Parental Potholes

 

Before Jeff and I left for our trip to NYC last week, I peeked into Taggart’s room and felt compelled to check-in with him for a moment. Way past the point of needing us to “put him to bed”, he was quietly reading as I laid down next to him (not touching him, mind you, because he acts like I have cooties these days!). As a kid managing some major anxiety and sleep issues and lots of enthusiastic hormones raging through his growing body, I wanted to get a sense of whether or not our impending trip was messing with him.  Something was certainly messing with him as I watched him wiggle and squirm and inch as far away from me as he possibly could without hitting the floor with a thud. It was like he just couldn’t be comfortable with me right there next to him . . . and then, he pretty much said so. 

“Mom, I just don’t feel comfortable around you anymore. I don’t feel like I can tell you things like I used to. And I have something I need to tell you BUT it’s awkward.”
Me: “Well, I’m not sure what the awkwardness is about but if you don’t feel like you can talk to me, I just want you to make sure there is someone you can talk to about how you’re feeling. Dad. Your Uncle Chris.  Skyler (favorite babysitter turned favorite friend) . . .”

Him (after quite a bit of hemming and hawing): “Yeah, well, here’s the thing . . . I don’t want you kissing or hugging me anymore.  It just seems weird.  And awkward.”
Me: “Wow. You mean I can’t kiss or hug you at all? Ever? What about if I ask for permission first?  Would that help?”

Him: “The only time you can hug or kiss me is after you’ve been on a trip.  No other time.” (And I’m thinking, ‘Well, at least I can bank on some love next Monday night!!’)

Then he stops for a minute as if he’s contemplating whether or not to say more, and continues, perhaps deciding ‘what the hell, I’ve gone this far . . .’ and he says: “Here’s the thing that I’m really uncomfortable with.  I think about you and dad having sex and then I think about you hugging or kissing me after that and it’s not good mom.  It is NO good.  And it’s Just. Really. Awkward.”

Alrighty then. Here we are. Smack dab in the middle of AWKWARD.  All of it. Awkward that, in the forefront of my kid’s head, is my sex life (which – in the midst of middle-age, busy kids, and hectic days that make for fast-asleep nights - is probably not half as robust as my burgeoning 12 year old is making it out to be!).  Awkward that the notorious, easy rapport Taggart and I have always shared is suddenly MIA . . . that he is pushing it away like I guess most growing up boys do, and that he feels he can no longer “trust me” as someone safe to talk to. Awkward that I have to curb my maternal affections toward my son, the very same son who used to throw one little leg over me while I laid with him when he napped as a toddler, holding me hostage so that I could not leave, murmuring, “I just need to be sure of you . . .” as he drifted off to sleep.

So awkward, for me, that he is not SURE of me anymore.  How did this happen?? Believe me, I’m trying to keep it real.  Stay centered. Not let it rankle me or take it personally. But this $h*t is hard, I tell you. I’m trying to be a good pacer. To demonstrate to him that I AM solid and dependable and not histrionic. That I can handle his pushing away and that I believe so strongly in our connection that I remember to not experience it as the seismic hole it feels like, but to see it as simply a natural change or subtle shift. One that is good and necessary for him in becoming the whole, independent, young man he needs to become.  And that I am, indeed, trustworthy.  That my belief and knowing will hold us ‘til we come around to another place on this journey where we’ll embrace each other whole-heartedly once again.

Let me say this. Getting this parenting thing right, or at least not terribly wrong, is tricky.  Because we’ve all got our STUFF we are dealing with. And then we’ve got our spouse’s or partner’s STUFF to consider.  And then we get these kids who’ve got STUFF all their own. Needless to say, we’re dealing with a lot of STUFF.  

And sometimes it’s like a teeter-totter gone awry, to say the least.

There we are, trying like hell to balance and bring order to the chaos that stems from our own childhoods and upbringing, our and our family members’ distinct emotional needs, the wistful sentimentality that has us trying to recreate those things our parents did well, and perhaps some well-meaning dreams of being the best parent EVER . . . well, one of these things (or maybe even all of them) is going to trip us up or ambush us.

Yep, even though we know all this, we’ll still do wrong somewhere, some way. We’ll mess up and often not know how or why. There may be some scars or even open wounds we never intended and couldn’t fathom having imposed. And, we may not know for years – if it all - what might have left our children so openly vulnerable or wounded.  As if things weren’t already looking ominous enough, they may be bitter or blame us to boot; we – the parental soldiers - of unconditional love.

And though I couldn’t have imagined Taggart would ever know that bitterness on my account, having it tarnish him or stick like thick tar to his heart, I see its potential beckoning. Not necessarily by anything I am doing or not doing, but by the sheer honor I have of being his mother and loving him so much that he knows my commitment will not falter. And he can get away with a lot. I’m not perfect; neither is he. I will make some mistakes. And it might break my heart. And it may break his.  But those broken hearts? They let more light in. They teach us – parents and kids alike - some of our very best lessons. Awkward or not, those lessons are worth having and worth fighting for.

No, I wouldn’t choose this awkward place. It’s hard. Uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. But my best tack, the only sure one I’ve got, is to simply be here for him. To watch and listen. To show up every day as the mom that knows and loves him.  That knows his heart and his truth. That says good morning with a smile and makes his breakfast (even when he’s not smiling or forgets to say thank-you). That tells him she loves him every morning as he hops out of the car and heads into school (even though he might act like he doesn’t hear me or not look back). That takes him a snack when she picks him up each afternoon and asks, “How was your day?” (and nods at his aloof one-word answers).

Yep. I’m that mom. I’m the mom that lets him know me and my love by my unwavering presence - if not by my hugs and kisses. 

When Taggart was little I would worry about him growing up and losing him to some cynical, sarcastic period where we find no connection. But the closer we get to full-blown puberty, the more I see that as a distinct, but hopefully temporary, possibility.  I used to think that would kill me. But twelve years in to this parenting gig, I know I’m stronger than that and that lessons have a way of coming full circle. I know that Taggart’s dad and I are doing our best to provide Taggart a foundation from which he can make wise and courageous choices and decisions.  We are giving Taggart what we hope are the tools that he’ll need and enough unconditional love so he’ll always be able to find his way home. And that any parental potholes we might have unsuspectingly created are never so big as to slow him down for any longer than it takes to find his way once again.

The catch to Parenting 101 (or 202 or 303) is that none of us knows exactly what we are doing. Our kids didn’t come with instruction manuals and the learning curve is steep. But what seems key to at least doing this as authentically as we can is to TRUST. Ourselves, the process, each other.  It is scary. It is hard. It is AWKWARD at times.  But if we can trust and give our kids the space they need to become more of who they are meant to be, there is great hope that we will embrace whole-heartedly once again.

For me, it’s letting go of expectations of notions of parental perfection, of six-year-old little girl fears, and an eighty-year-old woman’s imagined regrets . . . but if trusting the process and letting go of my STUFF helps Taggart realize more of who he is meant to be, I’m willing to give it my best shot. (Didn’t I say ‘This $h*t ain’t easy!’?? – yeah, I know, but it bears repeating . . . The secret is that if I can let go and trust, I realize more of who I am meant to be too. Which illuminates just how smart God was when she designed this whole process . . . REALLY SMART. Just saying.)

There’s no doubt about it. Parenting is awkward. Having a normal ANYTHING (sex life, grown-up conversation, shower . . . you name it!) with your kids within earshot can be awkward. Indeed, until you live it, no one can prepare you for just how awkward it is. But in the midst of and on the other side of awkward? SO much good STUFF: growth and laughter and forgiveness and compassion and maybe even hugs and kisses too. Whatever the bounty, it is, indeed, ALL worth having and worth fighting for.

Yet, the only way there is THROUGH.  So we do have to navigate that AWKWARD first (God help us). And we will get through it – we always do. Just steer clear of those potholes the best you can, have your best set of tools at the ready, align your compass to whole heart, and trust the process.

Safe travels my friend!

XOXO 

NOTE: On the way to school this morning Taggart said, “I read your essay on 'Awkward'. And you say you are ‘trustworthy’?? I almost typed in there, ‘NO, she’s not!!’ I told you I couldn’t trust you! You are writing about me on your blog Mom . . .”

But he didn’t really seem that mad. In fact, he looked at me and he smiled when he said it.  And I responded, with a laugh, “I AM TOO trustworthy!! I didn't tell ALL your secrets.” He didn’t argue. We just left it at that. 

And that eye contact and smile?  Almost felt like a hug and kiss. It was definitely the good in my morning!