How does your garden grow?

The little statue stands sentinel over my garden. 

Though not scary in the least, I trust him to keep away anything that might intend harm to my seedlings as they begin to grow, sprout, and offer the food that is their potential.

Yesterday I was sorting through old photos and happened upon these that documented the bright, vibrant colors that adorned this little garden statue when my trio gifted him to me for Mother's Day one year.

I see this mother holding bright and shiny Mickey and I smile. I was just a few years into my own journey of standing sentinel over the little seedlings I had been entrusted to tend, my own little garden.

My eye is drawn immediately to the spot on my knee. I remember when the photos were developed (yes, film, y'all!) I was so disappointed that was there. See, I was so focused on making sure my trio were cute and coordinated that I had not noticed I was sporting only goodness-knows-what on my knee! 

Yes, standing sentinel over a growing garden can be hard, pant-staining work. Knocking down inaccessible barriers so that these three -- and then their little sister -- could find their footings, could grow and sprout and reach their full potential has perhaps knocked the paint off me a bit but I am ever honored to have had the responsibility.

And just like my little garden statue, I plan to stand right here -- available for service whenever they need me.

Pandemics, Puppies, and Staying Behind the Wall

I am currently sitting in my keeping room with the puppy curled up beside me on the loveseat. If I move to sit anywhere else to work, she cries and jumps on me repeatedly. Repeatedly. Such is the effect of this pandemic on our relationship.

There are many effects of these months at home, aren't there?

Today, Benjamin needed a medical test that required we go to the hospital for the first time since last March. (Let me jump in right here to say everything came back normal. Don't want the grandmothers unduly worried!) 

Our hospital here is located on a busy block and the patient parking garage has been under construction since we moved here. For all our previous-to-the-pandemic appointments, we were able to use the valet parking that meant we drove up, unloaded Benjamin and someone else parked my van while we scurried to the appointment. Today, we arrived expecting the same. But Covid. The valet service was shut down. The parking garage still under construction. So we were required to park a couple blocks away in the existing parking structure. The accessible parking was right near the elevator but we had to go up four floors before finding a spot. The door at the elevator emptied us onto a sidewalk but construction barricades prevented the wheelchair space to use it (walkers were fine). We had to go back inside the garage but once there found that there was an exit at the front that was accessible (albeit he still had to be in the street for a good part of the way because of that construction.).

I say all of this to say that we arrived at our appointment six minutes late and though a gracious staff greeted us with understanding, my nerves were strained already.

Benjamin was there for a swallow test. The radiology tech was delightful. She made us feel comfortable almost immediately. She brainstormed for creative ways to get B positioned for the imaging, for the tests.

I was involved. I lifted him from the chair to the x-ray friendly chair and strapped him in. I lifted him from that chair to the x-ray table. Don't get me started on that table though....they tilted him almost to standing with no straps and told him not to worry the footplate would catch him if he slid. Never mind that the sliding was not an if but a WHEN and it wouldn't be straight.

But mainly, I stood behind the rolling glass "wall" that protects parents from the radiation. I observed the entire process through the glass. It won't surprise anyone that I still spoke admonitions. Swallow. Take a larger sip. Etc. And I kept my eyes focused like a hawk on any movement he made that would require me to jump from behind the perch to catch him from falling. Like a hawk.

It occurred to me as I stood there, that this is a perfect analogy for life parenting adults. Once upon a time, I made the decisions for little bitty triplets. I was completely and totally in charge of when they ate, bathed, slept, who they played with and for how long. As they grew older, I strongly influenced the decisions -- signed them up for extracurriculars that I thought would help them be the best they could be. Drove them to the events I wanted them to enjoy. Urged them to study certain subjects, etc. 

But today, those itty babies have grown into 23 year old adults. And while this pandemic has given me a lovely respite with them under my roof, my role as mother is to stand behind the glass wall and watch as they make decisions, choose paths, and pursue their dreams. Oh, I can still speak my admonitions -- don't forget to exercise, eat some veggies, call me -- but their life choices are not in my hands. I am no longer in control.

Deep breath in. Slow exhale.

So I'll be right here, curled up with this needy puppy, working my hardest to stay behind the wall. I will trust that they know where to find me.

And though a mama can't easily unfocus her hawk eyes, I will train mine to be more focused on knowing when to cheer! But don't judge me for also being ready to catch them too....you know, just in case.

Look, kids, no hands!

My words are stuck somewhere between exhaustion from throwing Cate a turning-14-sleepover-party and worry from watching my young adults launch into adulthood. Thrown in with all that, is the exhilaration coupled with weariness of a new move. I have words. I like words. But for the life of me, I am struggling to find them.

I can get out "hands-off, Mama," and that's about it.

Sleepover haven for Little Red and her friends!

I remember thinking the NICU was the hard part of parenting. I remember the awful feelings when I would leave my babies every single night in that intensive care unit, entrusted to someone else's care. I would sleep a bit and wake, sitting straight up in bed anxious for how they were doing. The nurses took my call every night and gave me a report before admonishing me that my body was healing too and I needed sleep. But as soon as the clock hit 7 the following morning, I was standing outside the door, scrubbed, gowned, and ready to get my hands on my babies!!

Swinging in the University of Chicago Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.

When Cate was born, I refused to let her leave my sight -- or my arms. I was so relieved that she wasn't under some one else's care every single day that I relished every moment of her newborness...I relished every single moment on having her care in my hands.

Little Red just after birth!

When the triplets graduated college in May, I thought I had arrived at the status of expert launcher. I mean, I did it times three. Pat me on the back and give me some accolades.

But the truth is, this adulthood thing is hard on mothers. Hard is really not a strong enough word.

Mason and I went to a welcome weekend at Millsaps when he was accepted there for undergrad. As he did his welcome activities on campus, I was doing the parent sessions. During one session, I zeroed in on the fact that the gentleman introduced himself as the ADA compliance officer for the school. I made a beeline for him as the session ended. Patrick Cooper and I walked back across campus together discussing the laundry list of things I knew Mason needed to be successful on campus. I was waiting for his reply when we ran in to Mason. As I introduced the two, I remember thinking this was perfect so that Mason could be assured all the accommodations would be in place. Patrick however, did not launch in to the assurances I was waiting for....rather, he looked at Mason and said, "Mason, I know what your mother thinks you need to be successful on campus. What do YOU think you need?"

Mason's list was much (much) shorter than mine.

And so Mason's college career -- and its success -- was firmly in Mason's independent hands. He and Patrick made a plan, moved forward with the plan, and rarely did Mason hit a hiccup beyond cracked sidewalks.

I am telling you this because with four years of college behind me (yes, me. I am the one learning here.) I knew that Mason had to be in charge of the accommodations at Texas Tech for grad school. I knew he was more than capable. And I knew, I had to be hands-off.

But an enormous school like Texas Tech, doesn't operate at the same rate as Millsaps and Patrick Cooper. Mason's initial meeting occurred and still the levels of bureaucracy involved before professors were notified, meant that he started classes without all the accommodations in place. So when he called to tell me one prof refused to let him use his computer in class,  I thought he should have a kind word with her after class. Explain the situation, I said. She'll make the exception, I assured him.

But no. She didn't. She repeated her no-computers-in-class policy without a care that he can't write notes, he types them. She didn't care that her hard and fast rule meant he started graduate school on the wrong foot. She didn't care that her policy set him up for a struggle.

I was pretty angry. I offered to call her. He forbid it. Sigh. I offered to call the ADA office, he said no. He assured me he was handling it -- and he was. But the ADA didn't move with speed. It took more than a few classes before he was "allowed" to bring in his computer for notes. And this professor never budged on her strict mandate about his bringing the computer until she had the OFFICIAL paperwork in her hand requiring it of her.

And all the while, I was a bazillion miles away, sitting on my hands.

And perhaps, the frustration was more in the distance than the hand-sitting. I couldn't take Mason to lunch and convince him all would be well. I couldn't hug him tight and remind him of all the challenges he has overcome. I couldn't swoop in. And of how desperately I needed to swoop.

Claire received her first acceptance letter to Occupational Therapy school last week. And we are thrilled and celebrating and yet, I know there is more launching in my near near future. More hands-off supporting.

For the four years that Benjamin, Mason, and Claire were in college, I thought I was sad because I missed having them under my roof -- and I did,  oh man I really did -- but that isn't the weight I feel. Rather, the weight of launching children, the hard part, the challenge, is that we have to be hands-off. No swooping in to solve a problem. No calling teachers to iron out the details. No after school milkshake to cure what ails. 

No, adults have to find their own coping skills. Adults have to navigate their own struggles. And adults have to communicate their own needs.

My hands can't even be in the pot.

No more need for a children's menu? I am here.

We were waiting to be seated in the iconic Tex-Mex restaurant. After waking before 4am, traveling across country, and making a couple of apartment-supply runs, Mason and I were each in our own exhausted day-dreams -- mine completely centered on the soon to be ingested chips and queso. But it had not gone completely unnoticed by me that there were many families in the lobby who were obviously dropping their own students at Texas Tech (the cameras, the selfies, the staring lovingly at the young adult....I recognized the signs!). When the hostess motioned it was time to be seated for one such family, I heard her ask the mom if their were any children in the party. And there it was. Mom glanced lovingly at her taller-than-her-son and took a deep sigh before saying, "No. No children."

I wanted to hug her.

And assure her that queso does in fact make it feel better....but perhaps I could offer a little more advice than that.

As mothers, we all handle the college-going of our children differently. Freshman year and dorm decorating can uncover a range of emotions, my friends and I pretty much covered the gamut:

1. I'm proud. I'm proud. I'm just so proud.  This mom really just loves celebrating every single achievement for darling college kid. Perhaps the sadness for her is overwhelmed by her pride....or maybe she finds it easier to cover her sadness when she is fully immersed in college pride! Regardless, she will be at every event on the campus and will be thrilled to be there!

2. Party. Party. Party. This mom is relishing her nest being empty. She is a good mom but she has an enviable contentment hanging with her own peeps, and finding fulfillment beyond her motherhood.

3. Eeyore and Pooh Bear too. Woe is me, my purpose is gone. I just want to sit and eat honey -- or queso in my case -- all day. There is no denying that after homeschooling the triplets for six years, spending every moment of those years engaging them in learning, I struggled with the freshman year. I felt bereft, if you don't mind my drama. I felt that I was void of purpose. And I had a physical ache that all things had changed.

Please hear me, I think most of us can be a little of all three, even if overwhelmingly leaning toward one. I was crazy proud of my crew and I love opening our home to other adults to gather with me -- from Bible studies to book clubs and everything in the middle -- but I was full-on Eeyore when my crew left for college. Freshman year found me stalking the social media accounts of each of their schools for a glimpse, a tiny glimpse of their faces. I wasn't completely sure how often I should text them. I didn't want to call them too often. I wanted to be laid back in the communication....but oh boy I wanted to know how and where and when and what. I needed all the info and felt so absolutely disconnected because I was not a part of the process.

Listen, as mothers, we have to support each other -- no matter what our attitude towards their college-going. 

Last week, Mason and I flew across country to move him into his graduate school apartment. We are in the throes of Claire's application process for Occupational therapy school and Benjamin is exploring all his options for his next endeavors.

Photo cred: Sarah Dunlap photography

And while I am sad that we won't all be here together every day, it doesn't feel as take-my-breath-away as the trio leaving for college did. This feels different.

Four years after freshman year drop-off, I have learned a few things:

1. They still seek me out for advice and to share their news. Somehow, I think we worry as moms -- or I worried -- that they wouldn't do that once they found their people. It is a comfort to know they do.

2. They can handle themselves. I think regardless of how amazing our children are, there is a fear when we leave them in their college dorm, that we forgot some big crucial life-skill that they will need and not know. That wasn't the case for my kids -- and I am fairly certain it won't be for yours as well. (Unless you consider sock-picking-up a major life skill, because I fear one or more of my children might not possess that one....)

3. When we let them fly, they soar. This is so hard. So hard. I had days where I wanted to clip their wings and bring them back to the nest. But my crew have found purpose, adventure, and relationships near and far as they follow their dreams. It is good.

Parenting adults is very different than when I had three little bitties following my every step, my every move. I am not the center of their world anymore and that can be a blow to a mommy-heart. But they are still some of my very favorite people. I love hearing them talk about their passions, their work, their dreams. I love meeting their friends and seeing the relationships blossom. And I love knowing that they will come home....and I will be here, whenever they need me!

I'm learning.