Goodbye, witching hour. Goodbye.

It didn't hit me until I buckled my seat belt and put my car into reverse, but when it did, it struck me deep into my heart: this is the last time. When I started to say it to my children, my voice cracked as the words became stuck in my throat. I tried to hold it in but finally let it all go as I cried, explaining that I would miss this part of our family routine.

This morning was the last time that I will ever drive my babies to school together. The last time! And I am struggling to grasp just how quickly we are being catapulted into the next phase of our life as a family.

My husband has always left for work early in the morning, just as the kids are waking up to get ready for school. This has left me for years juggling three groggy children and policing them (often like a drill sergeant) in order to get them out of the door on time for school. This has not always been a smooth routine (for years it was affectionately known as "the witching hour") and there have been many mornings when we are all running around frantically in various states of undress.  I have certainly not always enjoyed this aspect of my life with my children, so I guess this is why I never anticipated how emotional I would feel for it to end.

Because I work atypical hours, I am not home for the afternoon and early evening routine of my children's lives: that is under the jurisdiction of their dad. It doesn't bother me that I miss this part of their day because I know it is affording them the opportunity to nurture relationships with their dad that they probably wouldn't if I was home. And as a byproduct, it has created the morning time as their time together with just me. During this short period of time, I get to share intimate moments with my children--over bowls of cereal, the packing of lunches, and the wait in morning car line. During this short period of time, I have witnessed my children growing into independent people. What six years ago was a routine 100% dependent on mom has grown into a routine with mom simply overseeing while I bask in the small moments of my children's lives that I will keep locked inside my heart and cherish forever.

And this routine. This routine is now over. Next year, we will embark on a new routine. The boys will get up early together and leave for their days, and the girls will follow shortly after on theirs. And even though I am excited for my son to start high school, I can't help but lament the time with him that has already passed. It will no longer be me forcing him out of bed, starting his shower, helping him gather his things. It will no longer be me quizzing him for his tests and quizzes in the car. It will no longer be me watching him walk up to school to begin his day, marveling at the man he is becoming. It will no longer be me, and there is so much about that that makes my heart ache.

I have always tried to cherish every moment, but so much about this past year has made me realize that I need to slow down and pay attention, even more, to every remaining moment that I have with my children. These precious moments, although abundant, are also fleeting. I know that I can't slow down the time, but I do know that I can look more closely. I can listen more closely. I can cherish more closely.

Goodbye, witching hour. I never thought I would say it, but I will miss you. I will miss this nuclear time with just me and my babies. I will always remember the smell of syrup on my shirt from someone's tiny mouth. I will always remember helping my babies tie their shoes. I will always remember the waves and the "I love you, mom" as my children got out of the car. I will always remember the quiet morning moments when all three of my children were hanging out together, laughing and playing games. I will always remember every precious moment of this obsolete routine and be thankful for the mothering and advice shared on our many car rides to school together. I know we will have countless new moments together but this, this morning routine, I will always cherish deep in my soul.  

An Open Letter to My Adolescent Son

             You asked me a question yesterday that sounded into the deepest part of my soul: “Mom, what do you like best about me?” It came after a conversation I was having with your younger sisters, who at 8 and 9 years old respectively, are constantly inquiring about anything and everything. The topic of their questioning last night was the attribute about each of them that is my favorite.

            Now all moms know that it is best to shy away from any line of questioning that involves the word “favorite”, but I have recently gotten into the habit of speaking to my girls about their character. Even at such young ages I can see the dark cloud of insecurity looming in the distance and I know that all too soon their sweet innocence will be shrouded by puberty and mean girls and boys and body image and everything trying that comes with adolescence. In these precious last moments I want to pump them full of everything positive I can think of, so I gladly play the favorite game that they have grown to love.

            I told my middle child that my favorite thing about her is her giving spirit, how she is always willing to let others choose first and simply take whatever is left over for herself. I told her that I am proud of her for always acting as the peacemaker in a busy house full of children and pets.

            Then I moved on to my youngest child. I told her that I love her nurturing soul, how she is always trying to make people who are sick or hurt feel better. I told her that I see a great comforter in her and know that she will always be the first to offer help when someone is in need.

            You. You my almost 14 year old son. You were sitting at the table during this conversation, wearing your earbuds, absorbed in some video on your phone like you always are these days. On a daily basis I have conversations with you that I realize you have heard none of because you are deeply immersed in your adolescent world, a world dominated by cell phones and computers and screens. A few years ago I stopped trying to force you to be engaged in all of our family conversations because I could see that your world was shifting. Instead of only needing reinforcement from us at home, you began to also need it from the other people in your world: friends, teachers, and coaches. I tried to fight this until I realized that finding your place in the world beyond our home is a crucial part of your maturation. It was your first attempted flight out of the nest, and even though I wanted to hold onto you and keep you young, I knew I had to let you fly and help you should you fall.

            You are not only my first born: you are also my only son. Parenting you has brought with it both many first experiences for me and also many only experiences for me. I learned how to be a mother when you were born, every instinct in my body taking over and showing me how to keep your precious life happy and healthy. As the oldest child you have to forge ahead in life with me and your dad scrambling to keep up with you as we traverse each stage of your growth for the first time as parents. This isn’t easy for us and sometimes we make mistakes, so please be patient with us. In addition, as my only son, you and I share many experiences that make our bond very different from my bonds with your sisters. There is something unique and special about our dynamic that I will always cherish in every part of my fiber.

            I want you to understand how hard it is to start letting you go, something I have already begun to do. I know you think it feels like an eternity before you will be off to college and beginning your own life, but let me assure you that the next four years are going to pass at lightning speed. I blinked and you were a toddler. I blinked again and you were waving independently as you walked into your second grade classroom. I blinked again and you were taller than me, saying “I love you, Mom” in a voice that I didn’t recognize as that of my son because you sounded like a man. The next time I blink I will be dropping you off at college. I’m not ready for that yet so even though you are blinking as fast as you can because you are ready to grow, I am trying as hard as I can to not blink at all because pretty soon, very soon, my time with you will have passed. I know that we will always have each other, but once you know that you can fly without me nothing will be the same. I know you will need me but you won’t need me the same way that my heart will always need you.

            Sometimes you say things that make me realize that my baby boy is still somewhere inside the handsome young man that you have become, and when this happens my heart flutters because I know I get at least one more chance to shower you with the love and guidance that God entrusted me to share with you.

            In the middle of my conversation with your sisters, you pulled your earbuds out of your ears, put down your phone, and said to me, “Well, mom. What is your favorite thing about me?”

            I could tell by the tone of your voice and the way your eyes pierced through me that you genuinely needed to know and hear my answer. Weathering these last few years of your adolescence have been some of the most difficult years of our relationship. As our dynamic has morphed into something new, we have not always handled this gracefully. There have been fights, slamming doors, angry words, and lots of tears. We have both said things we wish we hadn’t and withheld other words that we should have said. We have both been stubborn and prideful. But we have continued to love and forgive each other as you have experienced adolescence for the first time and I have experienced parenting an adolescent for the first time.

            There are so many things that I love about you that it is hard to pick my favorite. I love that you are so open-minded to trying new things. You will give anything a shot at least once, and I know that this will allow you to live a full life. I love that you are kind and respectful to your teachers, coaches, and friends. I love that you are not afraid to meet new people: that you can hang out with any type of person or group and have a good time. I love that you have always chosen nice boys to be your closest friends. You have no idea the sense of peace this fills me with because I know how much your social circle will shape your experiences and decisions. I love that you still ask me to hug you even though you are bigger than me now. I love that you will still let me snuggle with you because you know that I need this even though you don’t anymore. I love that you will still give me a kiss in church even though most boys your age would never do this anymore. I love that you pay attention to the small things: you always notice if I have on a new outfit or have gotten a haircut. I love that you are growing into the kind of young man that I am proud to call my son because even on those hardest days of adolescence, I can look at you and see the kind-hearted and genuine person you have always been inside. So what is my favorite thing about you? Well son, I think my favorite thing about you is that you have always remained true to yourself no matter what the situation. To have that kind of strength and resolve at such a young age makes me realize that, no matter what, you will always be just fine. 

            Of course I answered you yesterday in much fewer words than this. Had I pontificated, you would have rolled your eyes at me, so my answer was brief just like you prefer. After I told you my favorite thing about you, you smiled, jammed your earbuds into your ears, and drifted back into your adolescent world. As you ambled away from me and my heart ached for that chubby kneed toddler of your past, my heart also felt proud and excited because it could see the future you have awaiting you on your journey, and I know that everything will turn out just fine.