There is, I am proud to say, a new rule in my house: "You're 18 now, I am no longer required to carry your stuff in my purse or on my person." I feel so wicked...wicked GOOD! For the most part, this growing up and letting go stuff is a real challenge for me, but wow...I never dreamed that I would one day be able to declare my freedom from being a maternal pack-horse. However it must be said~inasmuch as I have some new freedoms, now, as the mother of an "adult," I still have a lot of the same duties as before.
The "my-purse-is-my-own" thing is new; telling her to remember her purse is not. Also new is the fact that she can schedule and keep her own appointments, without my consent, even though she still likes me to go with, once in awhile, just to be sure that she asks all the stuff she might otherwise forget. I can now go to bed at night (not easily, but still...) even when she works "till close;" she still (mostly) comes in and kisses me goodnight when she gets home.
This becoming an adult stuff is structured somewhat like a business: You marry~you decide to take on a partner, to merge your individual lives~and your "business," the business of YOU, which was once a sole proprietorship, will now be a partnership. You will experience structural changes. You must agree on management styles, decide how you both want this new business, the business of US, to run. Eventually, you may have kids~think of them as investors: They don't really buy their way in, but they are certainly "invested" in this business~which is now incorporated~moving forward and continuing to thrive. As your family grows, and the needs change, you discuss options~you have many board meetings; you discuss how and when to diversify. You consider re-directing some responsibilities. There are promotions, and occasionally, some temporary demotions. There is a need for order, direction, and accountability. Company loyalty is rewarded. The benefits are outstanding. No one is ever forced to retire, even if they bring home a pet without asking for permission.
Turning 18 with our daughter, and seeing the excitement, curiosity, and fear in her eyes has been a learning experience for me. I couldn't figure out why this number, this "18" and this word "adult" seem to be so upsetting to her. Then it hit me: At a certain age (in our family), the children become [limited] partners in their lives; thier responsibilities and freedoms typically increase with seniority. They become more than "the baby," "the toddler," "the kindergartner," "the teenager."
They are suddenly dressing themselves without assistance. They know without asking where the scotch tape is. They begin to decide that they would rather not take trumpet in band. They really do hate beans, but are there any more carrots, please? The day arrives when you hand the phone to them, and THEY tell the nurse what symptoms they have. One day you ask, "Did you...?," only to find that they did! Without being asked!!!
You realize, with some wonder, that the business is changing again...instead of the sort of "assembly line production" method, where everyone in the family does a few jobs to keep the whole thing running, suddenly, a "unit production" system is being tried out...certain members are not only putting away their laundry..they're washing, drying, and folding it as well! They truly are "partnering up" with you, pulling a little more weight, taking care of their own departments more independently. Looking for some additional responsibilities and wanting to be "promoted" to more freedoms.
And there it is: The unidentified fear I see. Suddenly, 18 is so much more than just a number; it represents more than freedoms longed for. It is the world's way of saying, "Welcome to adulthood: You are now legal. Your decisions are yours. Make a mistake, and it is all you, my friend; we don't call mom and dad. Owe a debt, it's your checking account, your credit. Get to work late, eat too much, drink too much, whatever...THIS IS YOUR LIFE!!! You may not go back the way you came; you have been awarded permanent status. Hope you were paying attention to the training sessions. Did you think to take notes?"
There is a bit of good news though. Way back when, during one of the earliest board meetings, several important decisions regarding limited partners were made:
1) No one can avoid being transferred to the "18th floor," as it were. It is mandatory. Everyone will, however, have 17 floors to practice on.
2) No individual, once transfer to the 18th floor has been completed, will be expected to resign from "US" and take on the universe alone.
3) While a certain amount of independence is expected, all individuals are encouraged to proceed to higher floors and greater privilege at a reasonable pace, from the home office, if they wish.
4) All those in "upper management" appreciate being given the opportunity to work with "18th floor rookies" in an expanding partnership role; offering sound advice and insights whenever requested, and strong shoulders when needed.
5) Our goal is to get you successfully to the "19th floor" and beyond, so that one day, when you're ready, you can run your own sole proprietorship, the business of YOU in a way which will make you happy and proud.
6) We are in no rush to see you do all of this on your own. Take a moment, look around. Breathe. Remember, in this business, the business of US, you are not expendable, or replaceable. No one is ever forced to retire, or made to leave before they are ready. You are all we've worked for. In you we merge and diversify, and ultimately, we soar...together. And sometimes, for old times sake, I will gladly, gratefully, put something of yours in my purse.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Left Behind: The Art of the Thing
I have a GPS. I like it. You figure out where you have to go, you punch in your coordinates, you put your car in gear, and you trust the GPS to get you there, all safe and sound and accurate. Until. Until you get distracted by that mosquito that snuck into your car, and you miss your turn. So now you have to pull over, check your stats, and let the GPS "find an alternative route," since you've just screwed up doing it the right way. I personally enjoy watching the screen as "Veronica" (our GPS voice) swings the little car around, searching desperately to get us back on the road so that she can start bossing me around again~"In 5.6 miles, continue north." "In .4 miles, execute a left turn." Bzzzzzzzzzz! OOPS! I'm off track again, and looking to my GPS for some answers.
Parenthood is like GPS; only, when it comes to being a mom, or a dad, we have PGS~no, that's not a typo, it stands for "Parental Guidance System," and we all have one, somewhere. A few of us have even figured out how to program the thing, and let it help us along. Until. Yes, it's great, right up until we encounter a detour, an unexpected bump in our carefully-thought-out route, and unanticipated turn in the road, and then all bets are off, and we have to move on to the "alternative route," which, of course, can be very upsetting. Speaking for myself, I like what I know; I enjoy making lists and plans, and seeing them to completion. I mean, in no way do I "know it all;" I enjoy learning new things, and I'm all about the journey, but that being said, overall, I enjoy the comfort of feeling adept at something...okay, I like that feeling of being in some sort of control~but not in a freakish way. In a parental way, which is different, and, I'm sure, better.
For instance, for the last 18 years or so, I have felt basically at ease with this mothering thing, and it's gone along pretty much as planned. Oh, it's had it's uneasy moments, and I have absolutely been blessed with the proverbial village in raising my children, but I've always felt like I had a fairly firm grip on what I was doing. Of course, back then the kids needed me as much as I needed them, and there was a lot of "Is it done, or is it done my way," as well as some "What does your father think?," so we all knew our prospective roles; we knew our lines, and delivered them, for the most part, on cue. I could count, every day, on some small hand seeking the protection and comfort of being held firmly in my own...I love that feeling.
Enter the first child, pumping her wings, getting ready to venture out. Suddenly, the script is different, and I'm now relegated to a weird kind of lead supporting role ("and the award for Best Performance in the Role of Supportive-but-not-too-much Parent goes to...THAT guy!" I'm fairly certain that I am NOT that guy, by the way...). Overnight, it seems, this child, this wonderful person who has always volunteered a goodnight hug and kiss, who called to check in regularly, who always seemed to want me, front and center, in her world...in the blink of an eye, she is the lead character in her own life, and I'm standing here, ready for my close-up, but all of the cameras are pointed at my baby. Only she's not a baby, and as of now, her life is her own, and I have to step aside gracefully (yeah, right) and allow her to nail this performance~or not~on her own. Again, my question is: HOW???
Look, I have my own stuff to deal with, and I'm pretty sure that I have at least a few things which are independent of the kids...I think. But generally speaking, day-to-day, I'm the mom, right? Even if you're 567, I'm still the mom, it's what I do. That. Is. Who. I. Am. If you suddenly don't need me, or if you need me differently, which of course you will, who am I now?
I would like to lodge a formal complaint with the writers of the "Mothering for Dummies" manual...there are some very important sections which seem to be missing from my copy. At a glance, I seem to be lacking "When I want your opinion, which I will never admit, I'll ask for it," "How to be secretly adored and publicly ignored," "I can handle it, mom, but can you make sure I'm up by 8?," "YES, I will be sure to eat enough and will always walk in well-lit areas only at noon in populated places," and "MOTHER!!! Please stop calling. I Am Alive." I'm sure that there are other missing sections, as well; I've been too busy staring at my unbothered phone to read much, these days.
The crazy thing is, my head knows stuff that it is very slow to share with my heart. I know that you are going to leave. I also know that you'll be back. I know that you're not stupid. I also know that you are young. I know that you are courageous. I also know that you are fearful. I know that you can slay your own dragons, now. I also know that I'd still rather slay them for you. I know that I will always be here for whatever you need. I also know that you'll ask less and less, and that breaks my heart a bit, even though that's how it should be. I know that I did the same thing to my mom, and that I need to say "I'm sorry" to her immediately.
I remember when my mom was the center of my world, and I'm ashamed to say that I can't remember when that started to change. I understand now, though, that that is just another of the pains of child-rearing: You raise these magnificent people, people who you admire and want to be with and bask in, and then you realize that you've raised them this way, not for you, but for others. You want them to stay with you, but it's so important that they go out and make a path of their own, that they begin to use~clumsily at first, but gaining skill with every strike~the tools with which you have gifted them; tools, perhaps which were gifted to you by your own parents. You want to be a part of their journey, but you come to realize that this time-around, you have to wait for an invitation, while it seems like everyone else just sails right through the front door. You have to accept that, no matter how bitter. This is the next step, and even though it can hurt like labor all over again, it's okay, and it isn't personal, and it's necessary. It's that detour, that unanticipated bump in the road, and you have to let your PGS re-route you.
So, kiddos, I'm trying to be an adult about this, I really am. I'm very sorry, but I didn't apply for any other position; this is what I know. I don't mean to infringe on who you are, kid. It is noteworthy, though, and only fair to mention, that helping you to become this person has pretty much been the focal point of my days and nights, and as such, I am interested to see how the whole thing works out, so if you could be patient and allow me to fade into the background a little less quickly, that would be great.
Parenthood is like GPS; only, when it comes to being a mom, or a dad, we have PGS~no, that's not a typo, it stands for "Parental Guidance System," and we all have one, somewhere. A few of us have even figured out how to program the thing, and let it help us along. Until. Yes, it's great, right up until we encounter a detour, an unexpected bump in our carefully-thought-out route, and unanticipated turn in the road, and then all bets are off, and we have to move on to the "alternative route," which, of course, can be very upsetting. Speaking for myself, I like what I know; I enjoy making lists and plans, and seeing them to completion. I mean, in no way do I "know it all;" I enjoy learning new things, and I'm all about the journey, but that being said, overall, I enjoy the comfort of feeling adept at something...okay, I like that feeling of being in some sort of control~but not in a freakish way. In a parental way, which is different, and, I'm sure, better.
For instance, for the last 18 years or so, I have felt basically at ease with this mothering thing, and it's gone along pretty much as planned. Oh, it's had it's uneasy moments, and I have absolutely been blessed with the proverbial village in raising my children, but I've always felt like I had a fairly firm grip on what I was doing. Of course, back then the kids needed me as much as I needed them, and there was a lot of "Is it done, or is it done my way," as well as some "What does your father think?," so we all knew our prospective roles; we knew our lines, and delivered them, for the most part, on cue. I could count, every day, on some small hand seeking the protection and comfort of being held firmly in my own...I love that feeling.
Enter the first child, pumping her wings, getting ready to venture out. Suddenly, the script is different, and I'm now relegated to a weird kind of lead supporting role ("and the award for Best Performance in the Role of Supportive-but-not-too-much Parent goes to...THAT guy!" I'm fairly certain that I am NOT that guy, by the way...). Overnight, it seems, this child, this wonderful person who has always volunteered a goodnight hug and kiss, who called to check in regularly, who always seemed to want me, front and center, in her world...in the blink of an eye, she is the lead character in her own life, and I'm standing here, ready for my close-up, but all of the cameras are pointed at my baby. Only she's not a baby, and as of now, her life is her own, and I have to step aside gracefully (yeah, right) and allow her to nail this performance~or not~on her own. Again, my question is: HOW???
Look, I have my own stuff to deal with, and I'm pretty sure that I have at least a few things which are independent of the kids...I think. But generally speaking, day-to-day, I'm the mom, right? Even if you're 567, I'm still the mom, it's what I do. That. Is. Who. I. Am. If you suddenly don't need me, or if you need me differently, which of course you will, who am I now?
I would like to lodge a formal complaint with the writers of the "Mothering for Dummies" manual...there are some very important sections which seem to be missing from my copy. At a glance, I seem to be lacking "When I want your opinion, which I will never admit, I'll ask for it," "How to be secretly adored and publicly ignored," "I can handle it, mom, but can you make sure I'm up by 8?," "YES, I will be sure to eat enough and will always walk in well-lit areas only at noon in populated places," and "MOTHER!!! Please stop calling. I Am Alive." I'm sure that there are other missing sections, as well; I've been too busy staring at my unbothered phone to read much, these days.
The crazy thing is, my head knows stuff that it is very slow to share with my heart. I know that you are going to leave. I also know that you'll be back. I know that you're not stupid. I also know that you are young. I know that you are courageous. I also know that you are fearful. I know that you can slay your own dragons, now. I also know that I'd still rather slay them for you. I know that I will always be here for whatever you need. I also know that you'll ask less and less, and that breaks my heart a bit, even though that's how it should be. I know that I did the same thing to my mom, and that I need to say "I'm sorry" to her immediately.
I remember when my mom was the center of my world, and I'm ashamed to say that I can't remember when that started to change. I understand now, though, that that is just another of the pains of child-rearing: You raise these magnificent people, people who you admire and want to be with and bask in, and then you realize that you've raised them this way, not for you, but for others. You want them to stay with you, but it's so important that they go out and make a path of their own, that they begin to use~clumsily at first, but gaining skill with every strike~the tools with which you have gifted them; tools, perhaps which were gifted to you by your own parents. You want to be a part of their journey, but you come to realize that this time-around, you have to wait for an invitation, while it seems like everyone else just sails right through the front door. You have to accept that, no matter how bitter. This is the next step, and even though it can hurt like labor all over again, it's okay, and it isn't personal, and it's necessary. It's that detour, that unanticipated bump in the road, and you have to let your PGS re-route you.
So, kiddos, I'm trying to be an adult about this, I really am. I'm very sorry, but I didn't apply for any other position; this is what I know. I don't mean to infringe on who you are, kid. It is noteworthy, though, and only fair to mention, that helping you to become this person has pretty much been the focal point of my days and nights, and as such, I am interested to see how the whole thing works out, so if you could be patient and allow me to fade into the background a little less quickly, that would be great.
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