Letting go...

Honestly. I have had to listen to one group after another tell me how to do this all summer. Apparently, letting go is the theme of the parent track for college orientations everywhere. Or at least here. At three different schools. Because three. I have three incoming college freshmen.

And apparently, according to one orientation's expert speaker, the mom of one little bitty two-year-old, I have to let go of all three of them. I am supposed to be available any time they need me. But I am definitely not to hover. (Hovering is extremely frowned upon by all college orientation leaders.)

I am supposed to plan a controlled good-bye when we move them into their dorms. I am not supposed to get over-emotional.

I am supposed to be an umbrella parent --  are you ready for this? An umbrella parent is here to weather the storms but able to be folded up and put away when it is sunny. I am supposed to be fold-able. And put away-able.

Did I mention this "expert" has a toddler? Did I mention that she opened with a letter from a parent saying "It was far harder than I thought it would be."

Oh yeah, I feel so much better now. Thanks.

I may or may not have day-dreamed about getting her off the stage with force. And a microphone cord.

Claire was eight when she announced over dinner that she would ONLY go to college if I could be her roommate. And even as her dad explained to her how this could not happen, I smiled and assured her that if she still wanted me to room with her at 18 we could have a discussion then.

Ten years seemed like an eternity that night. I was certain she would outgrow such an idea. I somehow failed to realize how hard that out-growing would be...on me. (Now for the record, my sweet girl says she would still love for me to be her roommate. But we both know she is being kind.)

I have had a picture of Mason shooting his bow and arrow in our school room for the last few years. The purpose is that seeing him with his bow drawn back, his arrow ready to fly reminds me visually that my job as Mama is to draw these back near to me, close to my heart, with a fair amount of tension (or teenage angst) and then let go so that my three arrows will soar. Without the tension, the arrow falls flat. Without pulling the bow back near to me, the arrow falls flat. Without my letting go...

I have never not even for a second wanted my arrows to fall flat. I want them to soar. I want them to achieve their goals, their dreams, to reach for the sky and grab hold.

And if that means I become an umbrella, then so be it. I will just have to learn to be the very best put -away-able I can be.

Sigh.