parenting: the slipping away

Some moments in parenting are profound. Their import is tangibly recognized in the moment.

First steps. First words. First day of kindergarten. Getting braces. Having those braces removed. Moving into a college dorm. 

But what about all the other moments?

The Afters.

Those parenting moments that are big deals, but only after they happen do you begin to realize their place in your parenting timeline.

I dropped the girls off at a conference last Saturday morning. And, for years, Piper has bemoaned the fact that she is unable to attend all of the cool events her older siblings get to attend. She has waited and longed for the day of being included.

She turned 12 last week.

And this event was for girls aged 12 and up.

So I dropped her off with the others, waved goodbye and drove home.

And in the car, it struck me. She’s a big kid. She’s entering a new phase of attending and being included and hearing teaching and instruction. Of making choices and being influenced.

And it was a just a regular old Saturday morning and nothing has changed but everything has changed.

There’s not a going back once you begin.

I can’t remember the last time I carried one of my kids in a backpack for hiking. However, there were seasons it seemed some human being would always be strapped to my back.

Until one day, they weren’t.

And I cannot remember what day that was.

At what age did everyone in my house stop referring to me as “mommy”?

You know, I have no idea. But I do know everyone here calls me “mom” now.

These moments slip away. Sand in the hour glass. Minutes on the clock. 

At first you’re wiping noses and combing hair, giving baths and spoon feeding mouths. 

And then you’re teaching them how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and you’re overseeing homework.

Next thing you know, they’re making dinner and you’re driving them to class and they’re telling you the schedule and making weekend plans.

It’s this constant juxtaposition of hurry and wait. Of utter dependence and tenuous independence.

It’s when did this happen. It’s a long time coming and a will it ever end.

I don’t have any solution for slowing down time or finding those moments before they pass. I don’t know how to remember when your son spends his last night sleeping with his thumb in his mouth or when your daughter pushes the stuffed animals to the closet instead of to their position of honor on her bed.

I only seem to catch any of those moments after they’ve passed.

Hindsight. Rear view mirror. In reflection.

After.

But I do know all of those moments piled up and stacked together weigh heavy on a heart like mine.

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