Hitting the Brakes

When I woke up this morning it was 1 degree outside.  The snow seems to have no intention of melting and there are still patches of ice clinging to the sides of the road.  Ice on the road is not my friend. Even on a day like today when the sun is shining brilliantly and all the snowflakes seem to be resting on the ground, the ice can still get you.  You can be driving along, minding your own business, when your tire hits a deceptive patch of ice, leaving you feeling helpless. You know the feeling. The car suddenly has a mind of it’s own while you frantically flip to the “D” section in your brain to retrieve the stored information from Driver’s Ed.. . take foot off gas, gently pump brake, turn with the slide, blah, blah, blah, until panic sets in and you desperately slam down the brake while uttering a prayer that the car will suddenly obey your commands.  (Not that I’ve experienced this.)

Life is feeling very much like that these days.  Like it has hit a patch of ice, is spinning wildly, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. . . Okay, maybe I tend to be dramatic. (Shhh, Chad)  But seriously, it’s all happening faster than I’d like.

Friends, my kids keep growing up and no matter how hard I hit the brake. . . I can’t slow it down.

This week I was struck with this reality when I had the opportunity to read a book to Charlie’s class.

It felt surreal as I stood and watched my little guy while he led his classmates up the stairs, listened to his teacher, volunteered answers, and talked with his friends.  All I could think about was the little 5 pound baby that was placed in my arms just over five years ago. I couldn’t help but wonder how we got here so fast.  Yes, I realize that he is only five. . . but in my mind he is already five. 

It’s a funny thing to enter into “his” space, knowing that he knows the ropes and doesn’t really need me.  This is a part of his life that he is handling quite well on his own. . . thank you very much. And as I sat down in the circle on my little tiny chair I felt the rush of emotions that included pride, sadness, joy, and fear. 

As I was talking to Chad about this tonight, I tearfully told him that, “I don’t think I was made to be a Mom.”  It’s a lie, I know.  They just don’t tell you when you get that positive sign on that little white stick that the waves of emotions are endless, over-whelming, and powerful.  When they place that slippery wet bundle on your chest they don’t tell you that as much as you love, you will hurt, too.  They don’t tell you that you will carry a perpetual lump in your throat as the transitions continue to happen every. single. day. 

And no matter how much I hit the brake. . . I can’t stop it.

So goes this journey.  This parenthood thing, for which I feel so inadequate and so unprepared.  I quietly got up from my tiny chair, grabbed Chanelle’s hand, and walked out the door, leaving Charlie to finish his morning at school.  And as I walked to the car I took a deep breath and squeezed Chanelle’s hand a little tighter, knowing that very soon it will be her turn.  Very soon, she will be taking transitions that are so good for her. . . and so hard for me.  There is just no sugar coating it. . . it’s a beautiful struggle. 

And while I’ll always be their Mom, the need for me will change.  It will feel different. . . for all of us.  It’s supposed to be that way and I will wade my way through, just as they will.  In the meantime, you can bet we will be making the best of our time doing those things that we do every step of the way. . .