Molly the Owl

The last few days the owlets have been on their own. Molly has not been "home" during the day. I feel angry with Molly and worried about the owlets.

Since February 15th Molly has sat on those eggs every day and night, barely sleeping, unable to leave for more than 10 minutes. She didn't get enough food, she didn't get enough rest, she was a slave to their every cry until this week. So, for a full 8 weeks, maybe longer, she did her duty.

The life span of a barn owl is 2 years. She devoted 8-9 weeks of her life to this group of babies. If she has another nest next year, she will do the same, but so far she's given 8% of her life to her children. (I did the math.) (I did the math using a calculator.) I am 44 years old. I have 3 children. I gave them all of my attention, food from my own body, diaper duty, vomit cleansing...with breaks only to take care of my own personal needs for about 6 months of their lives--give or take. It's a total of less than 2 years or 4% of my life so far...

Someone on the website said, "Where's Molly?? Do you think she's gone to Vegas for a girl's weekend?" Ouch!

My flight leaves this afternoon around 2. I'll be in Vegas with girlfriends until Saturday night.

What's the moral? the lesson? I don't know. I'm still pondering it.

It seems important that even the paragon of instinctual motherhood (Molly) has to separate from her children. In fact, my children separate and come back, fly on their own and come back to the nest, if you will. I don't have to give them baths any more, but I am still responsible for teaching them how to fly. And I like feeding them, doing their laundry (they don't let me any more, but I feel so motherly when I fold their clothes for some reason), and giving them some sort of direction. I'm not a fantastic mother. I'm not really even a very good mother. But I am deeply in love with my children. They are the most beautiful people I know. They are more beautiful than my siblings, my husband, my parents. They are miraculous in every single breath they take and I adore them. My heart rejoices when they are happy--it literally vibrates with contentment when they are content. And I mourn when they are sad, or frustrated, or having growing pains.

My whole parenting experience has centered around what I thought was the biological imperative to rescue my children from harm, to anticipate their needs and move into action before they even finish speaking their sentences...this reminds me of a story. Have you heard it? Once there was a boy who wouldn't talk. His parents assumed he was mute. Then one day, when he was 14 he said these words, "Mom, you burnt my toast." Mom was aghast, thrilled, confused, relieved...flooded with emotions. She said, "you can speak!! It's a miracle! Why haven't you ever spoken before?" And he replied, "you've never burned my toast before."

Have I created children who can't do for themselves because I've done too much for them? I don't know...yes, maybe, on some level. No, for sure on others. I gave them enough safety to bravely face the world. Heavens knows the Prince and Princess have traveled a great deal, made their own choices, friends... The Little Prince may be less likely to explore than the older two because he has an x-box and little need to move except to the kitchen for more chemically questionable energy drinks, and the bathroom to eliminate said drinks... Bottom line is that I did the best I could. I do hate that sentence. It feels like a lie. I didn't do my best. I really didn't. I was way too selfish and short-sighted. But, I do think that it might have been the best I could do. If I was just now having my children I may be able to do it differently. However, someone would still have to be the proverbial guinea pig that I experiment on in order to get it right.

So, the upshot (at last) is that I am gratefully in love with my 3 guinea pigs. I am grateful there are no more guinea pigs on the horizon for me. Although I do think I might be a good grandma. And I am really grateful for Molly who shows me that even what I have deemed "perfect" mothers need to get to Vegas with the girlfriends every once in awhile.

I'll see you at Thunder from Down Under.