“Look, I did school!”
A5 just came up to me, showing me some papers which he cut, pasted, and wrote letters.
I tend to be a “Better Late Than Early” (aff) sort of homeschool mom. . . but I think he’s a “Better Now Than Later” sort of kid.
His birthday was last week. He kept telling me, “When I turn five, I’m going to start Kindergarten!” It took me awhile to realize that he thought that as soon as his birthday came, he’d get a uniform and go to the school his brothers attend and join the class his little friend from Sunday School is in.
He was sad when I told him he wouldn’t be joining Ellie’s class. But now, I think we need to start our Kindergarten rhythms in earnest.
When the boys were younger, they had plastic toy bows and arrows. I remember playing with the boys, and shooting arrows with them.
I draw back the arrow, the bow bends — and I’m worried that I’m going to break the plastic bow if I pull too hard. The string is taut and tense and for a moment before I release the arrow.
I’m living in that moment now, feeling the pulling tension between the bow and string.
We’re on the verge of great action, energy, loosening, flying, soaring, aiming towards a goal. . . Pulling back and taking aim. Drawing firmly, but not too hard with this plastic toy bow. The bow is stressed.
In this analogy, it only seems proper that the young adults are the arrows getting ready to soar.
But where does that leave me? Am I the bow? The string? The archer? I’m not sure.
Things are taut. There is tension. Everyone in our family feels it. We are all living through this time of stretching and expectation.
I want to be in this together. Connected. Not working at odds with one another, but pulling together. Aimed at the same target. On the same team.
We’re working on that.
Being connected, while preparing to release.
Life has shifted.
My oldest has been away at college for three years. The next three teens graduate high school in the next three years. One right after another.
I had four kids in five years when I was in my 20s.
It was exciting, it was fun, it was exhausting.
Well-meaning people would be sympathetic to the work and energy required, and would offer advice and encouragement. “remember, they are little for such a short time!” I embraced that. The days are long and the years are short, was my mantra when I was knee-deep in laundry and nursing and noise.
What those well-meaning people didn’t remember to say was that they are only teens for a short time, too. One day they would all be starting high school, then I would blink, and they would be gone.
We did treasure the early years. We have happy memories of making play dough and building pyramids and the Sphinx. We did treasure the middle years. We built our family traditions. Even now the kids know to expect socks and underwear in their Christmas stickies, along with some candy and an orange — a tradition started during our leanest years when I tried to make the gifts under the tree look more abundant with necessities.
Your memories are likely much like mine, full of funny family stories and laughter. You were intentional, investing your time and yourself into your children. Even when you remember the struggles, I bet overall you feel like it has been a joy.
Life is good now, too. Yet, I feel a shift in our family dynamics — and something isn’t quite how I want it.
I don’t have the energy I once had, and the intense emotional and intellectual needs of teens is hard. I’ve felt myself become more distracted — distracted both by the logistics of life and the technology right at hand.
I love my teens dearly, and we’ve been a close family. Yet, I get surprised by what I don’t know about them. I’m sad that we aren’t as attached as we once were. I know that they are growing and maturing and that is good — and at the same time, I feel like we can get to a place of being more connected.
This has been on my mind a lot lately. It’s been in my conversations with Hubby and even with the teens. I don’t want us to just drift through these last years at home and drift apart. We need connection.