Growing Pains

Dear Jackson,

Last night we went for your middle school orientation and you were so excited that you could hardly control yourself. Earlier in the day your entire 5^th grade had been on a tour of the school, so you were pointing out science labs and locker rooms and showing your Dad and I around like you owned the place.

Outwardly, I was smiling and nodding and listening to the presenters because I am thrilled for you to be taking this next step towards independence. But on the inside, it felt like a part of me was dying. I was there crying when you started your first day of child care and then again on your first day in the pre-school class and on your first day of kindergarten. I actually cried harder when you went to first grade than kindergarten, because by then you had moved into the big building with the upper grades. And when you walked down the sidewalk at the end of that first day with that giant book bag on your back, you looked seven feet tall and grown.

I know you don’t understand all these feelings. I know I am a source of embarrassment most of the time these days. In all honesty, there are things I enjoy about being your Mom at every age and the more independent you become, the more helpful and responsible you become. But while the days are long and seem to stretch beyond the normal twenty-four hours, the weeks, months and the years are whizzing by like a flash of lightning.

When you were an infant I felt confused about 95% of the time. I was tired, overworked and frazzled in every way possible; I didn’t know what to do or when to do it because I had never been anyone’s Mother before. Believe it or not, I am eleven years into the job and I am feeling the same way all over again. I am still tired, overworked and frazzled….except now I am also older, heavier and I have to wear glasses to read J. Most days I don’t know what to say, how to say it or how to respond when you don’t want to hear it. I volley between wanting to pull you close to me like I did back then and wanting to rip your head off if you talk back to me in that tone one more time.

I want to be someone you trust and come to for guidance, but lately I can’t tell when I am suppose to rush in with potential answers or hang back and let you make your own mistakes. I remember how decrepit my parents seemed when I was your age, and I cringe when I hear their words coming out of my mouth. Fortunately, your brother doesn’t completely ignore me yet, although I have caught him rolling his eyes a few times lately. But you can be certain that he is watching every move you make as you blaze the middle school trail for us all.

In my confusion I have resorted to reading a lot of books about adolescents at this age and talking to a lot of parents whose children are either successfully maneuvering middle school or have survived and transitioned to high school. I have no doubt that together we will sail this ocean and find a treasure chest of memories waiting to be unearthed in the next three years. I remind myself that at this point I have had the privilege of being your Mom for 4,041 days (and counting) and I haven’t had a map or a guidebook thus far.

But if you could occasionally look back at me and smile as you sprint into this next phase I would appreciate it. And when your heart is broken or your spirit is weak because of someone’s words, or an All-Star game lost or your own inexperience, please know that I am ready and waiting. I may not be able to say or do the right thing….ever…..but I am here! Waiting in the wings, with my own heart breaking and soaring, while I cheer for you loudly and silently. I am here for you always and I am here for you in all ways. Godspeed, Sweetheart, and please be careful.

All My Love,

Mom

Boogie Shoes

Melanie Has Lost Her Groove. And unlike Stella, who found hers with Taye Diggs among the sweeping palm trees and warm breezes of Jamaica, mine can not be found at the bottom of a margarita glass....believe me, I have looked. In fact, lately I have been so "grooveless" that I switched the dial from 105.7 The Hits to NPR, where Mishelle Norris (pronounced "ME-Shelle Norris), helps me Consider All Things, without the pressure of the synthesized backbeat.

Seriously, for months now I feel like I am constantly dancing out of time to music heard only inside my own head. You know, like Elaine Bene's dancing on Seinfield (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xi4O1yi6b0). The harder I try to move and sway and find the beat, the more awkward and stilted and frightened I become. For as long as I can remember I have always loved to dance; music freed me, conncected me to the flow of life and moved me outside my own head. But at this stage I always seem to be a beat behind, gesticulating in the wrong direction and hyperaware of the younger, more fluid dancers. From the inside it is maddening to watch and painful to experience.

It has occurred to me that maybe this is a natural part of aging. Granted, my forties have brought me a dynamic partnership, a more comfortable home, gratifying work, and a new found love of photography and travel. All of which seem to get dwarfed in my own mind by my slowing metabolism, increasing size and failing short-term memory. These days I spend an inordinate amount of time feeling as awkward as I did at fourteen....unsure of who I am becoming, longing for the security of not so long ago when I thought I knew who I was and desperately trying to be one of the cool kids.

Recently, I had a friend tell me that she loved me because I was "not afraid to piss people off." And from the outside, it certainly looks that way. Due, in part to my upbringing, I have never had a problem expressing my opinion; loudly, and in amusing sarcastic tones. But lately, I have been reminded repeatedly that "amusing" can subject to interpretation, that sarcasm can be very divisive and that if people roll their eyes when you open your mouth, then maybe the impact of your message is being diluted by your delivery.

Ironically, in a parallel dimension, I am trying to parent an awkward, hormonal fifth grade boy who is loud, opinionated, sarcastic and trying desperately to be one of the cool kids. He also happens to be exceedingly bright, tender-hearted, thoughtful, beautiful and wise beyond his years. These days I spend an inordinate amount of time hoping that he will find a way to embrace all the goodenss of his life and recognize all the opportunities that lay ahead for him... if he would just look beyond his own fear and loathing, and embrace his own brand of coolness. Hmmmmmm.....

Unfailingly, parenting requires you to face the deepest, most insecure aspects of yourself and continue the painful process of growth. Undoubtedly, it is not mere coincidence that I am parenting a child on the cusp of "middle" school from the outskirts of being "middle" aged. What I am realizing, again, as I type these words is that it is not the desire to belong or the attempts at validation that reveal our awkardness. It is the overwhelming fear that we will never be "enough" that robs us of graceful movement and separates us from the other dancers. The common struggles of humanity actually draw us closer to one another; that is why we like fat Oprah, dancing Ellen and the absurdity of "I'm Sexy and I Know It."

So today, I can try to move through the world more gently, choose my words more carefully and turn off the static inside my head.

 But I won't ever stop Pumpin' My Jam :)