My son Casey and I texted this morning. Then we went to church. Then we went to breakfast. Then, as if it was any other day, we hugged, kissed, said, “I love you” and ‘be safe” and getting in our separate cars, went our separate ways. Not to see each other again for at least two months.
My Momma tears were extra hot and salty as I drove away waving to him through the back window of my little green car. Same tears that fell a month ago when I said the same, “I love you more” to My Lia knowing I would not see her for almost four months.
My Lia and My Casey far away in other states while I am left behind to sweat out another dreafdul hot Austin, Texas summer. My children on their own. Me, on my own.
My friend Jack has accused me of being a hoover Momma. (Not Hoover like the vacuum cleaner; hoover like a helicopter.) This surprising revelation came on an evening when my hysteria resulting from a few overly stressful weeks was reaching a crescendo. I was in the middle of ridiculous travel, it was dark outside and I had just battled not only Houston tailgating traffic (massive diesel pickup trucks with brilliant bright spot lights speeding up turbo fast on my little green car’s tail) but too many long and drawn out cell phone conversations. Jack is such a gentleman though that he spit out this piece of information only after he had plied me with really great wine and ordered me a sublime dinner in a teeny little high-class one of a kind restaurant. My favorite kind of dining experience.
I immediately took a defensive posture. Silly me. Jack is a very brilliant man and I am very blessed to know him and his bride. They are those once in a lifetime special people and even though I have only known them a few short years, I have heard stories about them for almost two decades. They are the most generous people I will ever meet. I say this all with sincerity as blowing smoke isn’t my style.
In the windshield and beach walking time since Jack’s revelation about my parenting skills, I have come to realize that he was spot on. But not spot on as expected. Spot on as in the amount of possessiveness contained in my ‘My’ words, actions and writings. Yes, I am a hoover Momma but in a dramatically nontraditional whirling helicopter sense.
As a single Momma and business owner, my babies were forced to take care of themselves in ways no one hopes their children will ever have to take care of themselves when they are small. Nine plus mornings out of ten they got themselves up, dressed, fed and ready for school without me there. On these mornings we would see each other only in the car long enough for me to pick them up from the house and drop them off at their respective schools. More often than I care to remember, I couldn’t make it back home from work in the morning and they would have to find a way to school themselves either by calling a friend to have their parent drive them or by walking. I’ll admit now there were even a few days when they just stayed home and we called it a ‘mental health’ day because I just couldn’t play taxi.
My children learned at a very early age how to do their own laundry or sometimes it wouldn’t get done. They learned how to get their homework completed on their own. And while I was out feeding everyone else on the planet, they were getting themselves fed with whatever might be in the house and available to eat. They can boil water, bake chicken and grill their own cheese sandwiches. They can load a dishwasher, fold a bath towel and make their beds.
The three of us have had many conversations about how proud I am of their ‘life’ skills. They had no choice but to learn them. Are my children an exception? Absolutely not. There are gazillions of single parents and business owners out there whose children are raising themselves and have raised themselves. Is this a tough stretch? You bet. Might our children be better off for it? No doubt at all. Do you feel guilty? Yes, you do. Should you? No. Get over it. When your children get to college they will know how to manage their own homework, do their own laundry, get themselves and their roommates fed and get gas in their car without needing to ask how, why or how much. Your children will be much stronger and resilient to change and movement. They won’t be afraid to ask questions and seek answers from authority if needed. They will be grownup in ways some people can only hope their children could be grown up.
Am I a hoover Momma? Sure, I’ll take the title. I am a hoover Momma in that I enjoy and appreciate my children and the amazingly close connection we have. We don’t talk every day and during this long summer, I’ll be lucky to hear from them once a week. But when we do connect, we’ll want to know what is going on, where we are going, what needs to be planned, who we are each spending time with, how work is and what we can do to help each other to be as successful as possible. I don’t ask them what they ate, if their laundry is done, how they paid their bills and how they got from point A to point B. I will ask them if they are happy and I will tell them I love them madly and am proud of them and that I am the luckiest Momma in the world.
If this is hovering, I’m all over it. Thank you, Jack, for deliberately and brilliantly taking my mind off of everything else in my life on that dreadful Houston night and for paying me such a high compliment. I’d like to share it with all the other tired business owners out there who are feeling guilty right this moment for working instead of doing something for or with their children. You do deserve praise and you are setting a ‘life’ example for your children. Promise.
Have you put your Recipes From A Life review on Amazon yet? Please do!
http://amzn.to/jebXkC
No comments:
Post a Comment