Grace + Harvard

If you’ve seen me in the last few months, chances are solid I’ve bragged to you that my little brother is in his first year at Harvard Law School. And not a humble brag, guys. A shameless, all-out, that is my flesh and blood and he’s going to HARVARD brag-brag. Big sisters are entitled to such soap boxes on behalf of their siblings at least every once in a while. Said bro is also extremely cool, witty, musical, stylish, fun and adored by all, just to paint the whole entire picture. Did I mention that I’m a proud sister?

On a related note (promise), I was venting to my mom a few weeks ago about the struggle—if not total impossibility—of retaining a tight daily schedule with two young kids. I was so stinking on it with Emerson! Home for every nap so she could sleep in her crib. So all over the “wake windows” you wouldn’t believe it. Rhythm, structure, a plan. Frankly, I was obnoxious and anal, but I thrive on checklists and rules.

So needless to say, two kids is stretching my boundaries. Unless we want to stay home all day errrrrday—which I simply cannot with an active toddler—we can’t be as strict as I used to be. Ergo naps, car naps, *gasp* cat naps whenever we can sometimes. I try to give her one legit snooze at home at some point during the day, with the white noise and light-blocking shutters, but even that doesn’t always happen. Our routine is constantly shifting. By and large, it’s a free-for-all based on the duties we have to complete and the activities keeping us sane. And this makes me feel a bit guilty, unsure, like somehow I’m failing at life.

Enter my very wise mother with a much-needed gentle pep talk. She reminded me of some truths about David, our Harvard baby.

As the youngest of four, David inevitably grew up with a different set of parenting rubrics. By the fourth child, my mom assured me, she and my dad had relaxed. They knew better what was important. What wasn’t. What worked. What didn’t. In addition, as the years clocked by, our family schedule became dictated by us older kids and our burgeoning social, academic and extracurricular lives. David, down the birth chain, was customarily dragged to and fro far more than his three older siblings. As my mom says, “I just wore him. EVERYWHERE.” What else is a mom to do?! It’s a birth-order inevitability. The first kid gets the wound-up new parents; the fourth, the ole flexible pros.

And so, my dear friends, this is a manifesto for grace. After talking to my mom about my second-kid insecurities and her lastborn insights, we agreed this is a good message for moms. It’s okay to let go, loosen up, and ignore whatever unattainable parenting paradigms might be driving you mad.

Because David, the fourth arrow in my mom’s warrior goddess belt?

He never had a nap schedule. EVER.

We eldest three kids weren’t allowed to watch PG-13 movies until we were precisely 13. David watched them nearly from birth.

David’s older three siblings were all neatly two years apart and he was 3.5 years behind on the end. This is not textbook birth spacing; it is not perfectly even!

We older three kids were sparsely exposed to “secular, non-Christian” music until we reached high school. David has never heard of this rule. Meanwhile, I know every single word to every Crystal Lewis song recorded until the year 2000. (Mind you, I’m not complaining; I LOVE CRYSTAL LEWIS!)

David’s favorite daily 4 p.m. television show was Mighty Morphin Power Rangers and he in fact played with toy guns.

“McDonald’s? What’s that?” wondered Very Small Me. Pssssh. David had a killer collection of Happy Meal toys by the ripe age of three. Ironically, he was the only one of us NOT to go through a chubby stage; he was always thin as a rail.

We all had to master skiing before we could try out snowboarding. David? You guessed it! Jumped on a board at three.

I couldn’t dye my hair until adolescence. Our dad took David to get his hair bleached when he was seven.

The Big Three were not allowed to play video games during our youth; smart little David’s mad gaming skills were simply unspeakable.

By the fourth cub, mama bear hired help to come five days a week; her sanity begged for support with the housework and her small little baby.

Curfew. Bedtime. No sleepovers. Young David would need a translator for these foreign anomalies.

And do you know what?!

That sweet little boy without endless and rigid guidelines grew up to be a leader and genius.

But even more importantly. David grew up to be kind and a lover of Jesus. Sure, having a kid attend an Ivy League school has got to feel pretty amazing. Of course we want our babes to dream big and fulfill their potential.

There are more important things, though.

Several years ago, I was at a party up in L.A., chatting with a sweet boy younger than me. Adorable, early 20s, he shared with me sadly and cautiously that he’d been marginalized by his friends for some recent lifestyle choices. Soon we put together that he had known David a little in college. The boy’s expression softened and he looked me right in the eye. “Your brother isn’t like other people,” he said. “I’ve felt hate from a lot of Christians over the past few years. But David was always kind to me.”

I’m proud my little brother is going to Harvard. But that moment made me prouder.

So lately, when Hadley’s napping (kinda) while strapped to my chest during mommy-and-me gymnastics for tots, or when she joins me for a particularly sassy episode of Real Housewives, or when my angel of a housekeeper watches her while I take a sanity break or finish a writing project—momentarily I think about grace and I think about Harvard. I remember that my children’s destinies are not made or broken by the small things I beat myself up over.

Do the best you can with whatever you’ve got, sister.

Remember what’s most important: Jesus, humility*, love.

Let God and your incredible kiddo accomplish the rest.

“Come just as you are.”

—Crystal Lewis

*Humility unless your baby brother gets into Harvard