Aaaah... remember the days of diaper rash, late night feedings and slobbery toothless kisses?
Hauling carseats and extra changes of clothes, cheerio snacks and a small toy department every time you put on your shoes to go out.
Ear infections.
Teething pain.
Vaccinations and fevers that followed.
Separation anxiety.
Countless dirty, smelly diapers.
Wasn't life simple then?
I thought THAT was the hard part.
As my top two children reached the age of eight and nine, I felt like the job of parenting was finally simplified. Hoo-rah!
Emerging independence.
Sleep overs.
Playmates.
No more climbing onto mommy's knee when she is trying to go pee.
Delightful.
Parent hood is a snap.
I am a frickin' expert.
I laugh in the face of motherly challenges. HA-HA!
I've got brilliant, amazing and well-behaved polite and well-rounded children!
Nobody told me that ages eight through twelve were the 'rest-up-and-save-your-strength' years or the 'rally-the-troops-and-be-prepared-for-alien-invasion' years.
I suppose I am not really surprised.
After-all, I have watched my extended family and friends raising teens and young adults and have been amazed at some of the hard roads they've had to face along the way. I've watched with empathetic eyes and thought about how excrutiating it must be to watch your child(ren) making really crappy choices. And through it all, I have tried not to judge. (Because I have four that will be making choices I don't agree with at some point.)
And I also remember what I was doing during those years.
YIKES.
While it was all stuff I would consider to be normal teenage stuff, NOW I cannot deny the terrified parent in me. I know the challenges that kids face. All the learning lessons.
My lovely 13 year old daughter has been smoking at school. (I did it too.) She is in grade 8. (That is the grade I was in too.) We've talked about it in great detail. Several times. We talk about everything. Openly. And while I wasn't surprised she'd tried it, I still was. (Like that made sense.)
She was my left wing healthy choices activist.
She was digusted and perplexed as to why anyone would treat their body so poorly.
Ugh, drugs. YUCK. Smoking. Never.
I can remember her saying, 'I am never going to smoke!'
Hmmm.
So we chatted lots. And dragged her poor brother into it. He would rather pull out his nosehairs than have a family discussion, but I made him listen too. We talked about the hard decisions in life. And thinking about the hard decisions before you are actually faced with making them. Making a plan about how you will respond the first time you are presented with an 'opportunity' to do or try something new.
It is really difficult.
You know, they come into your life, these beautiful, little, perfect, innocent and needy, tender babies. And you don't think that your heart can handle the amount of love you feel for them. You spend your life protecting, nurturing and celebrating the God in their spirits. You see them in single magical moments and base your entire existence around them.
And then you begin to realize that it isn't about you.
My job is to get them from point A to point B. I have to remind myself of that.
Their path is not my path. Their choices are all a part of their own journey.
I can be advisor. Nurturer. I can offer suggestions or recommendations.
But I can't force. And I can't prevent.
And I wouldn't stop.
Or change any of it.
Please dear sweet Lord, let me survive it.
Better yet. Let them survive it.
"Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
and though they are with you, and yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love, but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday." - Kahlil Gibran
Hauling carseats and extra changes of clothes, cheerio snacks and a small toy department every time you put on your shoes to go out.
Ear infections.
Teething pain.
Vaccinations and fevers that followed.
Separation anxiety.
Countless dirty, smelly diapers.
Wasn't life simple then?
I thought THAT was the hard part.
As my top two children reached the age of eight and nine, I felt like the job of parenting was finally simplified. Hoo-rah!
Emerging independence.
Sleep overs.
Playmates.
No more climbing onto mommy's knee when she is trying to go pee.
Delightful.
Parent hood is a snap.
I am a frickin' expert.
I laugh in the face of motherly challenges. HA-HA!
I've got brilliant, amazing and well-behaved polite and well-rounded children!
Nobody told me that ages eight through twelve were the 'rest-up-and-save-your-strength' years or the 'rally-the-troops-and-be-prepared-for-alien-invasion' years.
I suppose I am not really surprised.
After-all, I have watched my extended family and friends raising teens and young adults and have been amazed at some of the hard roads they've had to face along the way. I've watched with empathetic eyes and thought about how excrutiating it must be to watch your child(ren) making really crappy choices. And through it all, I have tried not to judge. (Because I have four that will be making choices I don't agree with at some point.)
And I also remember what I was doing during those years.
YIKES.
While it was all stuff I would consider to be normal teenage stuff, NOW I cannot deny the terrified parent in me. I know the challenges that kids face. All the learning lessons.
My lovely 13 year old daughter has been smoking at school. (I did it too.) She is in grade 8. (That is the grade I was in too.) We've talked about it in great detail. Several times. We talk about everything. Openly. And while I wasn't surprised she'd tried it, I still was. (Like that made sense.)
She was my left wing healthy choices activist.
She was digusted and perplexed as to why anyone would treat their body so poorly.
Ugh, drugs. YUCK. Smoking. Never.
I can remember her saying, 'I am never going to smoke!'
Hmmm.
So we chatted lots. And dragged her poor brother into it. He would rather pull out his nosehairs than have a family discussion, but I made him listen too. We talked about the hard decisions in life. And thinking about the hard decisions before you are actually faced with making them. Making a plan about how you will respond the first time you are presented with an 'opportunity' to do or try something new.
It is really difficult.
You know, they come into your life, these beautiful, little, perfect, innocent and needy, tender babies. And you don't think that your heart can handle the amount of love you feel for them. You spend your life protecting, nurturing and celebrating the God in their spirits. You see them in single magical moments and base your entire existence around them.
And then you begin to realize that it isn't about you.
My job is to get them from point A to point B. I have to remind myself of that.
Their path is not my path. Their choices are all a part of their own journey.
I can be advisor. Nurturer. I can offer suggestions or recommendations.
But I can't force. And I can't prevent.
And I wouldn't stop.
Or change any of it.
Please dear sweet Lord, let me survive it.
Better yet. Let them survive it.
"Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
and though they are with you, and yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love, but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday." - Kahlil Gibran