Yesterday over coffee and pastries, we talked like all mamas do about how quickly time is moving and how fast the children are growing, and it is no less true for each time we say it. I wonder if it even becomes more true as we repeat the words and see the ways it’s newly true, just as it’s always been.
It reminds me of those mornings when our babies looked completely different from the night before, and I wondered how she shape-shifted from a newborn with back fuzz into a wide-eyed infant who laughed and played with her feet. How she grew two inches and developed from barely saying a word to stringing together long gurgly sentences.
As I talk to my sisters at the coffee shop, I am remembering all that and, too, my big girl’s legs nearly long as mine (not a huge feat, but still). I’m thinking of each of their individual senses of style, her humor, her generous spirit, her long hair bleached by sun, her desire to talk about sorrow and the complexities of life on this messy planet.
And my girls are changing so fast and I’m slowly learning to let go and asking all the questions: Is she ready? and What if…? and the slew of others known by every nervous and well-intentioned parent.
I know sometimes we miss the mark, give more than they’re ready for or not enough. We neglect to give credit due or expect too much or forget grace.
All this letting go is complicated business. Sometimes it happens overnight — the way of the baby, and it’s an everyday miracle, and we wonder how we got here, much less they — but more, it is so gradual that often we scarcely see it.
We let go when our babies start to walk, and my sisters are right there with their littlest ones. These kids want to move, and so they do amongst bigger kids at the park, and they get knocked over by the tire swing, tumble down hills. My sisters pick them up, soothe and comfort and let the babies down again to explore.
Let go, draw close, repeat.
Someday these babies will become bigger toddlers with strong opinions, and those will be the days of learning to pick battles, which is really another kind of letting go.
And they will come close and grow bigger and venture further and come close again.
One day they’ll be preschoolers, and then we will see how much she wants to be with the big kids, and we’ll let her walk to the end of the street with her sisters and pray she always remembers to stop at the curb and watch the driveways even without us there to do the reminding.
We learn some things about trust and unclenching hands during these years, and I know we have much more to learn, and we will forget and then remember again. I expect it to go on like this for a good long time.
It seems this growing of babies and children and young adults will always brush against the side of loving parents loosening their grip, will always draw forth new depths of faith, heartache and trust.
This week, my oldest is spending her longest stretch of time away from her family. Sici, her papa and I talked about it in detail last weekend. She’s a process girl (like her mother), decisive though she may be, so we debated it, weighed the pros and cons of heading out of town right before our family road trip and gave her the option of making the decision. She paused for a moment and said, “I’m ready to go.”
So as I type, Sici’s at the beach for four days with her dear friend and her friend’s great parents, and though I know others her age have been away longer, when you say good-bye and hug your girl extra long and tight, you’re not thinking about all of them, you’re just thinking about yours. You are trying not to cry as you hold this unique gift and think how much you love her and how quiet the house will feel without her and her big 11-year-old voice.
This week, while Sici is digging in the sand and jumping waves, J is back again in one of her happiest places, and it’s hard work and grace and hands in soil and animal eyelashes up close. It’s the world J found, or the one that found her, and there she is again on the farm.
After her first night of farm camp, we sat around the dinner table, and J told us excitedly about all the animals — some are new to the farm this year, and others are old friends. J explained their quirks like how the goats kept trying to eat her name tag and how the pig especially likes the weeds behind its little house.
Then she told us about St. Quinn, her favorite animal, the fuzzy calf she tended last year when it still drank milk. “Yeah, I don’t feed her with a bottle anymore,” she said, “but I do get to brush her hair.”
“Quinny is so big now,” she continued, her eyes wistful, and I recognized the love-tinged sadness as it passed gently by.
*Photo at top courtesy of my beach traveling girl.
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Linking today with Imperfect Prose at Emily’s.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
Ashley, Psalm 39 talks about life being measured in “handbreadths.” I think it means a few. Thankful you and your girlfriends are considering the truth about how fast your babies are growing. It really snuck up on me. My last of three will start his senior year in a few weeks. I wrote today about my middle boy who turns 23 tomorrow. Unbelievable!! So thankful I linked next to you at em’s place. Have a great summer with your kids and congrats for being brave and letting them try out living without their momma. It’s hard….
I just commented in your space about the significance of your recent piece at Emily Wierenga’s. Thank you. So happy to see you through her place and Imperfect Prose here.
I can imagine being where you are right now in just a handbreadth, stunned by the growth of these little people and learning more all the time what it means to let them go and welcome them back.
Thank you so much for your words from one mama to another.
“Let go, draw close, repeat.” Yep, that’s the process we go through with our kids regardless of their age. I have a married daughter and a college-aged daughter, and I still use that formula. :-)
It’s encouraging to know that if I get this formula down, I’m set for life. :-) Thank you, Lisa.
Dear Ashley
You know, my friend, I think boys grow even faster than girls, for I still wanted to hug them when I suddenly realized one day that they were hugging me! They were still teenagers when they were taller than me.
Blessings XX
Mia
Wow, that has really got to be something. Though with a husband who’s 6’3″ and two daughters who take after him, they’re passing their 5’3″ mama here any day now. My 11-year-old’s legs are within an inch of being as long as mine. I love what you say though about them hugging you, Mia. How dear.
Oh my mommas heart is racing with remembering. Gorgeous you, what a beautiful write.
Thank you, dear friend for your presence here. It always means so much to see your words. It’s amazing that both the anticipation of the future with our kids and the remembering can set a mama’s heart to racing? I know just what you mean.
I think I cried for two years straight when my baby girl left for college! Now my baby girl is married and has a baby of her own. He’s beginning to cut teeth and I told her, “That’s how it begins. First they cut teeth. The next thing you know, you’re packing them up for college.”
Beautiful post, Ashley. Nice to meet you–stopping over from emily’s.
Oh, two years…how heartbreaking, Nancy. I’m sure you truly enjoy your grandchildren as you did your own children. Thankful you stopped by from Emily’s.
oh wow, this is amazing. ohhh, i’m not ready to feel these things about my little one. she’s talking, two words, and trying to walk already. not ready.
this is beautiful, ashley. visiting you from emily’s.
I hear you, Rachel. I really do. Not ready, not ready. It’s like I’m putting my fingers in my ears, “La la la.” And then I see something new, like a hand on the small of a little one’s back to help her along or a different shade of glinty proud smile flashed over the shoulder, and I think, “Oh, it cannot get better than this.”
Beautiful… and so very very true!
Thank you, dear Karrilee.
Ashley, your words find me picking out backpacks and notebooks, counting pencils and erasers for their first (ever!) day of public school in a month. This message? I’m sure you weren’t thinking of me when you wrote it, but Someone else knew I’d need it just here, just today.
A million thank yous. Love to you and yours.
Wow, Kelli! What a tremendous change for your family. I am whispering a prayer for yours and your mama’s heart right now. I so know that challenge and the ways it pains a heart.
I’m thankful that God knew the words you needed today, and that he used mine…. Bless you, love.
Ashley,
Oh this mothering, this growing lives, it is a continual rocking, is it not? This back and forth, the release, draw near, repeat… You are writing the song well, friend. And even though sometimes the words will come easy while other times there will be no words, I am confident that you know the tune by heart.
For your life sings, friend.
The continual rocking — Holly, that is just it. Yes, always the rocking. From water beginnings to the very end. Thank you for all your words of love and life and building up. You are such a gift.
Ashley,
Nice to meet you.I’m hopping over from the IP link up, and your post here about time passing so fleetingly with our kids resonates with me. My favorite line here: “her eyes wistful, and I recognized the love-tinged sadness as it passed gently by.”
Lovely. :)
Have a great week, Ashley,
Jennifer Dougan
http://www.jenniferdougan.com
Thank you, Jennifer. So nice to cross paths again. With love from one mama to another.
Perfect! This resonates with me as I just married off my first child, who’s 19, but in my heart she’s still 10. This mommy business grabs those heart strings hard and just yanks painful sometimes. So glad to see you again. I’ve been away for awhile doing the mommy thing. Thanks for a great post!
Thank you for your words, Amber. So good to see you again and to see those photos of your husband and daughter at your place and to hear the process of years behind them. Such a journey….such beauty, such pain. Bless you in all your living!
I love this Ashley! Such a tender rendition of Parenting and Pain, holding on, letting go, repeat. I can tell you it is unending when we are Mothers. I’m still doing it and Karmyn is 31! I hope she comes back in closer again as I sure do miss her! Mother Love is like none other. Blessings to you and your Beautiful Family!
Thank you, dear Kelly. That is a hard thing to imagine — the distances traveled growing farther, the time away growing longer. Bless you as you wait for your girl to come closer again. Much love to you.
Ashley,
You are an amazing story teller! I love that about you!!
Right back atcha, sister. You are one of my favorite story tellers in all the world. I’ve got to hear about the car wash when I see you tomorrow! :-)