait for an answer…….an eternity.  Thank God, it turned out to be a lump.  Our family weathered the storm of emotions together.

We had so many moments of peace, our family.  Camping at Prince Williams, or up in the Shenandoah mountains, being out in the glory of nature together, like the morning we heard the deer munching on apples.  Some of our best days were when Dad was cooking on the Coleman stove, and we gathered around the campfire, reading books, staring at the embers, just walking and talking together.  Special times with all my boys.

Fast forward to high school graduations—–where had the time gone?

John,  you threw us that curve ball when you announced that you didn’t think college was for you.  But, looking back,  it gave us another chance to pull together.  The worry turned into a plan and a path that worked.  Step by step you emerged into your calling. You were meant to be a teacher.

So many times, we have exchanged roles—my teaching you, then you teaching me.  It’s funny to think computers and learning the new technologies could have become such an opportunity for bonding between us.  The Mother’s Day, you magically appeared to help me out of a jam of a deadline, meant more to me than any card or flowers could have.  You knew what I needed and you were there for me.  The times we spent teaching together at GMU are some of my most treasured memories.  Watching your students admire…….and yes,  love you, thrills me to think of it, even now.

The day I drove you to your dorm, Matt, it hit me.  The nest was now empty.  As you crossed the parking lot with an armload of your new life, I burst into tears.  My golden-haired son, thelaughing little boy who came running down the garden path in the sunlight was walking into his future.  You turned to me, I am certain you were embarrased—-as you said “I have to do this, Mom.”  Yes, I know.

For twenty years you had been my reason for getting up in the morning.  Everything I thought, everything I did was  filtered through the two of you.  Suddenly you are grown.  And gone.  Ten more years have passed.  Now, you are having your own lives and careers, your adventures and your friends.  I am so proud of you both.  You have become men with depth and breadth and character.  You are still my world, my head and my heart, my past and my future…….it has been an honor and a pleasure and a privilege to have been your mother.

Sending you light years of love,

MOM