If Loving My Kids Is Wrong, I Don't Want To Be Right

I have run the gamut of emotions this week.  Most of you know I do not do well on the first day of school.  Wait a minute, who am I kidding?  I don't do well the first WEEK of school.  I cry, and usually resort back to bed because I am lonely, and sleeping makes the time pass quicker.  My baby started back to school yesterday (Evan is a Junior in high school), but this year is different.  He drives to school.  Gone are the days when I dropped him off, safe and secure, at the front door of the school, and hours later was greeted by his laughing face when he exited the school at the end of the day with his friends.  Gone are the days when I KNEW he got to school safely, and was out of harm's way on the way home.  Gone are the days when the last thing he heard before he left my car was "I love you, have a good day."  

I really am trying - I'm trying really hard to “let” him grow up and be happy about it.  Yesterday and today, I stood in the garage and watched him pull out in the morning and drive down the street, and waited on the front steps until he pulled into the driveway.  Tomorrow I will not.  I will tell him I love him and to have a good day from the living room, and let him be a confident (almost) 17 year old while he pulls away from the house on his own.  I will not watch for him to drive up the street, nor will I jump up when I hear the garage door open.  I have to trust that God will watch out for him in my absence.  

The same thing happened when Ashley moved out.  She always parked her car on the street in front of our house, but when she moved, that empty spot became painfully obvious to me.  Every time I looked out the front window, I would cry because I knew she wasn't at home in her room.  I would turn the corner on my way home from teaching every evening to see that empty spot just staring at me, and immediately started sobbing.  This went on for weeks - you can ask my husband, who had to listen to me every night - and I felt like a piece of my heart had been ripped out.  In all reality, it had been.  My children carry pieces of me with them everywhere they go.  I am left a broken person with patches on my heart, but I wouldn't have it any other way.  I have raised an intelligent and smart young woman who is very compassionate, and I know she will do great things in her life.   I have learned to trust that God is watching over her and keeping her safe in my absence.

I’m not sure why others think when your children grow up, you shouldn’t be a little sad.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m very proud of my kids, and happy they are becoming well adjusted, joyous, productive adults.  But, a very significant part of my life is ending, and while I can look forward to the day when my babies will marry and start their own families, I’m think I’m allowed to be sad.  When I was teaching, a former student asked once what the best job I ever had was, and I told him that“ I love being a nurse and a teacher, but the best job I’ve ever had is being a mother.”  When you think about it, God made woman to be the perfect nurturer and keeper of her children.  When they were babies, I had a never ending supply of nourishment for them, and arms that kept them safe and hugged them when they got a "boo boo", which Evan did often (the kid smacked his head on concrete more times than I can count, and we wondered if he would be brain damaged, but luckily, it was quite the opposite), and although Ashley was a little more reserved, she did drive a Little Tykes car off a deck and down 2 stories of stairs (well, she didn't DRIVE it down the stairs - it was more like an amusement park ride with flips and spinning) and ended up making a trip to the trauma unit to be checked out.  In our home, much to the dismay of some of my family, I made sure my kids know that we were all equal, and that I wasn’t any more important than they were.  I taught them to respect others, but I respected THEM as well.  Just because they were little children didn’t mean they weren’t deserving of respect.   I let my children make decisions at a young age, with caution and a warning that there may be consequences (falling, bleeding, etc.), and they learned that I valued them, trusted them, and wanted them to learn to make the right decision.

I’ve had a few angry spells this week as well.  What's up with God giving me the most precious children on the face of the Earth to love, care for, even die for if need be, and then expecting me to be happy when they grow up and leave?  I admit it, I'm very selfish.  Sometimes, I get angry that He made me a parent in the first place.  I remember my sister telling me that my babies were, in fact, God's children, and He had “loaned” them to me during our time on this giant ball of mud and water.  I felt honored that He would trust me with such beautiful beings, but at the same time I was afraid.  I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to meet His expectations regarding their upbringing, or that I would make a mistake.  I always told them, "You may have come from my womb and drank my milk, but you are God's Child, and when we get to Heaven, we'll be brothers and sisters in Christ" (Evan has a problem with this – he wants me to be his mom in Heaven too, which I think is precious).  However, in the meantime, I want every second I can get with them, being their mother.  Sometimes I think I would love nothing more than to be selfish, and live in a big house with my babies, their spouses, and children until I die.  I had a dream about that once, and I woke up crying from happiness.  I shared my dream with my babes, and they smiled and said it sounded wonderful.  But, I have a sneaking suspicion that if the opportunity arose, they'd pass, and that's okay too.  But, I can dream can’t I? 

I've read a lot of Amish literature, and one of the main reasons they reject motor vehicles is because families might not stay close if they have the opportunity to drive to other states.  Instead of living many miles apart, parents, grandparents and children always stay within minutes of each other.  I think the Amish have hit the nail on the head - we need to keep our family close.  I honestly don't think God meant for us to be separated by hundreds or thousands of miles, and I think it make Him sad.  I can’t imagine being hours away from my children, and I hope we always stay close, geographically as well as emotionally. 

Then of course, there are those in my circle who think I'm being too clingy, and that I'm not letting my babes reach their full potential because of this.  I admit there are times I have probably been clingier than I should have been, but my babes and I have been through a lot together.   These children are literally a part of ME, and my LIFE has been my CHILDREN.  I stayed home with them, and didn't work until they were in school full time.  My mother babysat when my husband and I had to go someplace alone.  My kids were never exposed to bad habits or behaviors at day care.  They were right there next to me – next to each other - and we enjoyed every minute of our time together cooking, playing games, reading, swimming, taking walks, going to church.  I was the parent my mother was not - I always smiled at them and got down on their level to talk to them; I didn't automatically say "no" if they asked to have a friend over; we played school at home, and my kids were smarter when they started school because of it; they had a home cooked dinner every night and we always ate in the dining room; we were always reading and learning, visiting museums and State Parks.   How am I supposed to, or rather, why should I HAVE TO turn this nurturing side of me off, just because they are growing up?  People are quick to criticize, even though they might have not made the best decisions with their own kids, and this bothers me.  My kids are not their kids, and all the criticizing and good intentions will not change that fact.  I understand they don’t want me to “make the same mistakes” they did, but it comes out sounding condescending, and makes me feel worse and inadequate.

I read a book last year called "How To Be The Parent Your Teenager Needs,” and it totally changed the way I interact with my kids.  It's a Christian book, and the focus was how to learn to change the way you parent, because as kids get older, they need a “different” parenting style.  When children are young, you DO things for them – cook, laundry, clean, nurture, etc. – but as they grow up, you need to learn to just BE.  A good example of how to “BE” is from Luke 10-38-42:

³⁸ Now as they were traveling along, He entered a village; and a woman named Martha welcomed Him into her home. ³⁹ She had a sister called Mary, who was seated at the Lord’s feet, listening to His word. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted with ^[a]all her preparations; and she came up to Him and said, “Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to do all the serving alone? Then tell her to help me.” ⁴¹ But the Lord answered and said to her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; ⁴² but only one thing is necessary, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her.”

As the parent of a teenager and a lovely young woman, I have had to learn to stop being a “Martha” and start being like Mary.  Mary sat at Jesus’ feet and was there for Him, listening to Him, while Martha busied herself cooking and cleaning.  While I still cook and clean, it no longer means the same as it did when they were younger.  I am there for my children when they need me.  I make an effort to be free during times I know they may be more willing / comfortable to talk (for Evan that time is usually after midnight). I try not to poke in their business, and I don’t need to constantly do things to get my point across.  I need to just listen and be there when they are ready to talk.  I would advise this book for anyone with preteen/teenage kids. 

Anyway, I will never look down on a mother who cries on the first day of school, whether her baby is starting kindergarten, high school or college.  I hope I never criticize the way another mother chooses to parent her babies (well, there are exceptions, like Casey Anthony).  I will always be me and I will always love my children immensely, and like it or not, that’s the way my kids expect me to be.  My hope is that they will love their children like I love them – totally, unashamed, and with everything they are.