Page 2 of Dear Debbie

It was an honor to be chosen by the magazine for this particular spread. As a stay-at-home mother to two girls, there have been times when my life has felt a bit…well, empty. I’m proud of my daughters, but I wanted to be proud of something that was all my own. This photo shoot gave me a nice boost to my confidence. I work hard on my garden.

There have been times when I felt that if I didn’t have my flowers, I wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed in the morning.

“I didn’t know that,” Lexi says, even though I mentioned it dozens of times. I don’t point out the irony that if I had forgotten something she told me only yesterday, she would be lambasting me at this very moment. “Well, good luck.”

That was a nice thing to say. And another miracle has occurred: my seventeen-year-old is now speaking to me in the morning. It feels like some sort of wacky, wonderful dream. Dare I hope the difficult teenage years might be coming to a close?

“Thank you,” I say cautiously, not wanting to do anything to disturb the peace.

Then Lexi wrinkles her nose. “You’re not really going to bring all these cans to our school today, are you? You’re going to look like a garbage woman.”

Okay, maybe the difficult years aren’t behind us quite yet.

Before I can come up with a suitable response to my daughter’s criticism of me collecting food for those who need it, my other daughter, Isabel, pops into the kitchen. It’s probably for the best, because she wouldn’t have liked whatever I said.

Izzy is a sophomore at Hingham Prep, two years below her sister. While Lexi reminds me disturbingly of myself, Izzy is much more like her father. She has his lighter brown hair, earnest grin, and solid build. And like him, she’s happy-go-lucky.

Unlike me and Lexi, Izzy has always been very athletic. I have hypothesized the endorphins might make her more pleasant than her sister. That’s my running theory anyway. If I didn’t force myself to go to the gym several times a week, I would murder everyone on my block.

“Hey, Mom.” Izzy grabs an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter. “Gotta run. The bus will be here in a minute.”

“That’s all you’re eating for breakfast?” I protest.

“Mom, I gotta go.”

In life and motherhood, especially motherhood of teenagers, you have to pick your battles. “Okay, I love you,” I call out. “I’ll pick you up after soccer.”

Izzy hesitates, her high ponytail swinging slightly behind her head as she stands there, seeming to debate her next words. She stuffs the apple into the pocket of her hoodie. “That’s okay,” she finally says. “I’ll take the bus home.”

“But wait.” As I rise quickly to my feet, my bowl of cereal tips over enough that some milk splashes on the kitchen table. It doesn’t spill on my dress at least. “The school bus won’t be around after soccer is over. I can get you.”

Izzy doesn’t reply.

“It’s no problem at all!” I assure her, trying not to think of the days when I’d pick Izzy up at day care and she’d run to me so fast and hard that she’d nearly knock me off my feet.

I’m not sure how long Izzy would have stood there staring at me with her hands shoved into her pockets if Lexi hadn’t blurted out, “For God’s sake, just tell her, Iz.”

I look between both girls. I hate it when they share secrets, although it’s better than when they’re fighting. “Tell me what?”

Izzy still doesn’t say anything.

Lexi lets out an exaggerated sigh and says, “She got kicked off the soccer team.”

“Lexi!” Izzy hisses, her face turning pink.

“What?”

Okay, this is flat out ridiculous. Izzy has been playing soccer since she was in kindergarten. She could dribble that soccer ball in her sleep. How could she have gotten kicked off the team? She’s one of the best sophomores they have. Hell, she’s one of the best players they have.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “Why were you kicked off the team?”

Izzy won’t meet my eyes. “Mom…”

This has got to be some sort of mistake. There’s no other explanation. “I’m going to give Coach Pike a call.”

“Mom, no.” Her eyes widen in panic. “I have to go now. Don’t call Coach Pike.”

“Izzy…”