This week, a few things shifted at home, and it became glaringly apparent that I am moving into yet another stage of this parenting thing.
Shift #1:
Sadly, our morning babysitter had to leave us this week. It’s good news for him; he has a great opportunity and he’s excited to move on. Of course, we will miss him, but we were lucky enough to find a new sitter relatively quickly. I interviewed her on Sunday, and planned to have her start on Thursday. I confirmed on Wednesday night, feeling like we were all set. On Thursday morning, she was supposed to be here at about quarter to seven. At 6:55, I texted, concerned that she hadn’t arrived. At 7:00, I called, hoping to hear she was on her way. At 7:05, I began to prep my kids for their first morning alone.
Now, just to clarify, I later heard from the sitter. She was profusely apologetic and had slept through her alarm. We’ve worked it out. It was nerve wracking, but that’s sort of beside the point. The actual point is this: My kids got themselves on the bus.
This was not without a lot of prompting and rehearsing and calling and texting on my part. They were home together for about 20 minutes, and then there was one, left on his own for another 20. They’ve certainly spent that much time alone before; the difference is that they were never responsible for watching the clock and actually accomplishing things while they were home alone. They’ve never stood in the driveway and waited for the bus without an adult (but they’ve certainly ridden bikes and scooters and played basketball in the driveway- why does waiting for a bus seem so much more dangerous?).
As a side note, I just Googled how to punctuate the end of that sentence, and the answer was not made apparently clear. Perhaps because my use of the parenthetical is wrong; but I’m not changing it.
Anyway, having received texts from both kids that they were waiting for the bus, I proceeded to call their schools to verify that they had actually arrived. During this phone call, I provided a brief explanation regarding the circumstances and my inquiry, all the while fearing that someone would be reporting me to Child Welfare for neglect. So far, so good, but I’ll keep you posted.
Shift #2:
My middle child approached me on Tuesday with a question. Exactly how far was he allowed to ride his bike? Could he go to the High School? To the center of town? To his best friend’s house? After reviewing safety rules about helmets and how to cross the street, we negotiated the perimeter of his roaming area. It’s pretty big. But I remember being just a year or two older than him and riding more than ten miles to meet up with a friend at the other side of our rural ‘town,’ on roads that had speed limits of 55 and no sidewalks at all. I remember how grown up I felt, and all the lessons I learned about how to look out for myself and for my friends. I learned the importance of checking in (so as not to lose this massive privilege). I became more independent and confident and I very much want my son to experience those same things. So I said a prayer and I checked his helmet and I texted his friend’s mom and then I let him go.
He’s gone riding with a small gang of ‘bikers’ every day since. They ride to the park and to Dairy Queen and to 7-eleven. They wind up at each other’s houses, playing with pets and various video games. But they’re out in the world, navigating traffic and store clerks and moms with strollers and babies on swings. I’m sure they’re making mistakes.
They’ve probably been a little too loud as they wandered the shelves, selecting whatever junk food they could afford with the change they scrounged from the couch cushions and the minivan cupholders.
They’ve probably tried to buy gummy bears with a stack of dimes, still short by 30cents.
They’ve probably been a little too rowdy on the playground. Hopefully, they haven’t forgotten all of those lessons about being considerate and watching out for little kids.
They’ve probably been using language they wouldn’t use in front of their moms.
They’ve probably ridden a little too fast down the hills or past the pedestrians.
For all of that, I apologize. But, please be patient with him as he learns. When your babies are little, 12 years old seems so big. When your babies are grown, 12 still seems so small. But no matter your perspective, a 12 year old is still a kid; a kid who is ready to make some mistakes and to learn from them. A kid who needs guidance AND independence. So as I ask for your patience, I also ask for your help.
Please shoot him a dirty look when he says a bad word.
Please shout, “Watch for little kids” or “Slow down” if he’s being careless.
Please remind him that his mother probably raised him better than that when he gets too big for his britches.
Please lend him the extra dime if he’s trying to buy a bottle of water. Please let him learn the hard way and put them back if he’s trying to buy gummy bears.
As I send my child out into the big, bad world to make his mistakes, it makes me feel better to think that there are other mothers out there, looking out for him and keeping him in line. Because it takes a village, and I need your help.
Shift #3
Bea is almost 16 now. I can hardly believe it. And as Lee pushes for more freedoms, I find myself trying desperately to get her to be more independent and to try new things. She’s been living with us for nearly two full years now. She’s made so much progress, and she still has so many struggles. Her most preferred activity is watching TV, and her favorite place to be is in her room. She consistently balks at my suggestions to go DO SOMETHING with her friends, and she’s intensely private, so when conversations veer into the personal, her most likely response is, “I’m not talking about that.”
But this week, I’m living with a different kid. She WALKED to the center of town with her friend and used her own money to get her nails done and go do Dairy Queen. She’s stayed up past her (self imposed) 7:50 bedtime almost every day this week, to chat or cook or finish homework. She let me sit on the edge of her bed and chatted well into the evening. She wrote a journal about something incredibly personal, and then she SHARED it with me.
This amazing young woman is stepping out of her comfort zone, over and over again. I’m so grateful to know her and so proud to be a part of her life and also a little terrified that she’s so, so close to being grown.
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It’s Friday night, and I’m in between moments of shuttling kids and cooking dinner and shouting, “Take a SHOWER already!” I’m taking a moment to process the changes and reflect on these new stages.
In moments like these, I struggle to find the words to describe the wonder I feel. Perhaps awe-struck comes close, but it seems insufficient. “I marvel” hints at it, but the word isn’t quite grounded enough.
I need a word that means, “I feel grounded and settled and in awe of all the things around me that I cannot control. I feel an overwhelming love for these kids in all of their stages, and I feel utterly content in the truth that I am not the one in charge of this progression. I am full of faith and wonder and peace.”
What’s the word for that? Because I’d like to sit in it for a while.