Hey, you. Did I ever tell you about the time I realized I was going to lose my job?
It started with a text from my husband, Peter, while I was on the treadmill at the gym. It read, “Where are you and did you make D’s breakfast?” I was thoroughly confused. It was my husband’s morning to handle the kids, so why would he ask if I made our son breakfast? Also, he knew my gym routine, where else would I be early in the morning? I reminded him that I was getting my flex on and he replied, “Okay.” I wanted to inquire more but I didn’t. I just let it be. I finished working out and then drove home. I got the low down when I got to the house and had a somewhat shocking response.
My son was sitting on the couch reading when I walked in the door. My husband wasn’t in sight so I just assumed maybe he had overslept or was still in the shower. It seemed like one of those mornings where I was going to have to help out so I asked my son what he wanted for breakfast, to which he informed me he already had breakfast. At the same time Peter entered the room and followed up by saying, “He made himself breakfast today.” “What?” I replied. “He made himself breakfast. I thought I heard a commotion in the kitchen and when I came into the dining room, he was eating a bowl of cereal. I assumed you had made it which is why I texted you. But he told me he got the step ladder, grabbed a bowl and the cereal down and then got out the milk. I got him some fruit” Peter answered. I gave my son kuddos and told him to finish his chores and go brush his teeth. “I did that already and I brushed my hair too.” “WHAT?” I exclaimed. Now it felt a little less cool and more like the twilight zone. What made it really eerie was the fact that my usually “Look what I can do!” son was just saying all this nonchalantly while reading his book. I could tell by the look on my husband’s face that I needed to clarify, “Don’t think you can just coast by now. He’s still only 8 years old.” “Oh, no. He’s got it. We’re done now. He can start making dinner now too,” Peter teased. We laughed together and I quickly turned away as tears started forming around my eyes. What the hell? Why would this of all things make me sad? I wasn’t THAT mom…whatever that kind of mom was, in my mind.
The next day my son asked me if I would show him how to make butted toast and wash fruit properly. My brain was excited to mechanically and methodically walk him through the process while my heart was grasping for air. He made his own toast and fruit the rest of that week.
Last weekend we had some friends over for lunch and they asked my daughter to see her art. I watched her describe to our friends in great detail about each piece and her process and style. She was so confident. She had opinions and points of view of someone well beyond her years. She’s beginning to view the world through an artistic lens and Peter and I are A-Okay with that, thrilled actually. I know there’s still this thought that art doesn’t make money but there’s no guarantee that corporate work will either. I’m always going to encourage my children to find a way to do what they love.
The other day, I watched her behind the wheel of our car smiling as Peter was giving her directions. I felt an unease in my stomach, not because she’s learning to drive but because we have come to another stage of parenting called independence. All the other milestones are geared toward helping them function as a human, like walking, talking, feeding themselves, etc. Independent ones move them in the direction of living without you. I’m tearing up just typing that to you which is ridiculously stupid and completely honest. Parenting is like the Hinge App, “..it’s designed to be deleted.” I will always be my kids’ mom but I will not always be their parent. If Peter and I are still parenting our kids when they are adults, we’ve done something wrong.
Of course I suspect they will still ask for advice now and again, as I do with my mom, which will still come from a different place. Our cozy little nest is starting its metamorphosis into more of a runway. Yes, I know it’s not tomorrow, in case you think I’m being dramatic. I just know it’s coming. Like all the stages of my children’s lives, I’ve always been a little stubborn about moving on to the next. But Peter’s been there to give me a good shove, forcing me to let go. He doesn’t do it out of spite or impatience. He does it because he knows that once I fully embrace the next phase, I’ll LOVE it and it’s true.
Our son still asks us to make breakfast sometimes and our daughter is in no hurry to hop on an LA highway and paint the town red. They both are embracing the idea of doing things on their own though, as they should be, which tells me that Peter and I are indeed doing something right.
P.S.
I woke up yesterday morning to discover that my son had made his own breakfast again, the little Jerk….er…I mean…yay!
Everything I write comes from my personal insights and has all the drippings of my opinions, biases, and what-nots. Rather than come for me with facts or judgements to contradict my said opinions, biases and what-nots, I’d rather you find a different blog that makes you happy. If you find these posts therapeutic or helpful in any way that means we connected and it’s all I can ask for, however I’m not a therapist nor a coach. I’m just a writer floating words out there hoping they find the person they are intended for.