So I read this the other day and I posted it and I shared it, and so did others. Please read if you have time and you haven't already, because it's great, whether you are lonely or not:
http://www.homesanctuary.com/rachelanne/2014/02/dear-lonely-mom-of-older-kids.html
And then, after I read it, I read it 3 more times. And then I decided, that I wasn't lonely. I'm really not. Displaced, maybe. Or chartering new waters perhaps, but I am not lonely. I am reflective, and anxious, and receiving reward and having fun and I am frustrated at times, but not lonely.
I sat down to write a half-assed, response/comment/explanation/story/blog about my take on this 'Lonely Mom of older kids thing'. Knowing it would be full of bad grammar, run on sentences, and incorrect and irritating punctuation, full of thoughts that run all over the place. But that is my life and maybe, in part, that is your life too.
Here is what I noted about this Mom of older kids in particular:
I do have a little more time to myself. My kids go off in different directions and seem to be creating some sort of new civilization within the confines of their room when they are at home, but it's not loneliness that I feel. I feel un-included in a necessary way. For what parent is actually invited into their teenager's room, and once there, really wants to stay?
The reflection part gushes in and out and almost always goes to: Where did I screw up and where did I succeed? Did I not take that romance seriously enough? Did I joke about something hurtful? Did I spend enough time with them? Did I laugh enough? Did they watch too much TV? Did I let one too many F bombs fly?
I fight the feeling more often now. It's that feeling of always wanting to make their lunches and put a napkin in with the words "I love you, kid, have a great day!" written in colorful sharpie. I reflect and re-live those important moments. The moment we took that turn in the road that made him be what he wants to be when he grows up. Sitting in my car, waiting for him to come out from play rehearsal, hearing him talk about how much the story has affected him. The music. How he became a singer. And a God-for-saken football player. She talks about genetics now, and epidemiology (way over my head). Her first season of basketball foreshadowed a not-so-athletic nature, which then exploded into let me play 3 sports and play them really well. And MVP's. And a captain of teams.
Now,
I wonder if they know about the times we had been driving along, me at the wheel, and my eyes would dart over to the other side of the road, watching for any motion or indication of drifting from an oncoming vehicle, so that I could quickly plan a way, in a split second, for me to take the impact, if someone was texting, or not paying attention, sparing them. Or if they know, while we were at the playground, and one of us Mom's got wind of some shady character lurking around, how, with a glance, we could quickly get all operatives into place to form a barrier of Momness around every child in the playground, not just our own.
New waters. The anxiety that surrounds them leaving. And not coming back to stay. It feels very natural, like I am fighting a current. A current of uncertainty, and not being able to see the expression on their faces, so I can figure things out. Not being able to breathe them in. Not being able to hear their voices bounce off the walls of my kitchen.
I plan a few things for my husband and I to do in my head, sans kids, that we haven't done since having children, like vacation alone together. However, I ask the universe, why?. Why now, when my heightened senses are spiked by my newly-licensed-drive of-a-son and my pretty-little-thing-of-a-daughter, that I would be full blown premenopausal? Does that seem fair? Or safe for others around me? I can't plan something without them, not yet. But I will. And maybe it will just have to be Iceland instead of St. John's. The cruelty.
Frustrated. So frustrated, because if I don't step back, my relationship with my two kids may crumble. It's such a balancing act. Knowing how much to be in, and how much to be out. Posting pictures of them on Facebook or Instagram and having them approve is the least of my worries. What pictures might they possibly be posting or looking at through some new fangled app or website, that we haven't even heard of yet? And part of me is really tense about it and the other part says they need to be worldly. And not sheltered. They need to cope and safely navigate, too. They know how we feel. We have taught them about consequences to their actions and their inner voice and now I need to let them listen to it. Or not listen to it.
Can you access or recall that feeling that you had when you watched your kid take a nasty little spill? The pit of your stomach, your heart skipping a little. It's fleeting, because the next mode is a quick jump to your feet and you're picking them up. And not to coddle, or smother them with kisses. But maybe to say "You are all right. Get up, it's not that bad." When my son leaves the house with car keys in hand, or I envision him leaving for college, that is the feeling. The pit of my stomach. My heart skips a beat. And it stays for a little longer than a second. And sometimes it wakes me out of a sound sleep.
The rewards are plentiful. "You have a great kid." Or, you watch them succeed and do well and be happy or handle a difficult situation in a way that makes you proud of them and for them. Or maybe they are chomping at the bit to get on with it. To get away from you or me and go live their life. That's the grand design. Go good luck, my child. But in reality you plan in detail for the date that they are going to come back home, without saying it or feeling it too much, or holding much stake in it.
The other day, while cleaning up the kitchen, my husband and I had a brief exchange about something minutely irritating in my son's tone. I mouthed to my husband: "He thinks I am a thorn in his side." My husband mouthed back: "It's YOU he is going to miss the most." I bit the corner of my lip just a little too hard. So I could focus on that, my lip, instead of the ache in my chest. Part of me unsure, a piece of me thinking that maybe, just maybe he is right. Remembering a woman who once told me that they 'leave you at 16, they return around 22 or so.'
So loneliness, not quite. Not yet.
Realization, yes. I am where I am, and I don't think I would go back if I could. Because they are people, my two kids. Pretty cool people, that I got to live with every day and potty train, and carpool and bandage and laugh with and fill out forms for and cry over and worry about and love to the deepest depths of my soul. And for that, I will never feel lonely.
