Slipping Through My Fingers September 2, 2012

I’ve witnessed the turning of a corner this summer. With Zach almost 16 and Brooke rushing up on 13, I am so aware of how fast time is slipping through my fingers, and I see the reality of how firmly we sit in the “teenage years.” And maybe “sit” is not the best verb either — I think I’m actually stumbling. It’s still a sweet time. I guess it’s my optimistic personality that is able to forget the rough times for the most part (when I’m reflecting) but I truly have enjoyed each stage we’ve traveled. This one smarts more, though, with the truth of how fully unprepared I feel. And I think that is because of all the stages, this one feels the most precarious.

I’m watching them now  knowing that I can’t fix everything. I can’t protect them from hurt or from being misunderstood or left out. I never really could, but when they were small I at least felt that I could. Now I know I can’t. So my Momma Bear heart feels kind of raw, both in protection of them and in protection of myself, I guess. It’s something I’ve struggled with from the start – this belief that who they are is a reflection of how well (or poorly) I’ve done as a Mom. I happen to have two pretty amazing kids. But they are this in their own right. Sure, our parenting is a big part of what shapes them, but I realize I can’t take the credit for who they are, or the blame for who they aren’t, but I still do it — all the time. In little moments and small ways. And I don’t want to do this. And there’s really a big reason why I don’t want to do this.

I saw the movie today The Odd Life of Timothy Green. Brooke warned me it was a tear-jerker and actually made me promise not to do my “ugly cry” in the theater. It’s part of the new dynamic between us — this risk that I am capable of embarrassing her. I hate this. It gets triggered so easily, and it’s new, so it surprises me. The girl who wouldn’t let me put her down for the first nine months and has worshiped the ground around my feet can now find me too loud or too opinionated or just TOO. I know she still adores me, and that this is just a new layer. It does not erase all that was and is about us, but still…it’s hard. So, I watched the movie and managed to keep my tears subtle. It is a profound story, with so many messages. The one I took away was the story of two people trying to figure out how to parent, really not having a clue how to do it “right” and feeling the weight of their ignorance. But still, in the midst of the angst of messing it up they saw the beauty of what they had: the privilege to parent.

They lost Timothy and the grief was deep, but there was also HOPE because they found something new in themselves. The mom said, in reflecting on how she would parent if she got another chance:

“You’ll do your best.

You’ll make mistakes.

You only have them for a short time.

And you’ll love them with all your heart.”

That’s the down low of how I want to mother. To teach them that what I am trying to do is my best, but I’ll blow it and love them with all my heart at the same time. And it’s how I want Zach and Brooke to live, too. All out. Ready to be tripped up. With a whole heart.

And so I stumble around this new corner. Watching a young man and a young woman emerge from the little children I have loved. And I’m really thinking a lot about what else I want to “say” to them. Time is very short. And I know that the only way I can really “say” it is to BE it. To live it and trust they are noticing.

So it means continuing to face my own demons. Pushing through my own insecurity. Looking in the mirror when I just want to blame someone else for how cruddy I feel. Reminding myself that just because someone else compares my child, I don’t have to.  That it’s ok to mess up — that it’s actually the best way to learn. That I don’t want perfection. I hope for authenticity. And I know that is messy. And messy is good. To take a deep breath and refocus. To take my eyes and ears off stuff that distracts me from the truth.

To remind them of who they are when they forget. To remind myself.