Just watching

Parenting for this mother of seven has been a never ending, always working, ever busy job description. It used to be so enjoyable interacting, teaching, and helping them, while they developed through their own life experiences, growing into who they would become as adults.   My job was officially accepted and expected when the seven were still in schools ~ whether in elementary grades, high school, home schooled or college. Parental blame is cast as part of the process, whether for misbehavior or misdeeds, and praise is usually accepted, whether earned or deserved or just as a by product of the job.

I loved summers best because the kids were all with me and around me, playing in the yard, tromping in and out (and in and out),(and in and out) of the house, helping or fighting with each other, depending on the day. Bedtimes were observed, nap times were never let go of, (after all, moms need a few sane moments to regroup and rest!) and beds were always made. I was big on that one :-) and still cringe when I enter a child's home and find the door closed, meaning only one thing: Messy Bed.

For the ones who went to school in September, my favorite time of day was when the bus pulled up to the driveway after a long day of being away from each other. I loved parenting, I loved my kids(still do) and all of the things that went with it.

We home schooled several in different years, at different ages, using different methods albeit always interesting, which some of my current friends have no knowledge of.Sometimes it can irk me to be in a group and have people ask counsel from a younger mom who has a few years of teaching under her belt, totally disregarding me in the discussion.

Pride looms it's ugly head and I want to say, "Hey, I did that and my kids all are reasonably intelligent!"  Clarification: they are all extremely brilliant, earned scholarships to colleges and accolades from many, but how do I insert THAT in a casual conversation with young mothers? Anyhow, lest I digress into an entire Blog about schooling choices or young mothers, let me continue.

The assumption then, is that a mom would be extremely happy and content when her children, having been her responsibility for so many years, were able to make their own choices and decisions and actually leave the family nest, so to speak. In my case, firstborn son Paul was 15 years old when baby Andrew was adopted, so the spread of children was always wider than the average household. Thus it is, after 38 years of active , kids- in -the- home- parenting, I find myself in a new and different place.

My youngest two sons both chose to leave ,( granted they were older than the others were) this summer. Here am I, alone in a house once filled with laughter and fighting and crying and cooking and chaos. Alone.

I am not doing that well. Precisely, I am lost . The little fledgelings have flown and the nest is empty. I figure it must be a fairly significant event if there is a syndrome named for it The Empty Nest Syndrome. Knowing that something is common does not necessarily make the going through it that much easier.

In fact, I wanted the nest to be empty. I was weary of the dishes in the sink, the beds unmade( yeah, that rule held up until about age 18...), the grass long enough to be mowed and the mowers not interested, the
special foods missing in action, etc. I was anxious for the next phase of maternal development, having passed the 'do it as a single parent ' phase reasonably well!

In the meantime, the grown children are now growing adults, making their own decisions and figuring life out in their own ways. No longer are mom's ways best, no more are they looking to me for advice or answers. Oftentimes I am the last to know of some event that just a few short years ago I would have been orchestrating! Second fiddle was a spot I played in high school, not where I'd be sitting as a mom.

What am I supposed to do now? I just spent 38 years of my 61 years being a parent. I absolutely loved every experience and moment of it, even when there were some tears and heart breaks along the way. My complaining times were the run of the mill mom is going crazy type, not the oh my gosh I cannot do these kids a minute longer kind.

Recently as I prayed for one of my children, earnestly pleading for God's help in their life, it occurred to me that praying and watching was my new job description. Formerly it had been praying and acting, now it was watching and waiting. I have gone from an active role to a passive role. What a shock to  this task oriented , type A mother! Good grief, this is really tough! I suppose it is like going from writing a book to reading one.

Having seven children, and now 5 with spouses, gives me a variety unlike most others to my prayer life. Some days I am asking God for patience , other days finds me wishing He would make the kids be less patient and more decisive! Some need a home to buy, others need wisdom for my grandchild's schooling dilemma. Sometimes I feel ignored, other days I feel inundated by requests for babysitting or visits to their homes. Since eternity is never more than a thought away for me, I am often pouring out my heart to God asking for His mercy, His grace, His salvation, His protection, His goodness in their lives. This, I might add, even when they are not choosing to even glance at eternity.



I had been sleeping on the top floor, away from the previously noisy first floor level, and awoke to a CRASH! The thunderstorm was raging and since the lightning really felt as if it were coming through the ceiling, I decided to trust God from the lower level. :-) Pacing around in the dark, I had to admit that the days of terror during a storm were behind me and they had been replaced by a deep seated knowledge that everything would be fine, in time. The storm would pass, the house would most likely stand upright during it, the lighting would not, in fact, find me crouched on the couch and zap me into heaven, and I would indeed fall asleep again.

Perspective returned within my brain once again. I know this adjusting to the kids being adults is a matter of weathering the storm. I am not sure if this storm's duration will be long or short, smooth or rough, and whether my heart will heal with the help of friends, experienced travelers, or alone with God.

This much I know: God gave me the gift of children for a time, and that gift looks differently than the one wrapped so prettily with their smiles, giggles and trust.

The gift is now unwrapped. I am cleaning up the house, putting the wrapping paper away, throwing out the ripped pieces and storing the reusable things. Memories are surfacing of sayings and silliness and even stupidity, but also as I clean the clutter, I am loving the feeling of no regrets,, no wish I had done things differently, no lost opportunities. I gave it my best, my best was all I could give , along with my unending love, weaknesses revealed, forgiveness granted, and prayers continuing.

I am now just watching. Time for me to let go and let God.