After I spent the day going to three Party City locations (woo! party on!) to find a Darth Vader pinata which Ben must have for his sixth birthday party and then cheering on all kinds of tall women at the Final Four in Denver with Amelia, who had tons of questions about colleges and other not-ready-to-go-there-yet places, I had a moment. F*%^. My kids are growing up way too fast. And because I was really trying to stay present and be with them–and not my computer–today, I am late on posting.
The good news is that keeping a blog is kind of like the scrapbook or diary I’ll never keep; I can look back on, say, April 2010 and see what I was thinking. Funny how I was thinking nearly the same thing then that I was today. Thank you for humoring me on regurgitated material. I promise to have a fresh post next Monday.
Scene: Denver Airport, headed to Florida for spring break. (Yes, this post is over a month late.)
Seat assignments: In a crowded plane that had 5 seats across, we had two + two, with an aisle in between.
The amazing thing that happened: The kids, ages 3 and 6, sat by themselves!
I’ll repeat that in case it didn’t sink it: They sat by themselves.
Granted, Grant and I were just across the foot-wide aisle from them, and they chanted, “Mom, I need…” or “Mom, can you…” or “Mom, I’m hungry…” or “Mom, I spilled…” every 90 seconds without fail. But the facts remains: We didn’t have to carry on a car seat. I didn’t have a child on my lap. I wasn’t parked between them. I wasn’t constantly picking up toys or holding their legs down so they wouldn’t kick the seat in front of them. I actually read a few pages of my own book (and reread them and reread them because I kept getting interrupted). I tasted, for the first time, in almost seven years, what it feels like to be an autonomous adult while still traveling as a family.
The liberation didn’t end when we touched down in the Sunshine State. In mid-March, the temperatures were cool–there were days on our vacation when it was warmer in Denver than it was in the so-called tropics–so I wasn’t super psyched to go in the chilly Gulf of Mexico or slightly more temperate pool. As Juney B. Jones always says, guess what? I didn’t have to. I waded up to my knees or so in the Gulf, and my body never touched the chlorine-soaked waters. Amelia was intent on mastering backwards somersaults, and Ben, with his floaties on, was fine tooling around the shallow end. I read (and reread and reread) a couple more pages of my book, keeping one eye on them. The first time ever, in nearly 84 months, I haven’t had a child clinging to me, unknowingly pulling down my suit to expose my sad, sagging tube socks– I mean my chest.
And on it went: they made sand castles and friends by themselves. They went lizard hunting just outside the house solo. They could run a spatula down to the BBQ pit for Poppy by themselves. At times, I almost felt like an accessory.
As amazing I thought feeling unnecessary would feel–Lord knows, I’ve waited for this day for almost 2,100 days –it also made me feel surprisingly empty. I wasn’t sure what do to with myself. Paint my toes? Read a magazine? Fold the laundry? Make a key lime pie? Dream about having another baby? So used to being their life jacket, transporter, entertainment and a gazillion other roles, when they emerged from the shadow I cast over them 24/7, I was thrilled–and saddened–to see two semi-independent kids that will only grow stronger and more capable every day.
I remember I felt this way after both my marathons. All I did was look forward to the Liberation Day: the day–and weeks–after the race when I’d sleep in and cook leisurely dinners and drink too many beers on a Friday night because Saturday morning was F.R.E.E.! and finally be able to stay up for and comprehend Lost. Then I crossed the finish line, and I enjoyed my freedom for a week or so–or until my quads were no longer sore. Soon enough, though, I was restless and missing the routine. I knew I wasn’t ready to train seriously again, but I’d spend way too much time combing the Internet, wondering what challenge I was poised to take on next. I know I don’t need another 26.2, just like we don’t need another kid. But I do need the possibility.
As we flew home from Florida, we had the same arrangement: two kids on one side of the aisle, two parents on the other. As they drifted off (predictably, 30 minutes before we landed) and drooled all over themselves, I closed my eyes too. I wanted to process the vacation, to make sense of why, when I finally arrive at a day I’ve been wishing for, it can feel so bare.
All I could come up with was this: maybe the structure of training and demands of parenting that I often feel stifle me–they seem so mandatory, so inflexible, so mundane, so out of my control–are actually far from stifling. Maybe they give me the feeling of being needed, important, loved and confident. Maybe they’re actually the best part of my life.
And maybe I need to remember that when I hear, “Mom, can you…” at least fourteen times before school drop-off tomorrow.
Absolutely one if THE best blog pieces I have ever read…. How I can relate!!! Great job…
AWESOME post!! You nailed it! :)
So true, so true….
Over the weekend, we took down the baby gates and packed up the changing table. It was wonderful to feel like I was removing small shackles on my house,and it immediately looked more like grown ups might live here. But it made me so sad too. My kids are 4 and 2. I imagine I will be experiencing this feeling a lot in the years to come.
Nice post. As a father there is may be a little variation on your observations. But you are right on with the marathon experience. And I now am blessed to have one of my daughters taking an interest in running. And at 12, both of us running in minimalist footwear, her form is wonderful and a good model for me. As parents we are teachers for our children, but you can learn so much from your children.
I LOVE this! Didn’t read it back when it was “fresh”. It resonates… Especially as I face the prospect of 3 new years (I’ll let you calculate the days and hours and minutes, Dim) of “Mom, I want…. I think you and SBS should consider making a couple of days a week “Best Of” posts and give yourselves a break. Even if people have read the posts, there’s so much good stuff already published. Seems like you both might have 1 or 2 other things to do these days besides re-invent the wheel 5-days-a-week!
Since mine are older (12 & 10) I’ve had that for
quite awhile. It gets easier, and harder.
Great post.
Dimity – I can not tell you how much this post resonates with me. My kids are 4 and 6 and I have been simultaneously loving and hating my new found independence (but mostly loving it!). Fantastic post! You nailed every sentence….right down to Juney B Jones.
I’m pretty sure you are living my life, or at least my airplane experiences with my family, but just 6 years behind me. Someone just remarked on our last vacation “oh how lucky you get to sit together (w my husband) while your kids can too”. Don’t worry. Your babies will always need you, just in different, more complicated ways.
Wonderful post! As a new mother, this is just what I needed to read this morning.
S.
Wow! Dimity, your post made me tear up. My kids are in their early 20s and most days I’d give anything to hear “Mom…could you…” a hundred times like I did when they were both home full-time. Some people look forward to the empty nest, but I think for me, it’ll always just be “empty.”
Nice piece.
I had one of those weekends where my kids drove me nuts….I so needed this reminder that the days are long, but the years are short.
Nice post. I struggled as our oldest, now 13, entered the tween years and started pulling away. I agree with Erica, they will always need us, just in different ways. Today, it’s driving them here and there, causing me to stay up much later than I want to. (Oh, you’re gonna love that part!)
Ah Dimity so well said! This so resonated with me – thank you :)
Great post. This makes me want to give my daughter a hug. I get caught up in “I can’t wait until she can…(talk, walk, play by herself, etc.),” then I feel sad because I know that I just wished away the moments when she needed me and wanted to be around me.
Hahaha..O.M.G. Been there so many time with traveling…….see y’all in April at the
womens half in Georgie… :-)
Or even Georgia!!!
I also feel the same way every time I finish a good book.
Wow, thank you! spot on. From a mom of a 9,8,6, & crazy curly silly 3 year old.
I felt that way when my now 4 year old was becoming more independent around the age of 3. Now I have a 14 month old and want her to become more independent, but don’t want her to grow up!
Dimity, I just want to say THANK YOU. Thank you for your post, your words and your willingness to share about your personal life. It’s exactly the message I needed to hear right now – that it WILL get easier, that I WILL someday feel like a human being outside of who I am as a mother – and it’s made a huge difference to me mentally today. THANK YOU.. and please know that all the thought, work and words you pour into this website (which I have no doubt are accompanied by their fair share of stress and wonder, “Will I ever be free?!”) are read, appreciated and pondered. You and Sarah are wonderful women!
OH gurrrl!! I love this! I just posted a bloggy about going to the beach with my teenage daughter and how dramatically different it is from when she was a “Mommy I’ve gotta go poopy” toddler. THANK THE LORD I’ve made it this far!!
However, unlike yourself, I’ve NEVER FOR ONE MINUTE, NO LIE, felt sad or ‘bare’ about her growing up and independent. Haha, You’re a much better mommy than me!! ;)
Great post!
They grow up so fast..