Breaking Up the Team: When You're Not Ready For Your Kids to Grow Up

Two years ago as hordes of parents squeezed into the high school theater for freshman orientation a friend jokingly said I would probably follow my son to college.  I grinned and said something about not having big enough luggage but as I listened to the lecture a little bit of my heart crumbled.  It was the start of a cruel realization that has slowly over time sharpened with a greater frequency; at each college night and counselor appointment and international travel destination stamped on his passport, the reality is setting in, my oldest son will be leaving home to start his life as an adult.  I didn't know it was possible but I am living the cliche: they really do grow up too fast.

I was barely an adult myself when Jordan was born.  I couldn't even buy alcohol.  My husband Lewis and I were college students, poor, yet determined and had absolutely no clue how to care for a child.  Between the two of us I had the stronger resume: babysitter, lifeguard, CPR certified, witness to a cat birth and owner of a copy of The Complete Mothercare Manual that I bought in the gift shop.  As we watched the hospital full of trained nurses disappear from the rear view mirror we both experienced a surreal sensation that they shouldn't be letting us leave with this little baby.  Someone made a mistake!

The first year of his life was a blur.  1996-97 became the baseline for our married life, the fact we were able to survive is a testament that nothing would ever be more difficult.  Lewis petitioned to carry a full academic load at Stanford and Foothill College simultaneously while he worked full-time as a waiter, studied, collaborated with classmates and then cared for Jordan while I took classes and worked part-time at the Stanford Bookstore.  During that last year at Stanford Lewis literally averaged 3 hours of sleep a night.  No one else cared for Jordan in that entire year.

After we left Stanford Lewis worked days and I worked nights.  During the day it was Jordan and Mom against the world.  Nighttime was dinner and routine with Dad.  With the exception of the occasional family babysitter for a break it was just the three of us.  When Jordan started preschool he developed major separation anxiety and it is no wonder, everyone else in the world was a stranger.  That little smiley boy and I were two peas in a pod.  By the time he was in preschool I had decided to give up on print journalism and switched to completing a degree in psychology.  I started taking classes in early childhood education and attended never-ending lectures - all so I could focus on being a better mom.  The classes gave me the resources to be his first teacher in music, art, friendship and life.

For the first four years of his life it was just us.  We rode the bus everywhere.  We checked books out of the library by the stack. We walked to the park.  We danced around our little apartment to blaring music.  We snuggled and watched Little Bear and Blues Clues on TV.  We made home made cookies.  As I look back on this time I realize that I was living the dream, what every mom wants, and I didn't realize it.  It was a magical time.  I took it for granted.  I was a kid too.

A week before Jordan's 4th birthday Julian was born.  Suddenly Julian was the focus ... for both of us.  Jordan became the beaming big brother and my little helper as this new bundle of joy came into our life.  He accepted these roles with all of his heart because he is an amazing person.  I was comfortable and calm, I had done all of this before.  We transitioned from Mom and Jordan to Team Mom-Jordan.  For the last 12 years we've been a team and in 2 years that team will retire.  Sure we'll get the team back together for reunions but it won't be the same.    

For the first time this summer we went on a family vacation without Jordan.  It was a mom's anxiety-ridden glimpse into the future.  While we were poolside in Las Vegas Jordan was team building at a week-long leadership training.  During the stifling hot tour of Hoover Dam he was buying snacks for his Band Camp cabin-mates with his very own credit card.  As we were watching the volcano explode at The Mirage Casino Jordan was washing clothes and packing his own luggage.  On the last day of vacation while we were organizing pillow pets in the car another family drove him up to camp.

Nearly a week later we packed a picnic lunch and headed up the hill for Parent's Day at Band Camp.  With our blanket laid out we caught a glimpse of him on stage.  He was searching for us in the audience and when we finally made eye contact he waved and gave the nod.  He looked tired and I knew he would have a lot of stories to tell.  After the program we were treated to hugs and we schleped his instrument and luggage back to the car.  Staff needed to stay longer to load the trucks with equipment so our family piled back in the car and we were on our way, we'd catch up that night.  After 10 days what is another few hours?  As I veered around curves through La Honda that sharp reality started to hit again.  Our time with him is getting shorter and shorter.

I look at my son and know Lewis and I did everything right.  His personal success fills me with pride.  He is going to ease well into college and will be a creative, successful adult. He will make a lot of mistakes along the way but he knows his parents are just a phone, text, IM away.  Every day his time is split between family, music, work, friends and life.  The selfishness in me remembers the wistful days of Mom and Jordan and I feel like I am experiencing my own version of separation anxiety, just at the reverse end of his childhood.

As their mom I always make an effort to do the things that they like because I know it will keep the connection alive.  I stay up later than everyone else because I want to be available for homework or a chat if they need me.  I volunteer at their schools so they see that I am a part of their life and that I value their education.   I guffaw at their jokes.  I hit back during pillow fights.  I play a zombie during Nerf wars.  I watch their goofy television shows.  I talk them through drama with friends and frustration with girls.  I still read their favorite picture books.  I hug them tight.  I cry when they cry.  And, i'm just not ready to let them go.