I’m honored to introduce you all to my dear friend, Lisa Leshaw, known in the Her View From Home world as the Fairy Blog Mother.
She’s one of a kind.
The stories she shares are brim full of joy, enthusiasm, and encouragement as she takes the everyday nuances of life and stirs them up into exquisite and relatable prose. She has an uncanny way of mixing humor and insight while tugging on your heartstrings at the same time.
To sum up her demeanor in one sentence, I’ll borrow an analogy from Margaret Feinberg: she’s so full of love that it sloshes out and on every person she bumps into.
You can read Lisa’s treasure box over at Her View From Home and find her in your local bookstore as she has been published multiple times in Chicken Soup books (including the newly released on August 8th, Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Dog Really Did That?), as well as in Guideposts, Huffington Post, Grown & Flown, Parent.co, and others.
For now, enjoy this beautiful post about raising her teenage son which has been around the globe and back by now, and first appeared on Her View From Home:
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Growing Up. You first, then me
by Lisa Leshaw
I am sitting on the front stoop coffee cup in hand, daydreaming about a little cherry-cheeked boy. The one that used to race up the front lawn (world around him be damned) in order to wrap himself in a Mom hug.
He could not get to me, then the center of his universe, fast enough.
Breathless with awe over his bestest kindergarten day ever, he spilled the beans on his older sister misbehaving at recess. Then he handed me a crumpled creased Mother’s Day picture with a giant heart and an “I Love you” with a perfect backward L.
I now watch this same child, I mean man-child (15-year-old to be exact) saunter past me with nary a glance. I detect a grunt, however. I believe it’s in response to my same stupid and annoying question “How was your day?”
Being ignored fuels the feeling challenged response in me.
I try to work the crowd (you my oldest son) much like a comedian fires jokes at a non-responsive audience.
“Did the coach say anything in practice today about the line-up for next week’s game?”
“I like the new logo on your shirt.”
Barely perceptible nod.
We do our Mother-Son dance, our new daily ritual. I talk. You balk. I show interest. You show disdain. I cry when you’re not looking. I think I am in some kind of mourning as if I have lost you. Yet you stand here before me so that makes little sense.
** Read the rest at Her View From Home
Embrace the race, crazy Mommas!