Letting Go--One Snip at a Time

All that remained of my baby—my little boy—was being snipped off by scissors, landing on the salon floor. This had been a long time coming. For two, maybe even three years, he had been saying he wanted his hair shorter.

His father and I often laughed about how we had the opposite battle that many of our peers had with their parents when we were younger—kids wanted their hair long and their parents wanted it short.

But as the parents this time around, we were somewhat resistant to cutting off our baby boy’s locks. He had beautiful blond hair—the color of flax, naturally highlighted, over a warm golden blond. Perfectly straight and easy to manage, he had gotten compliments on his hair for as long as I could remember. Not-so-secretly my husband was jealous of his “awesome” hair, and told him so frequently.

            While sitting and waiting for his haircut, I wondered just what I was holding on to. In all fairness, it was his hair and he wasn’t asking to do anything crazy with it. So, when the stylist pulled out the razor and started to zip up the back of his head, I held my tongue and watched as big chunks of my baby fell to the floor.  I figured this would be just the first of many “battles” over fads, styles, friends, choices and behaviors—and there was no reason he couldn’t be the winner of this one.

Letting go for me usually only happens when someone pries my fingers from whatever it is I’m clinging to so desperately, but I know that too will have to change. Today I started practicing, one snip at a time.

Enjoy the Silence

I remember so clearly and so vividly the first time I realized how much I love solitude. It was 1990 and I was finishing up the summer as a nanny on the Cape. Some girlfriends had bailed on our plans to go to a movie and I decided to go any way. Walking to my car after the movie, feeling the warm ocean air on my face and enjoying the stillness of the night, I thought, “This is amazing.” At that point I realized just how restorative and necessary solitude is to my well-being.

Flash forward 16 years, one marriage and one child later, and solitude was a lot harder to come by. On a rare morning when I had a late start, Jim took our son to drop him off at day care. Still in my robe after my shower, I laid back and enjoyed the absolute absence of noise. It rushed in, and though I only had 15 minutes before I had to get ready, it was enough time for me to realize just how much I had been missing my solitude.

That has been the most challenging part of motherhood for me, as a writer and a woman. I love my kids—I just don’t always love the endless noise, at all hours and all decibels that come with them.

Silence and solitude nourish my creative soul. It’s as vital to me as air and food and water. Thankfully I have a husband who understands this, and frequently affords me mini-getaways and alone time to restore what the noise chips away at. But after a seemingly endless winter and the endless sick days, snow days and half days that have come with it, I’m feeling overdue.

So, Honey, if you’re reading this, it’s not too late. Valentine’s Day isn’t quite over yet. You know what to get me, and it won’t cost you a cent.