UP

It’s a strange thing when your babies grow. Everyone knows that raising children means that one day they will actually rise, and that should mean they mature physically to the point of reaching the highest shelf in the kitchen where my hidden stash of cookies hangs out or becoming aware of the secret not-so-secret money jar in the laundry room. Expected growth. I fed and watered them sufficiently (unlike the house plants) and they survived my mood swings and forced beach outings, music lesson treks and let’s-have-ice-cream-for-dinner PMS plans well enough to stabilize and be formed into viable adult beings. They do now pollute their bodies with energy drinks, vaping and staying up too late, but that’s not my gig anymore.

The point is that the infants I became charge of in the 90’s are now adult people who no longer need that level of care, and though I’m an intelligent adult myself who fully knew that when I was going in, back when I was 25, I’m still shocked that the days are here already where my kids don’t need to check in with me to stay alive. They sleep, eat and hydrate themselves, get to work without me waking them up, earn paychecks that pay their own bills and even have flourishing adult relationships that they enjoy outside the scope of the playdates I arranged. 

Every dummy knows that kids grow, so why the lament? Well, it’s just that deciding to be a Mom (or having motherhood thrust upon you, ahem…) brings with it an acceptance of a certain selflessness that I’m finding hard to shake. Having children means sacrifice. As new parents, we sacrifice sleep right away. We also unknowingly sacrifice the peace of mind sleep used to bring — you know, back before we knew that we needed to hear the sound of our infants’ steady breathing over the monitor to get true rest. We sacrifice plans, and dreams, and oh my Lord, the time! Children definitely syphon tons of time, like maybe all of it. They may have absconded with my sanity somewhere along the line as well. At the root of those sacrifices is selflessness. Another bite of my sandwich, the last bit of milk in the house, the more comfortable spot on the bed when they roam in to the master bedroom groggy-eyed, but awake at 2am. Again. It’s often forced selflessness just to get some sleep, but it’s definitely a marked ending to putting yourself first. And it’s just strange to end that now years later.

So, as I’m sitting alone on this late summer morning sipping green tea while my steel cut oatmeal sets or percolates or does whatever magical thing it does in the thirty minutes I wait for it to be ready, I am really noticing how strange it is that I’m not yelling at anyone to stop teasing anyone else. I’m not distracted by wondering why things suddenly got quiet. I’m not reminding anyone to wipe their feet, and I’m not planning my summer around the needs and wants of little infiltrators that try to gobble up my rest time by clogging it with their own social schedules. And it really is strange. I don’t know how to fully turn off the idea that I can sleep through the night or get in the shower without making sure everyone is okay first. It’s hard to plan dinner and just imagine what is is I feel like eating or cooking or ordering. Feels wrong to be selfish, but it’s just because there aren’t any kids around here to put before myself.

And I will admit to relief. It’s nice. It really is. I can finish a thought. My husband can kiss me and mean it right in the middle of the kitchen, in the middle of the day. And I can keep the cookies out in the open, too. It’s just that this is one of those double-edged swords you gotta watch out for. Because with that relief comes this weird what-am-I-supposed-to-do-with-myself confusion. It does battle with the relief and sometimes wins. I’m not crying about it over here and all sad that I have nothing to do. I have a lot of things to do. I have a too-full life with ministries, jobs and personal pursuits to keep me way too busy. Even in a year with the garden un-planted I have enough yard work and coop work to take up some summer hours. It’s just that I don’t quite know what to do first. I’m not used to having the opportunity, the selfishness, to decide for myself what to do next. 

For example, without a child running in to wake me up, what time should I get out of bed? Without a child whining about how hungry it is (yes, it….when they’re hungry, they’re all it-like), when do I cook? In fact, without kids whining about their preferences, what do I cook? Without kids to interrupt my writing, how much can I actually write? And look at that. Instead of them interrupting my writing, they have become my writing. Hah!

I’m tempted to fall into the common sorrow about the time going too fast. That is very real. It did actually go fast. It does feel like the blink I heard it would be — one moment I was putting money under their pillows for lost teeth and the next they were driving away in their first cars. Not today, though. Today,  I’m caught in the shock that they ever had this destination called up. They grew up. I’m guessing this means they are officially up. And I just didn’t expect it to ever happen, like I was suddenly laid off from the job I’d had for decades, sent into retirement before I planned — and that’s a pretty accurate analogy.

And if they are up, where does that leave me? 

I’m free to move about the cabin, to plan, to choose, to sleep, to stay out late or go to bed early, to take a night job or a day job or a job in another country even. I’m free to finish anything I start. I’m free to make appointments at any point in the week. I’m free to get on the phone without hiding to say things kids can’t hear. I’m free to drain my own bank account without leaving a just-in-case cushion for the kids. I’m free to stop talking through the bathroom door about where someone’s sneakers might be or what time we’re leaving for swimming lessons. That’s pretty free. For a single mom who played both parents for too long, it’s double free. 

And I hope I’ve done it well enough. Did I prepare them with regard to nutrition, hygiene habits, manners, a pursuit of dreams with confidence, work ethic, an awareness of their emotional well-being, a social responsibility to stand up for what’s right, and of course a relationship with God? Because I can complain a lot about how hard it was, but none of it was worth it at all if I only allowed them the up-ness in the growing up. They actually needed to grow in all areas to be competent adults, and that was truly my most important job all along.  

To self-assess, I can say that every one of our kids knows how much I love God. Every one of our kids knows that through trials I have persevered solely through the grace of a strong faith. Every one of our kids knows at least one Bible verse (but probably many) by heart and can get at them in their memory in times of trouble. Every one of our kids knows they have someone on their side praying for them, asking God to intervene in their lives and bring them what they need, lessons to teach them and guide them, comfort, peace, and most of all love. I think God may say that’s a job well done. I hope so. 

And even though I’m pretty wild about having so much freedom, I am still sure that every one of our kids knows that they can snatch that freedom right back at any time without question. They know they can and should wake us in the middle of the night or call during work or while we’re out to dinner or on vacation, any single time they need any single thing. I have the freedom to still love my kids with my ever-availability. They call; I answer. Copied that lesson on parenting from God. That’s exactly how He loves me. I call on Him; He answers. 

And God lets me grow up, too. He’s a pretty good example of what parents should be here on earth. He reels out lessons to us slowly and with kindness, showing us our errors, lighting the way, dusting us off and sending us back out there to try again, protecting us, providing for us, cheerleading from the sidelines, rushing in to scoop us up when we fall. Noticing my children all grown makes me imagine God as if He’s sick and tired of all of us kids down here getting it wrong, bickering with one another, selfishly hogging the blankets of His grace so we can find comfort for ourselves, forgetting all about Him. So, as the kids give us new space in their up-ness, if we are careful we can see the reminder in it: call your Mom. She loves you. Trust me, she misses spending time with you. More importantly, though, it’s a good time to remember to call your Father — your Heavenly Father; He loves you and misses spending time with you, too.

***THANKS FOR READING. PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT …AND MAYBE SHARE A WAY IN WHICH YOU’VE NOTICED SOMEONE YOU LOVE GROWING UP.

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