Holding On & Letting Go

It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon . . .

Last Saturday my daughter came home to get fitted for contacts lenses. Perhaps we should have waited a month til the end of the semester. But it is nice to be able to see the blackboard and know who you are waving to.

Coming home may have been too much of a contrast with her school life. This past week has been real tough for her. She had a paper due (since she is taking 4 English courses this semester to complete her Writing, Publishing, Literature major, when doesn't she have a paper due?) and it was not going well. I even promised she did not have to return to school next year. But in the meantime, please eat something.

The paper got completed and turned in on time. She took herself out to eat with my credit card, things were good for a little while.

Then the left contact lenses started giving her a hard time. It hurt, it wouldn't go in, it wouldn't come out. No I was not mad that I had spent the money on them. Yes, I was pretty sure the doctor could sort them out and give her a new one that fit better when she sees him in another week. Why don't you take them both out and just take a nap.

My daughter's week was all about holding on. (r)

My son's was about letting go. (l)

On Thursday morning my son got in his car and drove west toward Yosemite, where he has a job as cook's helper at the Yosemite Lodge. On Wednesday night after everything was packed, he sat down next to me and said, "I don't think this is where I want to go."

It is a fine line between pushing my kids to do what they have agreed to do and telling them it is ok to bag it. The rules are clear. They have to have given it a lot of thought and prayer. I want them to be happy. I want them to be good people.

We talked. He decided to go anyway. If he hates it, he can come home (as long as he gives them adequate notice). I understand his dilemma. He's tired of people going ga ga about Yosemite. The desert is what calls to him -- he would prefer to be at Joshua Tree National Monument, or Death Valley National Park. And he's so done with culinary. Summer jobs since HS, college work-study in the dish-room, he's just not that into food! He has a degree in environmental studies. Just being at Yosemite may open lots of doors. He knows it's a good thing to go -- he just has to find the balance between head and heart.

I wanted to hold on to my son and let go of my daughter, but that's not what my job was this week.

I will miss him

There's a lot they don't teach you at mothering school.

They don't teach you that wanting them to grow up to be productive, independent adults does not make it a bit easier when they take a job on the other side of the country.

When my son was 12 years old, I walked into his room. Probably to put some laundry away. I had to walk out quickly or explain why I was crying for no understandable reason. You see, I looked at him, and he was no longer a little boy. He wasn't grown up, but he had turned some corner. Even knowing this, half his life ago, it never occurred to me and they never told me in mothering school if you do a good enough job and like your kids, you just might want them to stay at home forever.

They do tell you you have to let your kids go. I know this. My mom was always so adamant that sons really need to be independent at 18, though daughters will always be there. She didn't get it quite right. My brother has only now moved out of her neighborhood, and I was the one who left home at 18!

Roots and Wings. You have to give them roots to feel firmly planted in a place, a philosophy, a religion, a family, a community, something that is grounded. You also have to give them wings to soar in their imagination, in travel, in new ideas, in education, in love and friendship, a sense of limitless possibilities.

So next week, my son heads off with all the worldly goods he can fit in his compact car to take a job in another beautiful place. His new job is in a field he is ready to leave, but he hopes the place, a national park, will offer more opportunities to use what he studied in college. That part I am really happy for! Actually, I'm happy for everything, the independence, the need to be his own person, to find that calling that makes him happy to get up in the morning.

I'll just miss him.

*Masters of Mothering Arts -- cuz it sure ain't a science!

There's a lot they don't teach you at mothering school. I'm pretty sure no one gets a Master's Degree, but it would be nice.

Think of it -- Graduate level courses, a practicum, internships, a required thesis paper on something you actually know in your bones; recognition you have done a good job; a set of letters that signify you have gone beyond the basics of feeding and clothing them; acknowedgment they have become exceptional people because of your great work, not in spite of it! Your Name, MMA.* Maybe even deference and the best table at hip restaurants.

Nancy Friday states in My Mother, My Self that children survive if they get good enough mothering. This was helpful to me. I figured I could be "good enough."

But I actually viewed myself as a really good, exceptional mother. You know, one of the best. I said that to my daughter while we were traveling last January. Her face . . . then her laugh . . . then her exclamation that I was joking wasn't I, made me revise my view of my mothering skills.

Interestingly enough, my feelings weren't hurt. I was just sorry that what I had taken for great mothering was not seen the same from her side of the (sometimes closed) door. I wanted her to have experienced me as an exceptional mom -- not for the accolades or great tables at fancy restaurants -- because I love her so much and wanted to give her my best.

But mothering is a dance. I love to waltz, my daughter is a tap dancer. My mom is a tap dancer, I never learned the steps. I know what would qualify as great mothering if it was directed toward me. If asked, I bet my daughter could say the same. (Actually when she was 13 she told me the kind of mother she would be. It didn't look a lot like me). What is considered wonderful by one daughter, is considered laughable by another!

This post started as a comment on my son leaving home. Obviously I got a bit off track. Tomorrow I will start my post the same way, "There's a lot they don't teach you at mothering school."