Growing Up

My first memory is a very early one. I have no idea how old I was. We were at the beach, and I needed a place to sit and rest. "Come," my mother said. She was sitting cross-legged. "Sit in my chair." I remember sitting in the nook her legs made and feeling safe and happy.

With lightning speed, it seems, I'm the one trying to create a good experience for my own children. I've been thinking a lot lately about how fast my kids are growing up. I blinked once, I think, and our youngest daughter turned into a four year old. Soon my oldest will be TWELVE. I know that might not sound like a lot to some, but it means a lot to me. This will be a milestone. As a twelve-year-old, my firstborn will be branching out a lot more. Junior High is on the horizon, homework, friends, piano, twice-weekly youth group meetings will keep her busy, and she will gradually begin to spread her wings, and I will become--temporarily at least--a complete imbecile to her. . . My oldest is approaching the stage in which she thinks she's heard enough from me, and wants to try things out for herself. I will have limited opportunities to "wrap it up" and teach her what she needs to succeed. I have a lot of questions as we reach this milestone. My main question is, have I been a good Mom? I mean REALLY. I do most of the basics, but was I really there--in the moments? Did I spend enough of my time teaching her what she really needs to know? Did I say what I really wanted to say? Knowing how to keep her socks from turning her undies blue is not enough, and I know it.

As I grew, my mom taught me a lot. I can decorate any cake, sew or alter clothing, get up from a bad fall, and keep most any secret thanks to her tutelage. My own children aren't really interested in all that. Mostly, I think, they just want a good chair and someone to be there when they need to sit it out.