I realized today that I yammered on and on yesterday about how stupid I'd feel if I ever met Kelly Corrigan, but I never really told you much about her book, Lift.
Let me just tell you that this little book (only 82 pages) will make you weep. Not because it's sad--it is, just a little--but because every page is filled with love. Kelly freely shares her love for her two daughters, Georgia and Claire. She shares her heart, which is beautiful.
There were so many parts of this book that resonated with me. Sadly, sometimes. Kelly talks openly about losing control with her girls at times. Boy, could I relate. Seriously, I'd like to meet that parent who has never yelled, really yelled, at her kids. And that same parent who didn't regret it the moment it was over.
"Almost every day I yell at one of you so loudly that my throat hurts afterward. That's why I keep lozenges in practically every drawer in the house. I hold it together and hold it together and then, when the bickering picks up again, I just detonate. Like yesterday, Claire, when I listened to you whine through two rounds of some card game called Egyptian War. Finally, it was Georgia's turn to go first, and you said you couldn't play anymore because your armpits were sore. 'That's stupid,' Georgia said, and you cried, 'Stupid is a mean word!' and smacked Georgia with your open palm as I watched. 'GO TO YOUR ROOM RIGHT NOW, MISSY!' I hollered. 'It was an accident; I fell into her on accident!' You both froze and I got to my feet and I leaned down into your faces and ranted at you through set teeth, like the heartless tyrannical caretakers in a movies about orphans. I was so disgusted with both of you, your impatient overreactions, your loss of self-control--then I turned right around and disgusted myself."
And another section, just a few pages later to which I could totally relate:
"This tug-of-war often obscures what's also happening between us. I am your mother, the first mile of your road. Me and all my obvious and hidden limitations. That means that in addition to possibly wrecking you, I have the chance to give to you what was given to me: a decent childhood, more good memories than bad, some values, a sense of a tribe, a run at happiness. You can't imagine how seriously I take that--even as I fail you. Mothering you is the first thing of consequence that I have ever done."
Yes. That. What she said.
So, anyway, I'm giving away a copy of Kelly's book, Lift. You can still join in until Friday, so hop on over to yesterday's post and leave a comment to enter in the giveaway.