Loving Them As They Are

Merridith Frediani learns to appreciate her kids just as they are. 

“I’m normal!” said my youngest one afternoon as we sat in the car in the driveway and discussed his recent teacher conference. “You can’t compare me to them. They aren’t normal.”  

I admit he had a point. His older siblings were extreme communicators. Despite being in their late teens at the time, they shared just about everything. They were the masters of minutiae. They told me more than I had an interest in knowing. I was sometimes bored.   

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, then take a shower and change my clothes, and then start my homework.”   

Good to know.   

“I’m going to the library and then I have to drop something off at school and then I’m going to get some no-show socks because I have these shoes and those Converse ones and I don’t like to go barefoot but it looks weird to have socks show so I’m going to get those and then I’ll come home so that’s the next hour of my life.”   

Ok then. 

The youngest was less generous with what he shared. It was maddening. I'd been spoiled by his siblings. I was not sure how to navigate this new parental territory. How was I to know everything is okay if I did not hear all the details?  

It was ironic. I went to journalism school and was trained to use as few words as possible (you can always cut 10% out) and had a teacher in graduate school who frequently reminded us to be pithy (or concise). I have a deep respect for the less-is-more school of communication. I’m often amazed at how many words people find it necessary to use in daily communication.   

Yet, when it came to my children as teens, the external processing, while taxing, meant I knew what was going on and what their general mental state was. I couldn’t criticize my youngest because, like me, he is an internal processor and doesn’t feel it necessary to give a play-by-play of his day.   

What’s a Mom to Do?  

How do I parent a child like this? I couldn’t force him to divulge. He likely didn’t even have the words yet to express the feelings and thoughts accurately. I had to respect his nature, but I also couldn’t remain blind to his life. It was my job, my obligation, to raise him to be a responsible, God-fearing man. But he was so quiet about the stuff I felt I needed to know.   

It’s ten years later and I’m glad to report that the boy, while still unlikely to verbally vomit the incidentals of life, has indeed become a good man. When I reflect on how we got from there to here, I am struck by the value and frequency of prayer and the importance of respect and faith.   

I realized early on that I was not worthy of the children God gave me and I relied on Him and our Blessed Mother to help me be the mother they deserved. Each Sunday at Mass, I prayed for one week of patience. Taking it in one-week increments made it seem easier. I knew I would be back the following Sunday for another one-week booster shot.   

God Knows Best  

Through prayer, I learned that I can’t change my children. I cannot make them into who I think they should be. God made them who they are, and He knows better than I do. I had to learn to respect and appreciate them as they were given to me. Yes, my role was to help mold them from uncivilized people prone to lunacy into responsible adults, but their temperaments and proclivities were what made them unique individuals. In some ways, I was just along for the ride.  

I had to have faith that God would give me what I needed to be what they needed. They belonged to Him before me.  

I still haven’t cracked the code of how to get the youngest to bare his soul, but I’ve accepted it. With growth and maturity, he talks more. As he emerged from the teenage tunnel, he realized it’s helpful to talk to his parents, that one feels better when feelings are shared. The other two continue to be generous with their words. It’s still tiring, but I wouldn’t trade it.   

These kids we get are special, wondrous, and often surprising. There are things that drive me crazy and things that bring me to tears. I’m often struck by the enormity of the gift that they are and humbled that God allowed me to be their mother. I’m also grateful that God gives these good gifts but doesn’t leave us on our own. He is alongside us as we parent and that makes a nearly impossible job manageable.   

Being part of a Holy Family helps us build our own holy family, and the world needs a whole lot more of that right now.  

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Copyright 2025 Merridith Frediani
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