There are all these sappy, sentimental things going around on the internet about saying goodbye to the parts of your child that are gone forever and embracing them for who they are now. Becoming the mom that they need today. Well, I’m not sure that is even possible. You see, my child, my children, are complex and hard. They are loving and smart. They are sweet and articulate, but they are not easy and in order for me to be the best parent I can be on any given day means drawing on the children they were. I have to remember the sweet hugs and notes left in my room when they are torturing each other. I have to remember staying up late reading in a fort when they are not turning in their homework. So, while I understand the desire to skip forward, I, instead, think about who we have become together.
I want to think that their childhoods have been a picture that we look back on with fondness but I know there are just as many missed moments as happy memories. I am a realist and I want to remember their childhoods for those moments when I was less than stellar right alongside the ones that were made for Facebook. And as much as I know and want to do, I can only be the mom that I am today. We can only be the family we are today and most of the time, it is pretty amazing.
Just this morning my 9-year-old put on blue sweatpants with a red and black shirt while I was holding black sweats--dude, this will match better. To which he explained that he goes to school with other 9 and 10-year-olds and they do not care. At all. I handed him the black ones and retreated. He emerged for breakfast in the blue ones. And I drove him to school in my PJs, kleenex in hand because if they don’t care, why do I?
The sentimental will say that they want to remember the kid that slept like a champ and the toddler that gave sloppy kisses, the preteen that struggled with friendships and the teen that learned to embrace them. Unfortunately, that isn’t our story, but I still love my memories of raising up these crazy boys.
As we begin to say goodbye to the one that made us parents, I do have memories of the days gone by, regrets as well, but I know we did the best we could.
I do miss the little dude that I could carry around but who always wanted to do it himself. The one that could sleep like a champ, but too many times, we listened to cry it out while our cat sat at the top of the stairs meowing along with him because why were we just sitting there. He learned and even now sleeps like a champ. I can still sneak a glance at his sweetness while he is asleep if I don’t first trip on a week’s worth of clothes as I navigate his room.
Why do some memories stand out more than others? Like the day when he was 6 weeks old and we were moving from Seattle to Duvall and all the people came to help but all I could do was weep. He in his bucket and me next to him. Something fell over and almost hit him in the head. I’m pretty sure it was a gun, in a case, but whatever, I was so stressed so I got in the car and drove with him and that cat, the three of us crying the entire way. Or the times when we would let him go to the end of the block on his own, then finally all the way around without us. I would race up to the back window to try to see him as he went. Then later when he would be gone for hours investigating the neighborhood in East Wenatchee with the twins--they were like 5 and 6, but we let them go. Or the time when he was too sick to trick or treat. Or the time that he became a big brother and his dad went to war.
My life is completely intertwined with that of my oldest child. Completely. I’ve spent more time with him in his 17 and almost a half years than I have with his Dad. To say that he is my person is an understatement. To say that his brothers aren’t would be a gross overgeneralization, but there is something about your first born. About our first born.
Today he is huge. Partially grown. Kind. Caring. Godly. And an absolute pain in the ass. He knows the exact right tone to use to trigger his brothers and me with just one statement. He knows how to roll his eyes before speaking that will set me off. He knows when to offer a hug and when to keep the space. He knows these things but he still doesn’t use them skillfully. But he will learn, he has a great example. I’m still learning.
So, no, I won’t say goodbye to any of the boys that he once was. And I will hold the memories close. I will continue to coach and guide and harass and set limits. I will be proud of what he has accomplished and I will worry about what he leaves undone. I know that I will miss him when he moves to Arizona in the fall, actually the summer, but until then I don’t mind that our lives are completely intertwined. I don’t care that we moved too many times for him to have actual real friends because we have accomplished what we set out to do--to make the family the core, the center point for who we all are. The five. It is always weird when one is missing but we carry on, we grow, we learn and we come back together better and stronger than we were before. I am excited for the next adventure with this kid.
And he speaks my language. He asked if I had written anything lately and when I said no, he said, oh. I think that when I’m gone you should write something each week and then I can call and we can discuss. REALLY? WHAT? OKAY? So, between you and me, Thatch, let’s get to it.
So, Thatcher, what should we talk about . . . moving, being raised by wolves, girlfriends, politics, education, crazy stories about kids at school. Do I have a deadline? To the rest of you, join us--tell us what you think, what topics we should cover, and join us in telling your own point of view--pull up to the table, we will meet you there!
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