I've been reflecting a lot lately on my teenage boys. I guess every mom goes thru this time of reflection as she comes to grips with the inevitable ... they will grow up and leave you. Bitter/sweet. During this time, I'm discovering once again the little boys they used to be.
As our kids are growing up, we are so consumed with the current state of things. We're driving them places, making sure they are prepared for every eventuality in the day (i.e. Don't forget you shoes for gym!), and generally enjoying knowing them in the moment. What has struck me lately had led me through a period of mourning (which I consider a good and healthy thing), but maybe not in the sense you think. Let me see if I can explain.
Our kids' lives are filled with the first times, and the last times. The thing is, we have lots of reminders of the firsts. Remember that first step? I bet you had the camera ready as I did (or at least you recreated the event a few moments later for posterity). How about that first night in a tent, or the first soccer game? Got it. First time carving a pumpkin? First time in Grandpa's arms? Got it. We have picture after picture, and revisit those "firsts" over and over again.
But what about the lasts? The last time he rode a tricycle? Did you get that on film? Remember how precious he was motoring around with knees up to his chin? Nope ... don't "Got it". How about the last time you picked him up? One day, he reaches the point where he walks everywhere by himself. Nope ... don't got that one either. The last time he held your hand to cross the street? Didn't we celebrate how grown up he had become when he could do it safely by himself. It is the job of parents to teach their kids everything they need to know to be happy, functioning, successful (however you define it) adults. But oh the sweetness of dependence.
Sometimes I see parents yelling at their young children. Parents are frustrated and tired ... the pressures of the American Dream. Children are undisciplined and demanding ... the lenience of today's parenting generation. And the parents are yelling their children into defiance. I want to walk over to them and reach them with the love that shows them that I understand their frustrations. I want to hug their kids and tell them they are wonderful just because they are, not because of any particular trait or accomplishment. Mostly, I want to tell Mom and Dad that one day, in the near future, a last will happen. They won't know it is the last. They won't see it coming, or realize the implications. But it will come. Something will come to an end, and one day they will mourn.
When I think of my two teenagers, I think about their little faces as they slept when they were young. Many of you understand that sensation of staring at your sleeping kids because it is the source of strength for making it through another day with them awake. Don't condemn me for that ... you know we've all done it! I would venture to say that we've been better parents for it! But one day, the face changes. You're no longer looking at your baby, but at your adolescent. Then it is your teenager. Then it is your adult child. You realize that the little guy, although encased in a grown-up body now, really doesn't exist anymore. You love the adult with a more complete love than you ever loved the little child, because your love has had time to grow and mature. But that little one is just a memory. I'm so grateful for the wonderful memories!
These are the meandering thoughts I have as I watch my teen yell at the top of his lungs that I have no right to try and control his life. Flashes of young faces fly thru my mind as I watch one run like the wind, or the other give the soccer game his all. Yes, I am so grateful for the memories.
If you are remembering too, be thankful as I am. If you are struggling not to be that yelling parent, pause to remember that this is all so very temporary. Aren't we blessed to be parents?!?
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