I recently saw a poster on the train while commuting to my job in downtown Dallas. There's a mom and 38 year old son who are having dinner together. The mom says “Don't eat too much bread; you'll spoil your dinner.” To which the son replies” Did you really just tell me not to eat too much bread?” The mom thought to her self, “If he only knew. When we are crossing a street I instinctively still reach for his hand.”
I can relate to this mom. Watching children grow up and become adults is just not that easy. You never really stop thinking of your children as the little chubby cheeked cherubs they were once upon a time. My daughters pretended to be princesses and built tents in the living room. We ate pizza on a Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag spread on the living room floor and watched The Cosby Show. I got them up in the middle of the night just so they could go outside with me and lay on a blanket and stare at the sky hoping to catch falling stars. (To put in your pocket of course.) On hot summer days we laid on the trampoline while the sprinkler splashed us from below. When a storm came up we made Thunder Cake. The first windy day of Spring we were out to fly our new kites. So many wonderful memories. It was quite perfect, this life I shared with my little daughters.
Now I have grown-up daughters. I want them to marry wonderful young men who will love, protect and provide for them. I want them to be able to stay at home and raise babies if that's what they want. I want them to have a nice home, an SUV and a vacation now and then. They shouldn't have to worry about electric bills, tires for the car or broken hot water heaters. Those things are for grown ups, not little princesses who build castles out of Disney bedsheets. I don't want them to worry about the price of gasoline or what to make for dinner. I should still be the one to take care of these things for them.
Okay. Truth be told, in my perfect world, we would all live together in a huge house. We would share every meal together. I would read Mother Goose to my grandchildren and giggle under the covers with a flashlight when they are supposed to be asleep. I would bake cookies for them and go to all of their school programs. The guys would all go off to work to earn our living and we would live happily ever after.
Some of my friends are glad when childhood days are over and their kids are “raised”. They seem to be able to dis-connect easier than I can. I guess I am irreversibly and irrevocably tied to my children's hearts. Its seems only natural that I would want a perfect life for them. And, I suppose it's normal that I get frustrated because it's not in my power to make it happen. Oh, I know "that's life”, “life is hard” and all that. I am realistic. I do realize they have to resolve grown-up issues and make grown-up decisions. And they have to do it at times without their mom. So far they are doing quite well. I have every reason to believe they will be fine long after I'm gone. But I like to think that somewhere along the line, amongst chalk pictures on sidewalks and wading in rain puddles they picked up a few things that will help them succeed in whatever life they make for themselves. My girls will be content and happy. My job will be complete. And maybe, just maybe, I can finally let them go.
I can relate to this mom. Watching children grow up and become adults is just not that easy. You never really stop thinking of your children as the little chubby cheeked cherubs they were once upon a time. My daughters pretended to be princesses and built tents in the living room. We ate pizza on a Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag spread on the living room floor and watched The Cosby Show. I got them up in the middle of the night just so they could go outside with me and lay on a blanket and stare at the sky hoping to catch falling stars. (To put in your pocket of course.) On hot summer days we laid on the trampoline while the sprinkler splashed us from below. When a storm came up we made Thunder Cake. The first windy day of Spring we were out to fly our new kites. So many wonderful memories. It was quite perfect, this life I shared with my little daughters.
Now I have grown-up daughters. I want them to marry wonderful young men who will love, protect and provide for them. I want them to be able to stay at home and raise babies if that's what they want. I want them to have a nice home, an SUV and a vacation now and then. They shouldn't have to worry about electric bills, tires for the car or broken hot water heaters. Those things are for grown ups, not little princesses who build castles out of Disney bedsheets. I don't want them to worry about the price of gasoline or what to make for dinner. I should still be the one to take care of these things for them.
Okay. Truth be told, in my perfect world, we would all live together in a huge house. We would share every meal together. I would read Mother Goose to my grandchildren and giggle under the covers with a flashlight when they are supposed to be asleep. I would bake cookies for them and go to all of their school programs. The guys would all go off to work to earn our living and we would live happily ever after.
Some of my friends are glad when childhood days are over and their kids are “raised”. They seem to be able to dis-connect easier than I can. I guess I am irreversibly and irrevocably tied to my children's hearts. Its seems only natural that I would want a perfect life for them. And, I suppose it's normal that I get frustrated because it's not in my power to make it happen. Oh, I know "that's life”, “life is hard” and all that. I am realistic. I do realize they have to resolve grown-up issues and make grown-up decisions. And they have to do it at times without their mom. So far they are doing quite well. I have every reason to believe they will be fine long after I'm gone. But I like to think that somewhere along the line, amongst chalk pictures on sidewalks and wading in rain puddles they picked up a few things that will help them succeed in whatever life they make for themselves. My girls will be content and happy. My job will be complete. And maybe, just maybe, I can finally let them go.
