Look Mom! No More Training Wheels!

For the past 16 years, I have driven this kid around like a chauffeur. Basketball, tennis, baseball, school, friends’ houses, camps…a regular taxi service I was. And I am certain that I complained about it…just a few times. But today that would all change. The reality of the transition that was about to occur hit me when I got out of my car and the driver's license examiner got in and said, "We will be back in 15 minutes." "Okay, I will be here," I responded in a faint voice. I walked away and felt a surge of emotions: fear, disbelief, nostalgia all mixed up with excitement and anticipation. I stood frozen and stared at my car with my son and the tester inside, only to have my trance interrupted by my son bounding out of the car mumbling expletives, “Mom, you took the car keys!” “Oh sorry, honey,” I said as I fumbled through my purse and quickly handed them over.

I resumed my trance-like state, leaning against the outside of the driver’s license office building wanting time to stand still for just a moment. Please, just for a moment, so I can process this, wrap my brain around the idea of my son being able to drive...legally...by himself. But my phone rang and it was my husband, who was out of town, wanting a play-by-play of our son’s driver’s test.  Well, the first play I  reported was our son managing to maneuver the car directly over a curb as he pulled out of his parking spot and made a right hand turn. I wondered if that did him in. But I knew he wanted this; he wanted this badly, and he had worked hard and practiced and I believed that he would find a way to turn a rough start into an acceptable outcome.

I saw a girl get out of a car holding a piece of paper and walking toward her dad. She was beaming. “Congratulations,” I said as she walked passed me. She smiled and thanked me and proceeded into the building to fill out paperwork with her dad. I wondered about my son's fate. After 10 long minutes and not much to report to my husband, I saw my son pull the car into a parking spot. I saw him step out of the car holding a similar looking piece of paper. He had a grin on his face and immediately gave me a thumbs up. A knot formed in my throat and I tried not to let the tears well up in my eyes as I got the words, "he passed" out to my husband.

A license to drive is a right of passage, a milestone, a part of the natural progression of our children’s development and a big step toward their autonomy. It is something to celebrate.  But at the moment when he emerged from my car with the same "I did it" smile that he has given me so many times over his life, I realized that my time with my son just took a huge hit. He will no longer be forced to spend those minutes or hours in the car with me transporting him to where he needs to be. He can get there without me. Should I rejoice in this? Sure. But now that I can feel this time slip away, I clearly see how precious it was. 

On the way home, I told him that I would miss the countless hours we had together in the car, heading to and from his games, practices and social events. I would miss the talking and the not talking…just being in the confined space of my car with him.  He was quiet, still reveling in the glory of his accomplishment. I wondered if he would miss that time we had together. Maybe somewhere in the distant future he would remember and be grateful for those times, but for the present moment, I got a very strong sense from him that he couldn't wait to be free!

So, on those days when you have spent more hours turning your steering wheel than you have doing anything else, remember that your calling as a chauffeur is only temporary. Try to cherish some of on-the-road time you have with your children.  And definitely buy yourself an awesome chauffeur’s hat!

She's Going to College

It's official, she is going. A few of the colleges she has dreamed of attending wrote her letters and sent her emails saying they'd be thrilled to have her. She screamed! She jumped up and down! She was elated, beyond elated! I screamed and jumped up and down with her. I was elated, but not beyond elated. Because we all know what this really means. Yep, it means that she is really going to leave. She is not sure where she will land...still waiting for letters from a few other potential options. But none of these options are in my zip code or even in my state. She is flying the coop. I pray her wings are strong enough for the flight. I believe that they are but I still pray. I am proud of her, happy for her and yet slightly sad and confused. Elated? For her, maybe. For her that she gets to take those beautiful blue eyes and go out and view the world from a different lens--a lens that is more her own--a lens that she will continue to fine tune, adjust and readjust as she becomes a more aware and conscious adult. Will she know a good thing when she sees it? Will she know danger? Will she follow her heart? Or her head?

I will know some of her thoughts, her ideas, her feelings, her fears but certainly a lot fewer of them than I do now. I won't be able to see her eyes every day when she comes home from school and instantly be able to determine if she had a good day or that something is weighing on her. She will get to decide if she wants to tell me--or not. I won't necessarily "just know." The protective layer that I have, or at least think I have with her living in my house, will peel away as she exits. And I don't know what it looks like or feels like to not have that layer in tact. And neither does she.

But once again, I am ahead of myself. The yoga teacher in me says, "Embrace the present. She is still here." The letters arrived and told us she'd been accepted, and she will go, but she is not gone yet. This period of time feels a little bit like a bandaid being pulled off ever so slowly. Ouch! And I don't exactly know what lies beneath the bandaid. My friends and relatives who have older kids who have gone off to college tell me,"It's great. It's like a new chapter and it's cool to develop a more adult to adult type of relationship with your child, which will happen when she leaves." O.k., yes, but I actually really like this chapter. The one in which she lives in my house, and I get to see her and hug her every day. You can't hug via skype or text. Ouch again!

I know, I can kick and scream all I want about this (well, into my pillow maybe), but there's no turning back, she going. And the funny thing is, this is what I wanted, and deep down do want for her. This is when I am supposed to say to myself, "All the hard work paid off. She's going to college! She did it! You did it!" Maybe when that bandaid is completely off and is no longer uncomfortably pulling at the hairs on my skin, I will be able to say that.

I will certainly let you know!

The Days are Long But the Years are Short

There are those pivotal moments when you see your child transform before your eyes. You realize that every ounce of energy that you have put into raising this child--all the time you spent worrying, all the pep talks you've given, all the times you've listened and advised, or just listened...and all the times you've yelled (you didn't mean to be yelling but you had to make sure she could hear you!)--worked. She is grown up, she is 17, she is beautiful, she is her own person. Her own person who has succeeded beyond your expectations and who has fallen flat on her face...and gotten back up, again and again. You have been there, you have guided her, you have loved her, you have mothered her through all of it.

And here she stands, my height, with a maturity beyond anything that I was even close to having at 17...well beyond.  I love her more than words can say. I am in awe of her person--the person who she has become, independent of me. I love what she brings to this world and to my heart.  I love how she makes me laugh, how she lights up a room, how she talks too loud and chomps her food. I even love that she still throws tantrums (I taught her well!) I love it all.

Talk of the upcoming summer that she will spend away at camp, talk of her being a senior, of her LAST year at home, with me, with us, and talk of her going away to college swirls around me. It is all talk right now. Because to internalize it makes my heart ache too much, and creates a lump in my throat. I know how fast a year goes. I know how fast 17 years has gone. She cried a lot when she was a baby. She bit other kids and she was bossy as a toddler.  She drove me insane as an adolescent, and still continues to keep my hair colorist in business with all the grays she has given me as a teenager. But she has always and continues to amaze me with her intelligence, her wit and her zest for life. She has taught me how to live fully and to laugh a whole lot more.

As I work on the book that I am writing for moms about the trials and tribulations of motherhood, I spend hours reading mothers' accounts of what their joys and challenges have been/are with their children, their spouses and within themselves. It causes me to do a tremendous amount of reflecting on my children's lives and of my transformation as a mother. I am not able to fully articulate how quickly the time goes. When you are in the throws of whatever you are in with your children, it seems like time stands still. And in a way it does. You are in a bubble, the child-rearing bubble. I remember wanting those days to go by a little faster and yearned for more time to myself.  But as you start to see your way out of that bubble, it is a little bit scary, and you realize that although there are many challenges within the bubble, it is where you have spent your time with your child. There is comfort there, and popping that bubble is not as easy as it may seem.

I looked over at my daughter's eyes in the kitchen yesterday. She looked different.  She had the seriousness in her eyes that only adults have. But thankfully, her serious, focussed, beautiful blue eyes had a sparkle, not a little girl sparkle but a sparkle that is timeless and ageless--a sparkle that I hope she will never lose. Maybe she has had this look in her eyes for a while and I just didn't notice. Maybe I didn't want to notice. Maybe I don't want her to be grown up...and to leave. But I do. But I don't. But I....It is not up to me. She has grown up. She will leave. But...not quite yet!  Thank goodness we have another year!

The Toddler Years Revisited – Only Now She Has Her Driver’s License

“Letting go doesn't mean we don't care.  Letting go doesn't mean we shut down. Letting go means we stop trying to force outcomes and make people behave. It means we give up resistance to the way things are, for the moment. It means we stop trying to do the impossible--controlling that which we cannot--and instead, focus on what is possible--which usually means taking care of ourselves.  And we do this in gentleness, kindness,
and love, as much as possible.” Melody Beattie, author and journalist

Loosening the reigns, tightening the reigns; letting go and trying to exert control=the constant struggle with having a teen. You want to have some kind of control over their choices--where they are going, who they are with, and what they are doing.  So many moms I have spoken with about raising a teen seem to have the same kind of post-traumatic stress/fear as I do.  We all concur, “My parents had no clue what I was doing at 16, 17, 18, and even when they tried to figure it out, there were no cell phones, no internet. It was whole lot more difficult to find our exact whereabouts than it is now. And quite frankly, I am not quite sure that they even wanted to know what we were up to.” But it is a whole different ball game today. Parents are expected to know where their kids are at all times, and the thing about teens is that they are moving targets. They start out at a high school hockey game, then they go to Noodles to eat, then they head to Bobby’s house to hang out, but then Judy calls and wants them to come over, so they caravan over there. By the time curfew calls (and hopefully they are honoring that), they could have changed locations five times. Do parents need to know about every location change? Do you need to call Bobby’s mom and then Judy’s mom to make sure the parents are home and that they are expecting a group of teens?

When my 16-year-old got her license. I expected her to text me with every location change, and I was a “caller,” as in I tended to call parents to make sure that they were home and expecting guests. My daughter was absolutely appalled and mortified that I was one of “those moms,” but I was okay with that label.  Now, as she is in her second year of driving, I have loosened the reigns a bit. There have been times when I loosened them too much and needed to pull them tight again. And there have been times when my husband and I realized that she needed more space and that it was important for us to give it to her. But the bottom line is that you don’t really know for sure what that balance is. And furthermore, just when you think you are in a good groove with your teen, you have to keep in mind that even the most brilliant of teenagers, make dumb choices. Their brains are simply not capable of making logical connections between actions and consequences.

In a November 28, 2010, article in the Star Tribune’s Parade section entitled “What’s Really Going on Inside Your Teen’s Head,” the author, Judith Newman reveals “When my friend’s son—a straight-A student and all-around sweetheart—recently ended up in the hospital getting his stomach pumped because he went out drinking with friends for the first time and had now clue how much was too much, that is when I realized: There is just no predicting. Even for the most responsible kids, there is always that combustible combination of youth, opportunity and one bad night.” Newman goes on to explain, “Truth is, the teenage brain is like a Ferrari: It’s sleek, shiny, sexy, fast, and it corners really well. But it also has really crappy brakes.”

I have realized a lot about myself as a person and as a mother as I am now parenting two teens (as well as two school-aged kids). I have a very hard time letting go. I let my oldest go to summer camp when she was 8 and didn’t know a soul there; I let her travel to many out of town destinations with my parents, she has traveled unaccompanied to visit friends in other cities, and has traveled with a teen group to another country. But putting her behind the wheel of a car, where she is in a position to kill herself or others and sending her off into the world as a responsible, adult-like being was excruciating for me.  It was like in the movie Father of the Bride when Steve Martin is looking at his daughter across the table and he sees her as this little girl in pigtails who can barely see over the table and she says in a squeaky voice, “I’m getting married.” That’s how I saw my daughter behind the wheel of the car. How can she drive a car when she can’t even see over the steering wheel?! But I didn't necessary think I would be that way!

When she was 15 and got her driver’s permit, I thought I would be excited for her and excited to take her out driving. I would be the calm and cool mom sitting shotgun as her daughter drives around town. I would be giving her friendly reminders about signaling her turns and how to speed up and merge onto the freeway. But that was not even close to my reality! I could not even get out of the parking lot with her driving! All was fine when we practiced in the empty parking lot at a shopping mall during off hours on a Sunday. But when it was time for her to get out on the road…..NOOOOO!  Stop!!!  I couldn’t do it. Why? Because I was terrified. I was terrified that she was going to make a major driving mistake and that she would kill us both. And that couldn’t happen because I have three other children who need me! When I drive her around, I am in control. But having her drive me around was not going to work. I could not give her that control. No way, no how. Of course I wanted her to drive. It would eventually make my life easier. But that fear of letting go was a HUGE roadblock for me.

Maybe I saw myself in her and that scared me even more. Let’s see, I had three accidents when I was 16. Only one involved another car that I unintentionally cut off and forced the driver to hit me. The woman got out of the car with a very bloody lip and I almost passed out. But as my mother has often told me, “Your daughter is not you, and you have to separate. Her mistakes won't be your mistakes.”  Well, I let go enough to turn the driving coach job over to my husband. She learned how to drive.  She got her license. She is a fine driver. I say a prayer every morning when she gets into the car with my three other children and drives them to school. “Precious cargo!!” I yell out the door as she pulls out of the driveway. It is scary to let go. Really scary-but necessary.