More life lessons taught to me by my kids

As the school year begins its descent into summer, I am full of emotion. Every day I hit a different one and try to find some time to let it wash over me before trying to analyze or push it away. As the days slide off the calendar and the hand rounds the clock that will cause that slide I feel a mild panic that at times I worry will become full blown. And as the mother who they look to for strength (?), guidance (?), security (?) I feel I have to remain, well, standing in a stoic way. I'm failing.

The other night one comment made by the husband led to a discussion by the three women in the house, the husband quickly disappearing out the door and into the night with his male counterpart, the dog. Madison, Darcy and I expressed feelings and emotions and we laughed and we cried. I kept telling myself to listen, to really listen to what they were saying, and to not hear only the negative about myself. This conversation wasn't about finger pointing, but was about growing up and standing still and happiness and sadness. Each of us admitted to things we hadn't shared before, and with that came some "oh" and "ah" moments that brought us closer to an understanding (?), to a truce (?), to a respect (?). Afterwards we fell into bed and slept the sleep of the unburdened.

Somewhere in my thirties I looked in the mirror and realized that I wasn't the twenty something girl I felt inside. It was a huge realization and daunting and eye opening. My life was changing and as it changed I stubbornly kept that twenty something girl inside, hoping maybe she would return to the outside? Lately, I've returned to the past. I seem to want my kids to know that I experienced all of this once upon a time too. It is important to me that they understand that I understand. But then Madison, while acknowledging that she got it, also told me that our experiences are never going to be the same nor were our feelings or our emotions. While they may show some similarities they are different. She is wise, that girl.

For the last eighteen years I have had a job. I have been a mother that stayed home to raise her children. It was done consciously and was well thought out and planned prior to having said children. I don't regret it one minute, never have. I was where I was needed, where I wanted, and I was more than decent at the job. The problem with the job is that it is nearing the end and soon I will be...retired? While I think about that I find that I have no time to process it, to really touch base with those feelings, because I still have the job for a few more months with one and few years with the other.

The oldest is ending one lifetime and preparing for another. This fall she will leave the nest and trot out into the world to seek her next phase. I can't help wanting to cushion that path. There are so many things that have to be done and accomplished in order for her to move on, and I want to do what I can to help, but I'm not sure what that is. Do I push? Do I stand back and allow her to push? Do I make suggestions? Do I nag? There are so many roles and all of them are overwhelming, and when I think about what I should or shouldn't be doing the panic begins to creep in, and apparently I become crazy or angry or unmanageable. I know I am frustrated. Which is not helpful to or for any of us.

On the other hand I remember this same time in my own life. The fear of leaving home for me was too great. I was young, inexperienced, and had no confidence. I knew too that the family I loved might fall apart without my glue to hold it together, and so I stayed home and went to school in town. I remember the indecision of schools and majors and remember watching friends leaving. I thought my own experiences and feelings might help me in helping my daughter, but she set me straight. She wants me to listen to her feelings, to her experiences. Really listen and not compare. She must do this on her own, her way, and sometimes she wouldn't mind a gentle reminder or a subtle push in the right direction.

Yesterday she received a letter that regretted to inform her that she did not receive one of the scholarships she had applied for. She cried. I hugged. She cried some more and talked about how tired she was. I listened. I didn't try to make her feel better. I didn't try to justify things. I offered instead a hug, a back rub, food. It wasn't easy, but I tried. I might have slipped some when I tweeted my feelings (who knew she followed me so closely on Twitter) or when I asked if this school was really on her list, but I thought for my first exercise that I did an above average job.

Never mind that I held the envelope up to the sun to read it before she ever came home. Let's face it, habits aren't easy to break and this is going to take me some time. But I'm trying.