Leaving K-8

Back in 1986 8th grade graduation was a big deal.  Big. Deal.  I had a dress made for the occasion.  Classmates had limos.  Flowers.  Crazy.  I just remember seeing my fellow students dressed up, family came (even my grandma), and I’m pretty sure we got out early.  I also remember the let-down of having no other plans afterward, so I joined my dad on his newspaper route that afternoon, riding around town sitting on the engine in his old brown van.

Fast forward to 2019. I didn’t have a clue what my life would turn out like, let alone imagine I’d ever have a 14-year-old daughter.  It just wasn’t anywhere on my radar.   And here we are, with our fifth kid leaving middle school, our last.  Which isn’t that momentous.  Except that it marks another transition for our family.

No more family breakfasts like the ones we’ve always had.  Todd and I have eaten breakfast together and with the kids for the past 25 years.  We’re not the kind of family to fend for ourselves in the mornings; we sit at the table together with our toast and grapefruits and cereals and little spiritual message every school day.  Bronwyn’s been sticking it out with us on her own this past year, but I know she’s looking forward to leaving the awkward mornings behind.  Even if it means she’ll have to leave before 6:30.

No more school lunch bargaining.  In fact, we still have $50 left in the school lunch account.  It used to be a major item on the daily agenda: check the school lunch calendar and choose wisely, but only two a week.  Sometimes they’d opt for three one week and one the next.  Bronwyn refuses to eat any of it anymore.  Which is why we have leftover money to just throw away.  Good grief.

No more early outs on Wednesdays.  Or early student council meetings.  No more sitting on the lawn in September and May when the afternoons are lovely just talking with my friends while we wait for the kids and while their littles play on the equipment.  No more taking naps or reading my book in the school parking lot because I got there a little early.  No more braving the afternoon weather in the winter.  Or taking extra friends home and listening to them chatter.

No more track practices in the next town over.  Or volleyball.  No more packing Wheat Thins and pumpkin muffins and and oranges and energy balls for all the hungry girls.

No more PTO meetings.  Or making cotton candy or laminating signs or serving cake and apple juice after kindergarten graduation. Or setting up for the carnival or teacher appreciation lunches or Saturday Live.  No more collecting box tops or passing out coffees.  No more decorating for concerts or graduations or grandparent lunches.  Totally fine to pass the torch on to other moms, just sort of weird to switch gears after so many years of being a part of it.

No more making copies or reading in small groups or cutting out construction paper pieces for young and busy teachers.

No more Christmas concerts.  Or handmade colorful cards for Mother’s Day.  No more artwork to hang on the fridge.

No more coordinating two different school calendars.  And having kids home and at school on different days.

No more meetings about bonds and school growth.

I can delete her school in my contacts.  I can donate her Spirit Wear.  How strange.

But as I sort through the memories, I choose to keep most all of them.  I’ll leave the ones of jammed copiers, late nights counting tickets after the carnival, accidentally laminating a sticky note in the book cover, feeling like a witch with cotton candy in my hair, and working the Saturday Live games in the park in the freezing cold.  Not exactly bad, any of them.  Just that there have so many others I’d rather have out front.  Parent-teacher conferences with women I adore and who feel like friends.  Their personal attention to and knowledge of how my children are doing.  Music teachers who still choose traditional Christmas songs and make the kids dress up.  Hearing the pledge and My Country Tis of Thee and smelling rolls and cookies that the cafeteria workers make from scratch as I walk down the hall to the library on Wednesday mornings. Becoming dear friends with fellow parents as we work side by side slicing muffins and fruit and setting up the book fairs.  Having kids call me teacher and asking for book recommendations and giving me hugs.  They don’t know I’m not for real, but I like it.

And like every sorrowful ending, there is an equally choice beginning.  I could never see a way out from the piles and jumbles of my earlier life as a mom.  When the five were young and all in their early grades, I simply couldn’t see past the todays.  I thought I would forever be overwhelmed, exhausted, and in chaos.  I didn’t see how I could ever keep the house clean or how I could make a difference when we were just fighting to make it to school on time and find their backpacks and shoes that matched.

But this is good.  It’s just an obvious time to reflect on the past 12 years we’ve had kids at this school.  I’ve loved all the parts, every single stage; but I love life with my older kids so much.  I’m in my happy place even as I let some of the parts I loved about life with littles sift through my fingers like the sands of time. 

And so, as we continue to watch Baby B grow into a beautiful version of herself, I’m grateful.  For all those who nurtured and encouraged her.  Who let her be herself.  Who said nice things about her to me so I could notice attributes I hadn’t really before and reinforce them at home.  Who appreciated her non-dramatic ways and who enriched her educational experiences by letting her work with a variety of personalities.  I’m so thankful for the time these exceptional teachers spent on lessons, on explaining, on grading, on counseling, on inspiring, on encouraging.  I know you all have your personal lives, families, and so many other responsibilities, but I hope you realize how much you’ve impacted our family for good.

You have been our extended family.  For real.  I am only one mom, with so much still to learn.  We don’t have blood relatives for hundreds of miles.  And so I’ve relied on you to be aunts and uncles, big sisters and brothers, to our kids over the years.  You’ve held them close to your hearts, you’ve cared and been patient and kind.  You’ve gone beyond what’s expected and have created relationships and memories and habits and passions for learning that will serve them their entire lives. The only way I can think of to begin to thank you is to carry on your legacy as best we can as parents and to keep the momentum going.  You’ve given them a solid start and I can’t thank you enough as we celebrate both an ending and a beginning.  Love to you all.

The other side

A teacher friend and I were talking about her job recently, and she mentioned the possibility of changing the release time for the younger grades to correspond with the older kids, from 2:15 to 3 p.m.  This way all students would be done at the same time and parents would just have one pick up time and buses would just have one route, which seemed like an obvious way to streamline the day. Of course, she agreed that it would be easier for parents picking up their kids so they wouldn’t have to run home, turn around, and come right back or wait in the parking lot for 45 minutes.  But she pointed out that that’s the time students who are lagging a bit get individual attention; those extra 45 minutes are invaluable in helping them keep up with the class.  Something I hadn’t considered.

When I was in high school I took a fascinating class called Male-Female Roles.  This was the 80s in California, so it was a course ahead of its time.  I can’t imagine what the syllabus today would look like.  At one point we had a discussion about abortion and our teacher had us raise our hands as to which side of the debate we aligned ourselves with.  As expected, I was the only one who was pro-life; all my other classmates were pro-choice.  But our wise teacher directed us to write a persuasive paper taking the opposite side of the argument.  Which I’m sure irked a few students because as teenagers we tend to be pretty rigid.  I don’t know about the others, but that exercise has stuck with me all these years.

It’s just kind of interesting to note that even when we’re certain about our position, it’s not always as straightforward as we’d like to think.  We may think we’ve already taken a  stance: year-round school vs. traditional schedule, immunize or not, climate change or just nature taking its course.  I think we all want to choose one side quickly and cleanly so we don't really have to think about each issue on its own.  Politics is an obvious example of this.  A simple choice assigning you a side on all sorts of issues.  By choosing once, you never have to really think about the individual concerns other than, What do my people think about that?  But as we know from our personal life experience, if the issues facing our nation were as simple as all that, they’d be solved by now.  What we don’t want to acknowledge is the fact that it’s all very complicated.  There are consequences attached to every decision, and since there are so many ways to look at an issue, we need to consider viewpoints we hadn’t thought of.  We tend to be lazy and want to over-simplify our world. But I’m seeing the older we get, the more we are hopefully understanding that it’s just not that clear-cut. 

The more I gather information and talk with friends and try to see where they’re coming from and open my mind to another way of thinking, the more I can see beyond my initial conclusions.  I may not convert to their side, but I like becoming more educated on issues I’ve only thought about from one angle.  Even if I disagree, I appreciate understanding where they’re coming from; it almost always makes a lot of sense.

To be clear, I (and probably all of us) have some viewpoints we’re not willing to wiggle on.  But even on an issue like abortion where I’d emphatically declare myself pro-life, it’s still not entirely black and white; there are so many factors to consider on an individual basis.  So yes, pro-life.  But not at all costs.

I’m also all-in when it comes to immunizations, an issue most are pretty one-sided on.  But I wonder if we can adjust the schedule a bit, start a little later, spread them out, not do so many at once.  I was talking with a girlfriend about the HPV immunization just the other day in fact.  I’d been vacillating on this for years and finally decided to go ahead and start it with my kids.  We were visiting the very afternoon after I’d taken my son to get his started, and she told me she decided not to. It’s only been around 20 years (which my doctor friends seem to think is a significant length of time), where are those kids who had it?  How are they doing?  She’s had an abnormal pap smear; things turned out ok.  I just told her I have no idea what the future holds for my kids and so I weighed it all out in my mind and just went with my best decision, hopefully shielding them from a preventable problem down the road.  And she did the same, trying to protect them from an immunization that in her mind is fairly new.  Interesting.  We both had the same intent: keeping our kids safe and healthy.  We were just coming at it from different angles.  Loved hearing her perspective.

While my heart is decidedly aligned with my religious choices, the more I learn about Christ, the more open I become about religion in general.  I feel strongly that there are many, many ways to live well and to be “spiritual.”  I wholeheartedly welcome religious conversation.  Rather than desiring to share my leanings to “convert” others to my way of thinking, I’m genuinely interested in what my friends believe and how they see religion working (or not working) in their lives. It warms my heart when friends I love trust me with sensitive feelings.  I especially love it when we can laugh at ourselves and our differences.

I always thought college was the best after-high school next-step, but I can see the merit in traveling or working for a year, in taking a technical route, in becoming an entrepreneur.  I held tight to my paper-scripture stance for years until I started listening to the advantages of having our devices with us in church, and now I’m convinced of their merits.  I thought kids should limit their work in high school and spend the bulk of their discretionary time in extra-curricular activities until I paid attention to what my husband was saying; now I believe having a job is one of the most valuable high school experiences kids can have. I was certain we were right when it came to phones and our kids.  Until we started really listening to them and talking together.

I’ve mentioned the Ted talk before, Take “the Other” to Lunch, a promising way to get inside the minds of those we care about but initially disagree with.  While doing nothing to promote our own agenda, we simply listen to a different opinion.  Love.

I have found the older I get, the reality of there being two or more valid sides to many issues resonates with me.  We’re limited only by our stubbornness, not by the paradigms we grew up with.  Of course, we all cling to some basic core values, but we have nothing to lose by listening to another perspective and admitting we may even learn something in doing so. 

Not exactly shame

Such a buzzword, I hate getting into the jargon of the self-help world.  I was listening to a podcast the other day about shame and didn’t think it was all that applicable.  Because shame comes from a place of feeling bad about ourselves, a shroud of disappointment that we aren’t generally a better person, that we are overall doing poorly showing up in life.  I don’t exactly feel like that.  I’m ok with the fact that I’m not all that yet, that I’m still learning, that I flounder consistently.  That’s all of us.  It’s just that she made me think of some uncomfortable memories, both recent and from long ago.  While I wouldn’t call them shameful, I would maybe label them something along the lines of Things I said/did/was that I wish I could suck back up in a huge vacuum canister.

We’d had a family over for family night and Todd gave a lesson on developing our talents.  Each member of both families brought an item to share and to talk about: basketball, wood turning, lettering, piano, quilting, pillows. The men got talking about their wood hobbies as we ate dessert, we showed them Andrew’s knives, we talked about Callum's leatherworking, etc.  We love this family, they are so gracious.

But as soon as they left, I clammed up, I didn’t say much at all, just went to bed and read my book.  I couldn’t figure out what was bothering me, I was perplexed.  Until Todd came to bed and asked if we’d talked too much about ourselves.  And I knew that was it.  I was so unsettled thinking that we had.  That I had talked so much period.  Ugh.  I felt so embarrassed, and I wanted to rewind the whole night and start over.  I wanted to go back and ask them more questions, to take the light off of us.  I texted her.  Sweetest thing ever—their whole family is.  She, of course, blew it off and was so kind.  I felt slightly less upset and a little bit relieved, but I knew it was only because they are such good people and would never judge us or think ill of anyone that I was able to.

So as I listened to this podcast the following day, I realized I wasn't alone in feeling this sense of discomfort.  Maybe not what therapists are truly talking about, but it helped me see that I have loads of experience with something like this at least. In my case, just temporary (sometimes longer) bouts of embarrassment or wanting to hide. It helped me recognize so many instances or ways I’d held in all these experiences, sort of punishing myself for having not done better or been different.  So I felt grateful for the wake-up call to relegate these pasts to their proper place.

I’d been so bothered by how I treated a friend in elementary school, probably now it would be called bullying, I can’t even believe that was me.  And how I took advantage of my best friend’s mom who drove me to dance and flute lessons and bought me McDonald's hamburgers when we had late dance practice and took me to Marshall Scotty's and the Nutcracker; I never found a way in my immature girl way even to say an appropriate thank you.  Although I wrote a letter years back that I have no idea she got.  I’ve felt so careless when I think of the friends who took me to the airport and to my orthodontist appointments in college, friends who helped me move and took me grocery shopping.  Why did I never tell them all how much it meant?  Why did I never pay them gas money?

I think of all the comments I make in church or when I share my testimony; most of the time I wish I could take it all back in and just sit quietly on my little chair like Todd always does.  He is so wise.  I go on and on when I should just stop.  That night with our friends I recognized that it was because I had been home all by myself all day that I was eager to visit.  And I realize I talk at church because I love it all so much, I get excited, I love good conversation and sharing ideas.  I notice I ask too many questions and over-talk in regular life, that it’s overwhelming for people; I hate that I forget to pay attention to that.  I’ve put my foot in my mouth countless times.

I had to speak in Sacrament meeting a few weeks back and chattered on, taking up too much time.  Like so many other times, I wish I could go back and have a do-over.  I taught the lesson yesterday and came home embarrassed and discouraged.  I tried so hard to prepare, to organize the ideas from a Conference talk.  But I’m not good at talking and thinking at the same time, so it’s all sort of uncomfortable for me.  I lose my train of thought, I’m assimilating how all the different personalities may be feeling about comments, I want to acknowledge and validate those who share, I just feel like a mess.

I also feel like I overshare.  Ugh.  I have taken down so many posts because I second-guess myself.  I just had one up a few weeks ago that I took down.  I was just feeling so content that night and wanted to point out that, while nothing exciting at all had happened, it is in the small things that we can find joy.  But then I realized it looked like I was boasting and showing off all I had done in a day.  Which is exactly ridiculous because our house was a bomb and I hadn’t gotten even part-way through my list for the day.  I was just loving having pizza from a store, spending time with Todd, watching our cows, my little antique baby shoe purchase, etc.  But I felt so embarrassed that any of that could be construed as showing off.  Furthest thing from my mind.  But just in case, I didn’t want to take the chance.  I felt ashamed it could even seem that way.

I also feel a little like downplaying variables in my life that I simply can’t help.  That I’m married and that we’re happy. That I happen to have birthed five kids who survived and are healthy. I wonder if, by sharing our home projects, we’re bragging or showing off?  (I simply love—absolutely love—before and after pictures and transformations so much, my favorite magazine articles! We don’t go on a lot of trips or have exciting adventures, this is what our live entails and so it’s what we share.)  I worry that I have so much discretionary time; I feel guilty. Like I’m an old-fashioned rich lady who only has luncheons on her docket for the day. I try to compensate for it by doing what I can to help out.  And I try to make light of all of it.

But here’s what I’m learning.  By dwelling on the past and conditions we can’t change—whether they were in elementary school or ten minutes ago—we’re not moving forward.  The best recourse to an awkward encounter or a regretful situation is to acknowledge that I acted humanly.  To accept and love myself.  Make amends. Remind myself that’s not who I really am—or at least not who I want to be.  Leave the experience behind.  Learn from it.  Do better the first chance I get. As far as what I have—a house, a yard, a family, extra time—all I can think about that is to use it all for good, to share, to include, to serve.  I can’t—and don’t want to—change it, but I can use all the resources I’ve been given to support and lift and help others. I'm convinced it's nothing to be ashamed about.

I love my friends who give me the benefit of the doubt.  Who know me and realize I was just off or wasn’t thinking, that I blurted out something too quickly because I was feeling insecure; they are so kind and loving.  To those I’ve offended, I just have to assume we don’t know each other well enough.  If we did, they would know that would never in a trillion years be my intention.  And so the only option there is to allow ourselves to get to know each other better or to accept that they are welcome to create any opinion of me they want and it’s none of my business.  And it’s too bad we can’t be friends.

All of this sounds so tidy when it’s written in black and white.  But we all know how we re-hash our interactions, our falls, our pasts—recent or long ago.  I know I would not purposefully be mean or try to hurt someone’s feelings or be a braggart or that weird lady who talks too much. I honestly don’t want to be that kind of person.  So I sense how healthy it is to remind myself of that.  That it was just a little trip, a stumble, a misjudgment, nothing to cave over.  I love Maya Angelou’s sentiment, “Do the best you can until you know better.  Then when you know better, do better.”

And so we can continue on our journey with faith in ourselves and others, aware that we’re all learning and practicing and doing our current best.  There is nothing shameful about making mistakes or about being human. As we compassionately permit ourselves to carry on, we grant that same courtesy to our fellow travelers, which allows us all to be our real selves, warts, foibles, and all, without shame.

Thoughts as you graduate

Avery and I were weeding a patch of yard we’ll put fabric and wood chips over; eventually Todd will build his greenhouse.  Such a pretty day, the perfect weather for working on an outside project.  Tenacious grass clumps, easier smaller dandelions that came out effortlessly, so many worms… of so many varying sizes.  Not generally the backdrop you’d think of for a heart-to-heart, but I can’t think of a better one.

As we talked, I mostly tried to listen.  And ask questions.  How are you feeling now that it’s here, now that high school’s over?  Kind of scared.  High school was safe.  We know what we’re doing.  Life is programmed, predictable.  I explained that that’s precisely why some people stay in school for a long, long time; it’s easier to keep doing what you know than to venture out and make big decisions and try new things.  Weird that school really is optional from this point on.

She was altering her graduation dress last night.  For today.  She ran to JoAnn’s around 8 for paint for her hat.  For today.  Good grief.  But she is darling.  Darling.  And I can’t help but want to share everything I’ve learned since I was her age with her; I want to open up the lid of her head and pour in all the experiences that have taught me so much, all that I’ve read and gleaned from the past 29 years since I was wearing a robe just like hers.  And yet we know how impossible and unwise that would be. All I can do is share a few ideas along the way and to confirm our deep and abiding and unconditional love over and over and over, engraining in her that it—and we—are here, no matter what.

So as she sleeps on this early Sunday morning, I can’t help but think about her and the future she’s embarking upon.

She reminded me yesterday that even when she was 9 she would argue with Mitchell that girl authors are just as good as boy authors.  I had to chuckle.  That is so both of them.  She told me it’s more than what she’s learned in school, it feels innate, part of her soul, to empower women.  Like it’s part of her purpose.  I totally, absolutely get that.  She’s always been passionate about exerting her independence and wanting other women to have that same voice.  I can’t wait to see how she executes her passions.

We’ve talked so much about what she wants to do with her life.  We had guests for dinner the other night and they asked what Avery’s plans were (she wasn’t there), what she would be majoring in.  “Save the world,” I told them.  Bronwyn became perplexed, “Is that a real major?” She amuses us to no end.  I could only surmise she would’ve declared it if it was.

As we send her off for continuing education, we can't wait to hear the reports.  I know there's trepidation about making friends, the workload, how the details will play out, but we can only stand back and watch.

We've told you a million times, you’ll absolutely love college.  But don’t limit your education to the classroom.  Definitely do study abroad, and travel every chance you get.  Visit somewhere new any time a roommate invites you home, you have an opportunity to volunteer as a Big Sister or you get invited to the Hari Krishna festival.  Serve a mission if you think it’s a good idea.  Maybe just do a service trip of some kind.  Whatever.  Just move about, wiggle, explore.  And keep your eyes wide open.  Absorb what you’re seeing and feeling as you engage with different people and paradigms and cultures and ideas.  Love it.  What rich educational supplement field work is.  Start this week as you head to Seattle.  Soak it up, ask questions, get into what makes people and societies tick.  Listen.  To their words, to their stories, to the vibe, and to your feelings as you assimilate it all with who you are and what you know in your heart.

We know you’re here to save the world.  As so many of you young people are.  But don’t discount the impact you can have in your own corner of the world.  One of the saddest things I can think of is women and men with ambitions to help the world but who neglect their own world.  Your stewardship—above any other good you could do in the whole of the earth—is right in your own home.  For a time, if you have children (and I know you want to adopt them, awesome!), nurture those within your own walls.  Engage, invest, teach, save, and love them with your whole heart.  Your children as well as your marriage.  And yes, I love your ideal of traveling to Africa with your family, of having them right there with you to interact and befriend all those you help, I can’t wait to see how it all works out.  All we’re saying is you will derive no greater joy than to see your own children grow up to be good people.  But it doesn’t usually happen when parents aren’t around or when they’re so distracted with the “good” they’re doing that they don’t have energy or time or reserves to invest at home.  Just be careful with how you spend your resources when you have children.  Your own family is your first and most important and most rewarding priority.  Thankfully we have all sorts of options as to how to execute that these days, and I’m sure you’ll be creative.  As you’ve outlined to us so often.

I know you feel young.  Marriage is the last thing in the world you’re interested in at this point.  The thought makes you cringe and feel almost sick.  A good indicator you’re not there yet—hallelujah.  I can see your wiggles, I know how unprepared you feel to be an adult at this point.  But don’t dismiss those feelings when the time presents itself.  Embrace marriage and all it entails.  I know you think marriages like the one you envision don’t exist.  I know you want an egalitarian partnership, and you wonder if that’s even possible these days.  I assure you it is.  And I can’t imagine you settling for anything different.  Marry your best friend.  I know you think it seems boring to be married for a long time, but I urge you to just try it when you get a chance.  Yes, firsts are exciting; but nothing can compare with the deep abiding love as you weather storms, as you experience so many new firsts together, as you share your hearts and meld your lives together so that the seams almost disappear.  Yes, you’ll maintain your strong will and your own lively personality; but to create something bigger than yourself, to give selflessly, to experience such a depth of connection and compassion and love as you nurture your spouse and children… there is no better education in the world.  Make room in your life for it.  Not now.  But when it feels right.  You’ll know.  You won’t have to ask.

I know you hate to be told what to do.  Believe me.  You want options, you want to be able to decide for yourself.  Right there with you.  However, beware of pride.  Because sometimes we need direction, to acquiesce, to humble ourselves.  Especially when God’s talking.  Yes, make plans, have goals, work on projects, use your energy for causes you feel personally drawn to.  But listen to your heart as God speaks.  It may not be part of your playbook, it may not be in your plans, but pay attention to those tiny nudgings.  When God has ideas for you, they are always—100% of the time—for your good.  Pay attention and follow your promptings, you’ll know.  He only has your happiness and benefit in mind.  It may not feel comfortable or like it makes sense; it may seem to go against everything you wanted to do.  But trust him. 

And continue to develop your faith.  Use it as an anchor for all you do.  Discard the cultural nonsense and focus on Christ’s doctrine, which is plain and simple:  love God and love others.  Study how Christ did that, follow his pattern for living.  As you come close to him by learning of him and living like him, you will have peace and joy and happiness despite guaranteed set-backs, failings, mishaps, disappointments and heartbreaks.  Use your faith as your foundation for life.

Above all, continue to use your heart as your guide.  Look for the lonely, the stranded, the friendless, the needy, the one.  Use your gifts to build up those around you.  Continue to invite, to make thoughtful gifts, to write love notes, to be thankful and gracious and kind, to include, to text, to engage, to counsel, to be soft, to ask questions, to keep confidences, to discern, to be open-minded, to accept, to encourage, to inspire and lift and love.  These are some of your greatest, most valuable talents.  I know you wish you could do so many of the showy things; but honestly, by developing and using these gifts, and by using Christ as your guide, you can save the world.  Even if it’s just one person at a time.

And so we’re thrilled for today.  And tomorrow’s todays.  We have confidence in you—so much confidence.  We know you’ll devote yourself to goodness.  We know you’ll continue to educate yourself in and out of the classroom setting.  We know you’ll grow in love and compassion as you serve and work with the people of your communities and the world.  We know you have a firm foundation, that you know who you are and what you feel inspired to do.  We’re not sad because our excitement and anticipation dwarfs any heart pangs of loss we might be tempted to indulge in.  While we can’t wait to see how the details play out, we’re already assured you will continue on your path to make a difference in the life of every person you touch.  You are a bright light in the world and will continue to be as you venture out into it. 

On a jet plane and beyond

Yes, we sent our 13-year-old daughter to DC with her school class.  Yep, Todd dropped her at the airport curb at 4 a.m. and drove off.  Of course, she was a titch nervous the night before; she hadn’t been on a plane since she was 8 and has never been on a trip away from us except for girls camp through church.  But this has been awesome, a perfect chance for her to spread her wings.

For so many parents, this kind of thing makes them nervous.  They prefer to hang on to their kids and keep them safe.  This has been touted as the safest generation in history precisely for that reason.  Kids don’t push themselves, and parents are more hesitant than any parents in history to let their kids do things they deem unsafe.  (See iGen)

But now she knows what it’s like to get through airport security, how to find her gate, and how to get along with three other girls in a hotel room.  I have no idea what she ended up packing; we merely suggested comfy shoes and a rain jacket.  We gave her a bit of money for food but the rest was up to her.  What a great learning experience—just the regular traveling part itself, let alone getting to see all the historical sites.  Yes, it’s certainly not the best deal in town, but she earned $1,000 last summer mowing lawns, helping with crepes at Farmer’s market and selling pumpkins and honey.  Love it.  Our other kids have gone on the same trip and have come home to tell us of the Newseum and the 9-11 Memorial, forever changed.  They grew up a bit just for having spent time on their own and without us as they traveled across the country.

We’re firm believers in letting our kids go.  Even as we question and sometimes worry.  We let them go to the mall and movies at the same age we started going to the mall and the movies.  We’ve sent youngsters on planes by themselves to meet relatives on the other end, so good for them.  We left Andrew with the grandparents in Minnesota for a week when he was maybe 10; he drove the 12 hours home with his young uncle. We let Avery go to Scotland when she was 12 and again when she was 15.  We send them to church camps, scout camps, and youth conferences while we stay behind.  Two years ago we let Bronwyn start working at Farmer’s Market. We’ve been all-in when Andrew wanted to go camping with his buddies in high school, and we started letting him drive to the ski hill way before I was comfortable with it.  We encourage biking on the trails and running with the dogs.  We let Andrew ride his bike all over the neighborhood and to Dairy Queen back when he was a young elementary school-aged kid—he later told us how grown up he felt and how much it meant that we let him do that.   He had another valuable experience staying with our friends and volunteering as a page in Helena for a week when he was back in high school, a rare glimpse into how our state government works. We let Avery figure out her internship this past summer as she drove all over downtown and beyond.  We let her go to a concert in another city and allowed her to stay with people we didn’t really know.  She’s taking a trip this summer to another state to stay with a family we’ve never met. 

Think about everything our parents allowed us to do.  Even forced us to do.  We stayed alone all summer in an apartment in a less-than-stellar neighborhood.  My mom left my little sick 9-year-old sister alone all day when she had to work.  My sister went to New Orleans and South Carolina alone with her girlfriend. We stayed with relatives, we had exchange students, we went to camps and school trips. Without our parents. Just like all of you.  Some of your parents even agreed to let you live in another country for two years where you didn't know a soul.  Or the language. 

I just don’t buy into the idea that we need to sequester our kids in a bubble.  Or that the world is less safe than it’s ever been.

No, what we’ve decided is that we need to let—and encourage—our children to try on independence.  To allow them to feel a little uneasy, to have to problem solve, to be uncomfortable in new situations and environments, to practice adulting.  Mostly we want them to know we trust them to handle things on their own, to show them through our actions that we have confidence in their capabilities and judgment.

And while I’m saying that, I’m also paying a great deal of attention to my mother heart.  And I’m telling the kids to tune in also.  We pray to know if a course of action will be safe, if it’s in everyone’s best interest, if this is the right time.  Of course.

I love when Avery comes to us with a proposal that she knows will test us.  She comes prepared, having figured out the logistics.  She anticipates our questions and has done her homework.  She has even prayed about it, and we all go with our gut.  If we feel no apprehension or uneasiness (other than general parental growing pains), we generally say yes as much as possible.  And we remind them of basic common sense: don’t take dumb risks when you’re biking, stay in groups, take a friend even to go to the bathroom at the movie, let us know if plans change and you’re going to be late.

But obviously, we often say no.  Callum just got his license in January and asked to drive to the ski hill the rest of the season.  Andrew wanted to as well when he was very young. There was no way.  We say no to sleepovers (except in rare instances when we’re out of town or a friend needs a place to stay).  We say absolutely no to R-rated movies.  We have earlier times we expect our kids to be home than most.  We say no to really late movies (unless a dad is going).  Avery wants to go camping alone with a girlfriend this summer, and so far the answer is a resounding no. So it’s not a free-for-all, just tell us where you’re headed and when you’ll be back kind of parenting gig.  We’re actually trying to be super cognizant of what we’re doing.  We are trying to show our kids that, while we have reservations and concerns, we respect and trust them.  Sometimes they’re simply too young or it’s legitimately not safe or we have information they don’t or we just have an uneasy feeling we can’t pin down.  

And sometimes it’s just us not wanting them to grow up.  Obviously, we’d prefer them to stay home and have pizza and popcorn with us.  We’d rather just take family vacations and play games.  We’d rather everyone come home at 10. Easy, comfy, safe.

But I heard years ago that the kids whose parents let them test their own boundaries, with water or climbing, for instance, are actually safer than those whose parents hover because they figure things out for themselves.  We may make our kids nervous by being too present, by not allowing them to explore their world a bit.  In an attempt to keep them safe, we are actually doing them a disservice, in effect making them more skittish and less confident and less aware of dangers.  They’ve never had to figure it out for themselves and so they aren’t prepared.

So as I think about B in DC with her friends and teachers from school, I’m beside myself with happiness.  I love that she worked hard to make it happen, that she is creating memories for a lifetime, that she gets to experience a different part of the country and history, and that she gets to take care of herself for a few days.  I love that she’s proving to herself that she can manage without us.  And I think that’s what we’re really trying to teach our kids.  Because isn’t that the point of parenting?