Mosaic

As I taxi on the runway, destination Europe, I feel a desire to pause a moment and take stock. It’s been one helluva year.

My eldest started high school, which meant I started high school, too (again)—those early mornings will test the resolve of a saint! But I (we) did it.

My days got longer this year. They also got more complicated. Helping her navigate a new and bigger landscape, coupled with her desire to make new friends without compromising her values necessitated our relationship change. Fixing her “problems” was no longer my role. Hugs and lollipops felt belittling. Instead, I talked less and listened a lot more. I did a lot more encouraging her to find her own way.

I lost count of the number of nights I woke up wondering if remaining silent was the right answer. Who knew being quiet could be so hard! Sometimes, I’d send her a message at 2 or 3 am with a thought I didn’t trust myself to remember.

I told her she is smart, beautiful and capable; I reminded her that nothing (no feeling or moment in time) lasts forever. Mostly, I told her to trust her instincts.

This Little Light of Mine

One night, when I couldn’t go to sleep and she wasn’t ready for sleep, I shared with her a story that was “passed down” from my mom (I.e. I made it up). I explained to her how my mom told me about the little light that burns inside all of us, and how each of us must protect our little light (our feeling of self-worth and belonging) with our very being. I told her that granny said if our light ever feels threatened or is under attack, then we must leave. I said she should call me. Call dad. Call her sister. Be brave and save herself, but nobody ever gets to touch her light—not even me. (Yes, she gave me that teenage side-eye, but I think she got it.)

Through it all, the wheel kept turning. Homework was completed, her. Homework was graded, me. Tests and exams were passed, extracurricular activities attended, and there was even a homecoming dance she went to without a date or a bestie—she had a blast.

(Hubby and I had at least three panic attacks about the homecoming dance. She had no friends to walk in with. Just her. Shoulders back, head high. She had bought her ticket and was determined to go up until the night before. She couldn’t sleep (that made two of us!). She asked me if I would be disappointed in her if she didn’t go. My heart broke into a million pieces, but I asked her how would she feel about herself. There were tears, but she flipping-flapping did it! I was so proud of her show of bravery. Of course, hubby and I and my youngest hung out near the venue until midnight—when it ended. She came out with the biggest smile on her face and talked non stop on the way home!)

By the end of the school year, I was emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted.

Time Speeds Up

Life feels faster. At the start of the school year, we had four more years with her. Now, three.

It’s a bittersweet realization, this raising children business. On the one hand, I’m able to carve out more time for me. So much of my existence has revolved around responsibility (family and work, for example) that the opportunity to write and not spend my “free” time at karate practice or a swim meet feels delicious. Yet, on the other, the return to self is at the expense of my daughter’s independence and her growing detachment.

Sometimes, I wish she could stay with me forever. (No I don’t, but I do hope she visits often.)

A Feast for the Senses

This time away represents a reset for me. It is a break from the routine and a chance to recharge. I’m sleeping late and slow traveling. My senses will feast on the new as opposed to relying on the muscle memory that guides me through most of my days.

I won’t even need to exercise because of all of the walking I’ll do—a direct contrast to the hours I spend sitting in the car driving or sitting at my desk grading and teaching.

The four of us will explore together. We’ll learn new things about the world, and as a consequence, new things about ourselves.

The routine will be there waiting for us when we return, but this chance to break away and create new memories will help make those early starts and late finishes of the new school year bearable.

Hasta luego.