Motherhood is push-pull. Hold me tight-let me go. It is I want you — and I want nothing to do with you. It is a long journey of holding close and releasing my grip.
I’m experiencing it with all three of my girls right now. It’s been going on with the older two in different ways, to varying degrees for many years. Lala (you know that’s her nickname, right?) didn’t begin to truly develop a strong sense of identity separate from me until about a year ago. She began to pull away later than the others. It’s partly how we knew she wasn’t ready for kindergarten. She needed to grow in her confidence and sense of herself. It’s happening now for sure.
I can feel yanked around a bit. I’m trying not to put my stuff on them. Sometimes I’m more open after days of quiet to embrace them wherever they are; other times I’m worn out by the sudden onslaught of emotional noise and need.
I try to press in and they push back. I try to leave space, and they follow me, all clinginess and demands. There are no formulas for this sort of thing…more art than science, I’m sure.
_______
The third day of school, Lala, J and I walked to school together (Sici usually walks with friends). Lala held my hand nearly the whole time, but when we began walking across the school grounds, she quickly told me I could just drop her off.
“But I get to come in for Book Look,” I said. “This is what I did with your sisters when they were in kindergarten. I came inside every day because parents and their kids get to read books together to start the day. It’s a special time.”
“That’s OK,” she said. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” I said. “I will.”
______
The next day, Lala told me again that she’d be great with me just dropping her off, and I gave her a variation of the same answer, adding, “I drop off your sisters now and don’t walk them to their class, but I didn’t start doing that until third grade.”
That night as I tucked Lala in, I told her that I appreciated her independence, that it was great (really), that she clearly was transitioning wonderfully to spending all day without me, but that Book Look was our time.
“Sometimes parents can’t stay to read because they need to get to work, but usually I can stay, so I’d like to. You really don’t need to keep telling me to drop you off.”
She scowled and rolled toward the wall.
_____
I talked to a friend about the lunches she gets to share with her kindergarten daughter at another school. She’s done the same with her other three. It’s a sweet time for them to reconnect in the middle of a long day. I’ve done lunch with mine a handful of times in the cafeteria, but it hasn’t really ever become a thing. (Classroom volunteering has really always been more my thing.)
Still, I wondered if lunches might become Lala’s and my deal.
I thought I might bring it up casually, see what she thought, “I could come meet you for lunch sometime, if you’d ever want me to,” I said from the kitchen.
“No, thanks,” Lala said, her voice an upbeat, munching on her toast.
_____
Lately, Lala’s been crawling into bed with Mike and me, waking us with her snuggling around the face. Sometimes she has bad dreams of jumping off cliffs or being chased by cats.
______
When I drop Lala off at school, sometimes she hugs long, other times seems annoyed, dodges my kisses. It makes my stomach hurt. Honestly, makes me want to snub back. I try to be a grownup, practice with her later the way we can say our hellos and good-byes.
______
Just a week after she started school, Lala told me during Book Look that she didn’t need to carry her necklace with her anymore, but she still wanted her boxing hippo. (I suspect it reminds her she’s strong.)
“OK, honey, I can take the necklace home for you,” I said.
Through our first book, Lala sat on my lap. When that was finished, she grabbed another and sat down at my side. Then, waggling her head like “oh silly me,” said, “Oh that’s right, I was sitting on your lap” and plopped down on me again.
My heart broke open right then.
When Ms. Foster dimmed the lights to signal transition, Lala clung to my arm.
“Do you want to wear your necklace for a little while to help you feel comfortable when I go?” I asked, showing it to her in my hand.
“Yeah, I can put it on myself.”
______
On a recent day:
“I don’t want you to go, Mama.”
“I know, love.”
I gave her an extra hug and then stepped to the outside of the kid crowd. I set my eyes upon her, just in case she needed to see me for reassurance before I left. I stayed looking at her tender face for a few moments; her eyes stayed focused straight ahead at her teacher and didn’t search for me.
I walked out the door and down the street toward home. My heart broke open then, too.
_______
This is writing from the middle of the place I find myself. Not from a place of grand perspective, but from the now. I really am adjusting — all is well with my soul, friends — even as I seek a new way. I’ve described this new stage many times as surreal, and it is. I also know it’s right, and as it should be. Though many times, I wish I could keep & school all my little people at home, this has clearly not been the plan for this family of ours. In spite of the tugs at my heart, this is part of our good-hard, painful-sweet. It’s the place God has me — where I continue trying to open my heart, eyes and mouth, gulping down grace and giving thanks, knowing these loves are always being held, even if not by me.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
Oh, you’ve written out this season of parenthood with such accuracy through your imagery Ashley. It’s painful when they begin to tell you they need you instead of showing you. And when they tell you, it is usually at the absolute most inconvenient of times. I think God uses this season as a metaphor for our relationship with Him. Instead of showing us he loves us with constant affirmation and reassurance, he wants us to hear it, which means we have to be keen listeners, more attentive. Hugs to you, you have such a tender, sweet mama’s heart.
“It’s painful when they begin to tell you they need you instead of showing you. And when they tell you, it is usually at the absolute most inconvenient of times.” Thank you for putting words to this for me, Shelly! This is exactly it.
And wow, this changing earthly relationship as a metaphor…to be a listener, attentive to God’s spirit, not just his affirmation/his words. I wouldn’t have seen this myself. Thank you so much for your wisdom here.
Much love to you!
Oh, I KNOW this dance all too well. And the hard-to-breathe-steps. And the sweet, sweet shimmies. Yeah, no answers from me, dear friend. Just prayers. And applause for the way you love those girls so art-fully:) Wish we could take a long walk together in this strange season where both of our homes are quiet for a spell. Or share a cup of coffee. But thankful we can reach across the miles right here! Grateful for your words today.
Alicia, thank you for hearing my heart and understanding this dance. It can be a heartbreaking one. Praying for you, too, in this time of transition…that you would know your beloved, enough-ness in Jesus, that you would experience beauty in the increasing quiet. I love you.
What a vulnerable thing mother love is! Over and over we have to let them go, and even when they’re grown and married we have to let go when they make a decision that we think might not be the wisest. It’s a constant giving them over to God and trusting Him with them, from birth and probably til we breath our last!
Your youngest reminds me so much of our granddaughter who also started kindergarten this year. Her other nana told me that sometimes she acts “aloof”, which Is true. Randomly she will want held or to snuggle, or suddenly say “I love you” out of the blue and other times she doesn’t want to be hugged or held or to hold hands when walking, etc.
Yes, a continual vulnerable letting go. So right, and I know I’m only at the beginning. Thank you for normalizing that kindergarten behavior for me, too, Elizabeth. It makes sense that these little ones would need to do that back and forth to fill up with love and then to go out into the world, independent and courageous for the parts of life that play out on their own. Thank you for being here and supporting me in real life.
Yes. Heart breaking open. Over and over again. Each day I send my kids to school here, knowing they will face another day of faces and routines all in a language they don’t understand … and my heart breaks open.
And no matter what our circumstances, as mothers we all relate. I love the comment above … “It’s a constant giving them over to God …” So good.
Hugs Ash.
xoxo
Hugs to you too, my friend. I can only imagine what your journey must feel like — those extra layers of motherly concern for these dear ones, experiencing such a different world. Praying they and you would know peace in the daily. Much love. xoxo
I remember a time when Elisa was little and annoyed that we’d had the nerve to have another child! I bent over to kiss her good night and whispered in her ear, “I love you!” and she said in a very outdoor voice, “Well, I don’t love you!” It took everything in me to not get snarky and to not let her feel like my love for her was contingent on her loving me back. This loving and letting go is the hardest work of parenting, I think. Hugs to all of us as we navigate our way through it all! Thanks, always for your words.