A Different Kind of Goodbye

In August we dropped our oldest daughter off at college and it was extremely emotional for us.   We, as her parents, recognized what this meant for our family.   It was the beginning of a new stage for us, a stage where our child would not spend every night under our roof, where we would no longer be privy to the mundane details of her everyday life, and where she would eventually start calling another place, not our beloved house, "home".  We knew this.  She didn't.   We had the wisdom of time and experience.  She did not.

On move in day she was so excited to get started on this new adventure.   She shed no tears upon our departure.   She ran to her dorm with her orientation group.   She had new friends to make, new classes to take, and so many new clubs to join.   It was all so exciting.

She started the semester with all her pencils sharpened, her laptop charged, and her ridiculously expensive textbooks lining her bookshelf.   She was thrilled that she only had to take four classes, as opposed to the seven she had to take each semester in high school.   She was ecstatic that she would never, ever have to take math again.   She LOVED that she could eat whatever she wanted without the glaring eye of her mother judging her choice to have a cookie BEFORE she ate her dinner.  Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

After a while she realized that the reason you only take four classes in college at a time, is because those four classes are much more challenging than any high school class.    Then there was the day she was so excited to have lentil soup for lunch in the cafeteria, only to find out that the school's watery version paled in comparison to mom's.   And, later there was the small health scare she had because she was eating such crappy food.    On top of all of this the roommate match was less than perfect and the laundry machines were not always readily available, or working.

All this being said, she still absolutely loved being at college, and all the opportunities it afforded her.  But, it wasn't all easy, and we weren't always there to help her solve little, or big, problems that came up.  For better or worse, this was her new normal.

Over the course of the first semester she came home a few times.   Usually, with the exception of Thanksgiving, not for more than a night or two.   It was never enough time to get back into the rhythm of our home.   She quickly realized that life had gone on, when during these visits her sister or us, her parents, would go out with other plans, leaving her to her own devices.

The winter break was a little different.   It was longer and gave her time to really tuck back into our family.    She really enjoyed eating home cooked meals, having her laundry done, and mostly, not having to share a room.    She was more helpful around the house than she had ever been.   She was always quick to empty a clean dishwasher,  she helped with the grocery shopping, and even did some cooking and baking.    It was like she suddenly realized in the few months that she had been gone, taking care of herself (to the degree that college students do), that there were no magic fairies that did the household chores.    Things had to get done, and people had to do them, and she might as well help.

When it came time to bring her back to school, she seemed ready to go back.  She was looking forward to a new semester of classes, seeing some friends, and going back to her activities.   I took her back "home" on a Tuesday.   There was nothing ceremonial about it.    It was just me and her and a trunk load of stuff.   We unpacked the car, and I helped her make her bed just like I did in August.   She didn't seem so anxious for me to leave this time.   Unfortunately, due to an appointment I had back home, I couldn't hang around for too long.   Our goodbye was not overly emotional, or teary.   It was just a quick hug and a "I'll text you later".   But it was so different than our goodbye in August.

I knew that she knew.   She knew everything she was leaving behind, and some of what was before her.   She had months ahead of taking care of herself, eating watery lentil soup, managing living with another person, and tackling her studies.   There would also be a lot of exciting adventures ahead, some known, others still a mystery.   It wasn't good or bad.  It was different.  It just was what it was.

There is something wonderful and heartbreaking about watching your child come to the realization that their life is, just that, their life.  In my last post I wrote about how all we wanted for our children was for them to fly.    I guess the first step is the simple realization that you have wings, and that they have the incredible and terrifying power to take you away from everything you've ever known.   Check.

It's What We Want for You

I've been reading a lot of blogs recently about kids going off to college.   Because I am a mother, and I read mostly blogs written by other mothers, most of these blogs are about the grief one feels when dropping ones child off at his or her dorm.  The blogs are about the agony, the tears, and the ache a mother feels as her car (usually driven by someone else because she is too bereft) leaves campus and puts distance between her and her beloved child.

I expect the same will be true for me.

The articles that aren't about grief, tend to be about parting words for your child.   Apparently, it is an important time to impart significant words of wisdom because "studies have shown" that this is THE moment when your child is still a teenager when he or she will actually listen to you.  They will be looking for advice.   I must say this is pretty intimidating.   For the past few years I have become accustomed to my words falling on deaf ears.    No one hears when I ask for the dishes to go in the dishwasher, or laundry to be started, or homework to be done.   And suddenly, when we are parting ways, the ears come back on?!?!

Interesting.

I know I won't be thinking right when I drop her off so I've been thinking a lot about what I want to say.   I've come up with a list of pretty silly things like,

1.  Do your laundry.   You don't' want to live in a room that smells like dirty socks.

2.  Do your homework.   College is harder than high school, you don't want to fall behind.

3.  Don't eat soft serve ice-cream at every meal.  The freshman fifteen is real.

4.  Don't spend too much time on your computer/iphone

5.  Try some new activities.

6.  Make some new friends.

The list goes on.   The thing is that she knows all these things already.   Will she abide?  I don't know.  That is up to her.

But, there is one thing that keeps coming to mind that I'm not sure our kids do know, that I think is pretty universal.

This is what we want for you.

On move in day I might be a mess.   Okay.  I will be a mess.   I will probably embarrass you because I will cry so much.    I will make your bed with tender loving care and smooth the sheets just like I did with your crib before I even had you.   I will hug you too tight and probably leave snot on your shoulder.   I'm sorry about that.

But even if you look out the window and see my shoulders shaking with sobs as I leave, please know that THIS is what I want for you.   

If you ask any parent of a special needs child that is on a different track in life, or the parent of a child who is the victim of their own bad choices, they will probably tell you that they wish with all their heart that they were dropping off their kid at a college campus, or at an apartment for a job/internship.   They will tell you that a promising future, independence, and a happy/healthy child is what they wish for every day.  It's really all any parent wants.   At the end of the day it is important for us to know that you will be okay, frankly and quite morbidly, without us.

It's what we've been "training" you for for the past eighteen years. 

In the past eighteen years you have learned to walk, talk, feed yourself, tie your shoes, swim, ride a bike, possibly drive, cook (well, that's debatable),  and even do calculus!

As you learned each and every one of these skills it took you one step closer to being able to survive on your own.   And that made us extremely proud.

It's what we want for you.

It really is.

That doesn't mean we are happy about it.

However, "It's what we want for you" isn't exactly parting advice.    No worries though, there is advice that naturally goes along with this sentiment and it is really quite simple.

Fly.

We will be sad.  We will sit in our "minus one" nest and mourn your departure.  That's okay.

We just ask one thing of you.  

Fly.

It's time to spread your wings, let the wind take you where you are meant to go.  It's okay if you stumble a little and fall to the ground or rest on a branch.  We get that.  Not everyone catches wind on the first try.  Even a mother bird has to drag a banged up/bruised baby bird back to the nest sometimes.

And you know what she does?  She gives him some worms, let's him rest, and then she makes him try again.   It's his time to go.   

I don't know if birds are capable of feeling sadness or pride, but if they could I imagine that there is a moment of great pride when a mama bird finally sees her baby bird spread his wings and fly off into the sunset…... or sunrise…….or mid-day sun.   (I don't really know what time of day birds leave their nest).   Then the mama bird turns around and sees her empty nest.  Sadness sets in.  Then time goes by and he doesn't return home looking for worms, or with a broken wing that needs to be fixed, and then off in the distance she hears a "tweet" that lets her know he is okay.  She can finally rest.   And, yeah, she is a little bit happy because she no longer has to share her worms :)

But enough of the bird analogy.

We will drop you off at college in a few days and we will be a mess.    You MIGHT even feel bad as we say our goodbyes.   You MIGHT feel guilty for the you-sized hole you are leaving in our hearts and home.  I guess if I'm being honest a small part of me does hope you feel bad.  But an even bigger part of me wants you to go happily running off with new friends to a new life, without looking back.   Go off into the sunset…..or sunrise….or mid-day sun (I don't know what time we will get around to leaving campus).   We will find our way home and we will be okay.   And once we get that "tweet" that all is okay we will rest knowing that our job is done.

It's what we want for you.

Fly.

Never Prouder

If you are friends with me on Facebook then you know that our oldest daughter has had a pretty big year.   This was her senior year of high school and there were many Kodak moments (does her generation even know what that phrase means?).   She accomplished a lot and gave us much to be proud of.  She has worked extremely hard for what she has achieved.  

As I have written about in other blog posts, our daughter was born with a few extra spoonfuls of anxiety.   As a small child things like puppy dogs, kitty cats, and even a few stuffed animals made her tremble in her stride rites.     My husband still has a bad back from all the times she climbed him like a tree when we were out and about and an adorable puppy unexpectedly crossed our paths.   But, this blog post isn't about puppies.    She was and is a person who struggles with anxiety.   My husband and I have spent the last eighteen years trying to make her world as safe and as stress-free as possible.   We have been her "champions", her "super-heros" who try to check the road before her for anything that might cause her distress.   This year she turned eighteen and she will go to college next year (luckily she was given a few extra helpings of brain along with the extra anxiety).   She is more than ready for this milestone but I often wonder how she will face her fears without us there to help her.   Yet, I know that we are not immortal and that at some point she needs to learn how to navigate this world without us.   This is something that I think all parents worry about, but for those of us with kids who have "above-average" struggles, this concern can be all-consuming at times.

She has a fear of needles.

Fear might not be the right word.    She has a wall-climbing, chandelier-hanging, kicking and screaming fear of needles.    Her annual flu shot has frequently required multiple medical professionals to help keep her calm and steady.   We have gone to the doctor's office in the early morning hours or at the end of the day so that she will not upset the six year olds who are facing their flu-shot fate with a brave face.

She has not had a blood test since she was three years old.

Last year at her annual check up her pediatrician brought up the fact that before she went to college she would need a blood test.   I immediately saw the flash of panic in her eyes.   I knew that for a brief moment she was contemplating not attending college at all.   Tears filled her eyes and she started to tremble.  The doctor tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to calm her down but the damage had been done.   As soon as we left the office my daughter immediately started giving me the reasons why she didn't actually need the blood test, and could I please, please, pleeeeeeeease not make her do it.   This was a 17 year old.    All I could think while I walked with a tearful, begging child through the parking lot was "how will she make it in this world?"    I spoke on the phone with the doctor several times after this and we came up with all sorts of plans to get the blood test done.    Words like sedatives, numbing creams, and child life specialists were all thrown around.   In the end, the doctor and I decided to put it on the back burner for a bit.   Different colleges require different blood tests and we should wait until we knew where she would be attending before we took action, since we knew this was a one "shot" deal.   There was a high probability that once we took a vial of blood she would head for the hills so we had to make it count.

To be honest, with the stress of senior year, and all that it entails, I kind of forgot about the whole thing.  There were applications to fill out, then the admission letters came in, decisions had to be made and then there were all the end of year events.    When the dust settled from the school year, we had to start thinking about the logistics of getting her ready for school.   About a month ago we received a packet of health forms that needed to be filled out.    It sat on our kitchen island for a loooooong time, untouched, but carefully eyed by my daughter every time she came into the room.   To be fair,  I didn't really want to "go there" either.   I knew that eventually this was something that would have to be done, but I was in no rush myself.  But, there was a deadline fast approaching that we were all well aware of, and avoiding like the plague.   Besides, there were other things to do.   For example, she had to register for classes, and take some placement tests.   She did that.   She had to find out who here roommate was, and decide who would bring the fridge.   Done.   She needed to get her final transcript sent to the school.   Sent.   She needed to, she needed to, she was running out of things she "needed to" do.

The health envelope sat alone on the kitchen island and seemed to shout out at her every time she ran by and try to elude it, "I'm still here".

I wasn't any better, I continued to ignore the whole thing.   Some "champion" or "super-hero" I was.

A couple of nights ago, late at night I received a text from my daughter, "I need to get the blood test.  I need to do it tomorrow."

I was intrigued.

If you are familiar with the Harry Potter stories you know the moment went Harry Potter and Dumbledore go in search of the the horcruxes that Voldemort has carelessly left around here and there, so they can destroy them, and thus, destroy his soul.   There is a scene when Harry and Dumbledore are in a cave and Dumbledore has to drink the "potion of despair" to get to the horcrux.  Here is the scene from the movie if you would like to familiarize yourself with it.

The next text I received from my daughter reminded me so very much of this scene.   She explained to me that I was to make her get the blood test no matter what.  That she would likely kick, scream, and give me a million excuses why she couldn't do it but that I shouldn't listen to her.   It was time, there was a deadline looming, and it needed to get done.  No more excuses.  She was resolved.

This all came out of the blue to me.

I went down to her room where she was curled up on her bed, tears streaming down her face and I told her that I had never been prouder of her.

She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Really? Never?"

"Nope.  Never."

"Not even when I was admitted to college?"

"Nope"

"Not even when I graduated?"

"Not even close."

"I am a mess!" she exclaimed, "I am crying and shaking, how can you be so proud of me?"

I can't remember my exact words but I told her that I was proud of her because she was doing something that needed to be done, but that she didn't want to do with every fiber of her being.

While getting into college was challenging, it was something she wanted to do and graduating from high school, while a big milestone, was really not all that difficult for her personally.    She was now facing something that was really tough, and had decided to face it head on instead of hiding under the bed.  You are far from a coward if you keep moving towards your fears, even with your puffy eyes, tear streaked cheeks, and trembling lips.   There is nothing wrong with being scared.  Nothing at all.

The next morning, as the hour drew near, I went to her room to wake her up, bracing myself for resistance.   But, there was no resistance.   Instead, the girl got herself out of bed and got dressed.   She got in the car without a fight and walked into the doctor's office on her own two feet.   She sat on the table in the exam room and offered her arm.    She did what she came to do.

Getting into college doesn't guarantee success in this world, it doesn't even guarantee success in college.   It just tells you that you've been given permission, based on your credentials, to advance to the next space in the game of life.

Giving blood doesn't guarantee success in this world either.   But, when you see someone gritting their teeth, and facing their biggest fears, tears or no tears, it's a pretty good indicator that they are going to give it their best shot.   It's also the moment that you realize that there was a very good reason that you didn't play "champion" or "superhero" in this instance.   It was time for someone else to put on that cape.

Be your own superhero!!!!!

(and, even superheros cry sometimes!)

Note:   In case you are reading this and thinking that this is too much to share, this blog was written with permission of my daughter.     

On Making Decisions

I did not enjoy college.

Sure. I met some cool people and had some good times but the overall experience was not a positive one.   When I was younger I blamed it on the institution I attended, but as I become older and wiser I realize that the person I was at the time probably had a lot to do with it too.  Basically, I had a lot of growing up to do.

Sometimes people ask me if I regret going to a college that I did not enjoy, and I always answer "No!" without hesitation.    Even if I could go back in time and change every single thing, I wouldn't.

I think I was already unhappy at college by the end of my first semester freshman year.   I looked into transferring but it was complicated by my big dream of spending some time abroad my junior year.   Most colleges required that their transfer students spend at least 6 semesters on campus.   This meant I could not transfer and study abroad.  I decided to stay put.   I made some good friends and muddled through to my junior year.  Then I went to Vienna and my life changed.   I loved being in Europe and being up close and personal with history, art, and amazing architecture.   I made some really good friends there too.  They were all Americans from other colleges in the U.S. but we were all kindred spirits who loved to explore the world.

When I came back to the states, and went back to my college, I knew I could tough it out for one more year, and I did.  After graduation I moved to NYC.    I ended up getting a job with a
high school international exchange organization.   It was here that I met some truly awesome people, that to this day are some of my favorite people in the world.  You know who you are.    After I had lived in NYC for a couple of years one of my fellow classmates from Vienna came for a visit.   He introduced me to a high school friend of his who lived in the city.   That friend became my husband.

After my husband and I were married, we moved to the Boston area and had two daughters that we love to the moon and back.
We have made a lovely life for ourselves in a suburb.    We even have a dog.


Time has passed and currently I am standing on the sidelines as my senior daughter and her classmates choose where they will spend the next chapter of their lives.    Some of them have already been disappointed as they haven't been admitted to the school of their dreams.    Money is heavily weighting the decision for others.  Others are coming to the sad realization that maybe they should have spent more time studying the past four years and less time texting/hanging out with their friends.   In the end, they will all do something next year.  Maybe they'll be at the school of their dreams, maybe not.   Maybe they will take a year off to figure things out.  Maybe they won't go to school at all.

There is a moment I can remember quite clearly from when I was a sophomore in college.   I was sitting on the grass on the quad on a sunny day casually looking at two brochures for two different study abroad programs.   I chose to go to Vienna because I liked the brochure better.  There was probably a photo of a piece of Sacher Torte.   In any case, it was that superficial.  Yet, that split second decision may have had more impact on my life than any other decision I have ever made.   If I hadn't gone to Vienna, I wouldn't have met the friend that introduced me to my husband, who helped me create the incredible family I have now.  He even paid for the dog.

So no, I wouldn't change a thing.  I would be unhappy at college all over again for what I have now.

 At 48 years old I realize that being unhappy or making a bad decision is not the end of the story.  Being unhappy is a question mark.  What are you going to do now?   Choosing where to go to college/ or where not to go to college is not the final decision of your life.   You get to keep making choices, and sometimes it's the ones that seem the most benign that have the most impact.

What I wish for my daughter and her classmates is not the perfect decision.   What I wish for them is to keep making choices, get to almost 50 years old, look back at their lives and say,

"Yeah. I made some good and some stupid decisions, and maybe went astray a bit, but it all led me to where I am today and this is a damn good place!"

Time

Yesterday my youngest daughter was sitting at the kitchen island eating some unripe, unsatisfying piece of fruit (not an uncommon occurrence in winter) and she said, "I can't wait until peach season."

I gave her a dirty look and said, "Don't say things like that."

Do I have something against peaches?  No.   I love a good ripe, juicy, sun-kissed peach as much as anyone else.

Right now my real beef is with time.   It's passing way too quickly.   If all goes according to plan, at the end of this summer, we will be packing up our oldest daughter and sending her to college.   Peach season, in these parts, is in August.

I'm in no big rush for peaches.

1997

It's January of 1997 and I am five months pregnant with my oldest daughter.   I can't wait for her to be born.   I look at "What to Expect When you are Expecting" about five times a day.  She has grown from the size of a lentil, to a lima bean, to a grapefruit, to a melon (I don't think they ever compared her to a peach).  Why is time going soooo slow??   My husband and I go to the movies and see a preview of a new move coming out in May.   My daughter is due in May.   I am so excited because the showing of this preview must mean that the movie release is imminent.   May is soon.  The movie studios have told me so.

Unfortunately, the few months between January and May seem to drag forever!  The couple weeks before her due date are unbearably slow and the week AFTER her due date, when she has still failed to make an appearance, seems interminable.

1998

I have just found out that I am pregnant with my second child.  I am terrified.   My oldest takes every second of every waking hour and I can't help but think, "How the hell am I going to do this with two kids?  I don't have any more time!"    One day I express my concern to an older, wiser mom who tells me with great assurance, "There are 24 hours in a day.   No more.  No less.  You do the best you can, that's all you can do.   It doesn't matter how many kids you have, the number of hours in day doesn't change."   Unlike my first pregnancy that seemed to take forever, this one flies by at the speed of light.   Before I know it I am the mother of two.

2000

I have a three year old and a one year old.  They are both sick.  They have fevers.  They won't sleep.  The baby just cries incessantly.  I am spending my day cleaning all different types of bodily fluids and I'm not feeling so hot myself.    I call my husband at work for the 13th time and ask him yet again, "When are you coming home?"  and he says, "The usual time.  I'll be home at 6."   The day has already felt like forever, and when I look at the clock, I see that it is only 9 a.m.   How will I survive until 6?

2002-2010

I would like to refer to these years as the "sweet spot" of parenting.   The kids are in school.  They are old enough to do things for themselves, yet still young enough that they want to do things with us.    They are the years of pumpkin and apple picking, birthday parties and sleepovers, trying new sports, learning to dance and sing.   Our calendar is full of activities, mostly fun activities, and we don't even seem to notice as fall turns to winter and winter turns to spring.   There is always something to do, to look forward to, and as we carelessly, thoughtlessly flip the calendar from month to month, it seems like it will stay like this forever.

2011

I am not really sure when the realization first hit me.  I'm pretty sure it was just before my oldest daughter went to high school, but I can't pinpoint the moment.   All I know is that at some point, some kid I knew, some kid I watched grow up, was going to graduate from high school.   How did this happen?  When did this happen?

Suddenly I went from my blissful ignorance of the passage of time, to complete panic mode.   This is going to happen to us too, isn't it?    Let's stop turning the calendar.  Let's stop doing anything.   Maybe if we stop in our tracks, time will stop with us.

2014 - Fall

My daughter is a senior but we are too busy to think about it very much.  There are colleges to visit, applications to fill out, tests to take, etc.  There are lots and lots of arguments,  Is this college too much of a reach?  Did you finish that essay?   Do they give good financial aid?  Did you finish your homework?  Did you look at this college?  Do you want to go to college?  Do you want to take a year off?  Some people say that the whole college application process, and all it's bureaucracy, was created so that parents and children would both be relieved to part company when it was all over.    It is not an easy time to get through, but when that last application is submitted, and the dust settles, we realize that the entire autumn has passed, the trees are bare, and we didn't even take the time to notice as each leaf, and eventually every leaf, fell.   Half the school year is suddenly over.  Wait, really?

2015

It is here.  There is no stopping it.  There are only 24 hours in a day.  That is it, no more or less.  Time is not particular.  It doesn't rush through the trying parts of life, nor does it stop and let us savor some of our favorite moments.  It just keeps going.

Even so,

I don't want to go to the movies and see a preview for a movie coming out in May, or August, or even, perish the thought, September.

And I most definitely am not looking forward to eating a perfectly ripe, freshly picked, juices dripping down your arm peach.

The Epic Teenage Journey

Occasionally a friend will post on Facebook that his/her child has just turned thirteen.  Frequently, the comments below the post will read like, "Oh, I'm so sorry" or "My condolences" or "time to lock up the liquor".    While I will admit that I sometime smile at these threads, as time goes on, I'm more likely to sigh and feel a tinge of sadness.

Teenagers get a bad rap.

Being a teenager is hard.   It was hard for us, it's hard for them, and it will be hard for future generations.   Every person must go through the transition/transformation from being a child to being an adult and it is a bumpy road for almost everyone.

So many religions and cultures have rites of passage for teenagers and there is a reason for this.   When you are a child, you are taken care of, as an adult you have to take care of yourself, and this takes practice.  Sometimes lots of practice.

In some cultures, a young teenage boy is sent into the wild on his own to learn to survive.  The lesson is pretty simple, "Kill or be killed", "Eat or Be Eaten", "Survive or……….don't".

In other cultures, kids are sent to public high school.   The same lessons are learned.

A few years ago I attended the Bar Mitzvah of a family friend's son.   My friend and I looked at him in his fine suit and marveled at what a fine young man he had become.  Now we both chuckle at the idea that he was "all grown up" at that moment in time.   Yes, physically he had matured into a young man.   He filled out a man's suit quite nicely.   But, in retrospect, he still had a lot of growing up to do emotionally.   But that kind of thing is harder to see.

Most of the hardest lessons in life have to be learned through experience.   There is really no way around it.   We can lecture our kids all we want saying, "don't drink, don't smoke, and don't text and drive!"   Unfortunately, our words are often not as effective as a hangover, or a dented car.
This is a universal truth.  It was true for us, it is true for them.

Last September I listened to two teenage girls in my kitchen mooning (is mooning still a word?) over the same boy.  I told them, "don't let him come between you two.  Boys will come and go, but girlfriends are forever."  They listened to me and lived happily every after.  No.  As if.   Within 48 hours of that conversation they were at each others throats and the next few months were filled with brutal conversations and horrific texts that quickly tore apart a dear friendship with much collateral damage in their wake.   Nine months later they are slowly nursing the bruised friendship back together, but it will never be the same.   BTW, neither of them "has" the guy. I wish I could say it won't happen again.   I wish.

These days social media makes being a teenager even harder.   When I was a teenager, I spent many hours on the phone with my closest friends and we would share our deepest secrets, crushes, and yes, we might even gossip a bit about our mutual friends and classmates.  But, when we hung up the phone the conversation was over.   Now kids text each other, and those words live forever.   One kid takes a screen shot of someone else's text and suddenly the whole world is seeing it.  Secret crushes are quickly revealed, as are thoughtless catty remarks.    Of course, we all tell our kids, "be careful what you text" but they don't listen until they are crying in their rooms because no one is talking or texting them because of some idiotic words they thoughtlessly threw into cyberspace.  Even then they might not listen.  

Eventually, they do learn the lessons, one by one, inch by inch, bruise by bruise.   As parents, much of the time we observe with white knuckles, and hope these lessons are learned without any serious ramifications.   When you teach your kid to drive it is just a metaphor for raising a teenager.   You grab hold of the seat, press the "invisible" brake and pray that you don't hit a tree.

And, as hard as it is, sometimes you get brief glimpses of the adult that your child is becoming.   You hear your child say, "You know, I am kind of upset with X but I think I'll talk to her in person instead of texting her."  good idea.   You come home from work to find that your child has put all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and started the laundry and you didn't even have to yell at anyone!  Bonus!  Your child comes up to you and says, "Hey Mom!  Will you proof read my English paper?"  Haha!  As if that would ever happen!  (just some wishful thinking here).   But slowly you do start to see the insides matching the outside that fills out that man's suit so nicely.

Perhaps instead of treating the teenage years like the plague, we should acknowledge the tremendous journey that it is.   And, instead of offering our condolences when someone hits this momentous milestone, we should offer our support as the child sets off into the wild with only the crudest of tools in his hand.

And please, always remember, we look forward to your safe return.

Stop and Smell the Poop

Now that the snow has finally melted I like to take my dog out for a walk every morning.

He spent most of the winter convalescing from his back surgery and is still a little wobbly on his feet.

He was also quite inactive this winter so he put a few pounds on his already "sturdy" frame.

I'm just glad he's still with us.

When the girls get home from school, our lives are one big rush, with people coming and going all afternoon.   He usually just sits and watches and we head out and then come back again.   He doesn't complain, but he is usually ignored for most of the afternoon.   So, I like to give him a little time in the morning when things are quieter and we don't have to be somewhere "ten minutes ago".

His pace is slow, and he likes to stop every two feet to smell the grass, the leaves, and, of course, the poop.    After being covered with snow for so long, the world smells so good to him.   He smells it the same way I might smell a soup that has been simmering on the stove for a while, breathing in all the goodness.   Yes.  To him the smell of poop is olfactory goodness.   Eventually, we make our way to the bike path where we might encounter other people who are out and about exercising, etc.   We just plod along.

It's not unusual for someone to comment about his slow pace and say something like "not much of a cardio workout for you, huh?"  True.   Honestly, I don't walk my dog to get a cardio workout.   He is a shih tzu for goodness sake.   If I wanted a cardio dog, I would have bought a greyhound.    

Truth is, when he is "smelling the poop" it kind of forces me to stop and look around at how the earth is changing.   I watched as the snow receded bit by bit, and the ice finally melted on the pond.   I can see tiny buds slowly pushing their way up through the ground.   I notice a dead mouse who didn't make the great trek across the path.  You don't see these things when you are getting in your cardio.

I watch as a mother pushes her jogging stroller down the bike path and is multi-tasking, getting in her workout, getting fresh air for her toddler, and maybe texting from her iPhone.   The toddler might point to my pup and say, "Dog-gie" and the mother might smile and say, "Right.  That's a doggie." and off they go.    And more often than not I want to tell her to stop running.   Stop.   Take the kid out of the stroller and let him walk around.  Stop.  Let him see first hand the earth coming to life again.   Stop.   Let him pet the doggie.   Stop.

But I don't say anything, because that would be rude.

Later in the day, I am on one of my many trips back and forth to the high school and spot the most magnificent sunset ahead of us.  "Look!" I say to the girls "Look at the sunset!"   They don't even hear me.  They are talking about rehearsal, class, math quizzes, etc.   I keep driving because we do indeed have to be somewhere "ten minutes ago" but I know what I am missing.   And, I know the dog would get it.

Stop.