It’s been a week of snow and ice and the kids at home. Henry left early yesterday morning to fly back to Minnesota; Jack and I are about to start packing the car, in the hope that we can get out ahead of the latest snowstorm — a couple more inches predicted for today — and get him back to school before dark.
As always, there is a little bit of a letdown, as the house goes from full to empty again. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, and I guess I am. I know, at least, that silence has its own sound, that the scent of aftershave lingers in empty bedrooms, that even a damp towel left on the bathroom floor can tug at my heart. I know that I might as well dump the rest of the whole milk and toss out the half bag of tortilla chips, rather than wait for them to get stale sitting in the drawer. I know to wait a few days before changing the sheets on their beds; that it will be easier then.
And I also know how lucky I am. The other day, Henry and I struck a deal: he’d climb up Pack Monadnock with me if I’d make his favorite outrageously caloric pasta dish for dinner. The snow was deeper on the mountain than we expected, the going was slow, and, although he didn’t complain (much) there was no question that Henry would have much preferred to be home chatting with his friends on Facebook than slogging up the trail with his mom. He went hiking for me. That night, with pleasure, I cooked for him.
Last night, we hosted a Super Bowl party here for five of Jack’s friends and their parents. Jack sat at the kitchen island in the morning, chopping peppers for the chili. He played sous chef, opening the cans, rinsing beans, taste-testing for spice and heat. Cooking is definitely not his first choice of activity for a Sunday morning, but he knows that his help — and his company — means a lot to me. “I’ll do any mother-son activity you want this morning,” he’d offered when he got up, “just, please, don’t ask me to go hiking!”
Whenever our boys are home these days, it feels as if the time is too short and the demands are too many. How to balance their eagerness to see friends with our eagerness to see them? How to stay on top of work that needs to get done and still make space for the kind of hanging out that gives rise to connection and conversation? The fact is, we can’t tie the kids down and insist that they talk to us. And there’s not much we can say, at this point, that will affect the choices they make or the things they do. There is much about each of their lives that we don’t even know; for the most part now, those lives unfold elsewhere.
And yet, more and more it seems that the ties that bind — stretched to the snapping point at times during adolescence — are being rewoven and reinforced as our sons come and go, and as we create new ways of being together as a family. Home, once the only place to be, assumes a different significance as a resting place where nourishment, acceptance, and embrace are always available. When the four of us sit down to dinner, we still pause for a moment as we always have; we hold hands and say the grace we’ve always said. For quite a few years, it seemed to me that the gratitude at our dinner table was rote, not felt. As teenagers, the kids endured the ritual, went through the motions, their minds elsewhere. Now, though, I sense a return to feeling. A sense that our sons are glad for the comfort of continuity, for our rare moments of togetherness and the traditions that have always bound us as a family.
For so many years my husband and I have expressed our love simply by being present. As if, somehow, the very fact of our full attention might be enough to carry us through the roughest patches of parenthood. After all, what else did we have to offer? Sometimes, paying attention means hanging in there through some very unpleasant moments. It means not shying away from intensity but confronting it. It means addressing trouble head on, insisting on the truth, ensuring consequences, holding feet to the fire. Sometimes, to put it bluntly, being present really sucks. Parenting an adolescent is not for the faint of heart.
This morning, though, as I look back at the last few days, the word that comes, surprisingly, to mind is “presence.” It seems to me that my sons have been present — present in a way neither of them could have been just a short time ago. It is as if the self-absorption of the teenaged years is giving way now to a new, more adult awareness, to a realization that we are all connected after all. I wonder if one essential part of growing up is coming to see that happiness isn’t necessarily derived from doing exactly as one pleases. More often, in fact, we find happiness when we choose to please someone else. Giving of ourselves, we receive even more in return. We parents, of course, live and breathe the truth of this. But it can take a long time for our children to acquire such wisdom. A hike in the snow, sharing the cooking tasks, saying our blessing — these are small gestures in the grand scheme of things. But to me they feel like love coming full circle. Sometimes, still, I doubt my mothering; certainly, in the midst of family strife and conflict, I wonder if attention is really enough to save us. Receiving my children’s attention in return, I begin to suspect that it’s the only thing that will.
Please join me and other like-minded moms for an online chat: “Mindful Mothering: Parenting in the Here and Now” on TheMotherhood.com, this Thursday, Feb. 10 at 1 p.m. Eastern. Register by clicking here. Co-hosting the online conversation will be my friends Meredith Resnick and Lindsey Mead and fellow authors Tracy Mayor and Karen Maezen Miller.
I think the reason your writing is so appealing to me is the fact that you write about your own mindfulness as a parent – calling attention to a damp towel or changing the beds. It seems possible in our busily scheduled lives to rush through our time with those we love and only become mindful when they are grown and gone.
I read your posts with a close eye, as I get ready to send my son to college, 2 thousand miles away, in just a few months. I’m reminded that I will, indeed, survive.
For now the house is full, and I’m making a huge effort to be present, not just busy caring for them and picking up after them. The magical moments, especially with teens, really do come in the quiet moments of presence.
My brother in law and nephew also hiked Pack this weekend. I think they went on Sunday. You ‘just missed them’. 🙂
Have a great week!
Judy
Beautiful, Katrina. Hearing you speak of doubting your mothering makes me feel like I’m not alone.
Can you describe what the online conversation will be like a bit more? I’m interested, but have never participated in such a thing.
I’ve never done such a thing either — but I think it will be great. Simply go to the (very wonderful) The Motherhood website at http://www.themotherhood.com/talk/show/id/62138
and click on the “Register” button. Return to the site shortly before 1 pm EST tomorrow, log in, and you will be part of the chat. It’s all in live time, text only, so you just type comments or questions whenever you feel like it, or you can simply see what other people are posting. The whole talk is saved, so you can also go back and read through it later. Hope to “see” you there!
This post resonates with me. Every time my son leaves I feel this way. I used to cry every time,now I have grown thankful for any time we share together. I think he feels the same way,he loves home cooked food and the time to rejuvenate where he is loved.
Please don’t doubt your mothering. Every time I read your blog I am inspired to be better.
I wonder if one essential part of growing up is coming to see that happiness isn’t necessarily derived from doing exactly as one pleases-
All I can say is wow! What an armload of wisdom in that sentence. Thank you!!
Katrina, I read this post from the POV of child and not mother today. I am both, but in these last few days as cancer battles hard and my father fights back, but finds himself losing steam, I find myself identifying more as the child, the daughter, than the mother. And I find that even at my age, and as a mom of 3 myself, I am struggling with my dad’s illness because “home” is not a physical place, but a feeling found when you are in that “resting place where nourishment, acceptance, and embrace are always available.” Oh how my dad provided this and now I fathom living without it… How to do this? How to be happy with that home as only a comforting memory, to be returned to in dreams and reminiscing? Perhaps live it forward with my own children? Just need to find the strength.
Many people talk about presence these days, and along with gratitude presence seems a right path (albeit sometimes hard to walk consistently), but your words seem to truly BE presence—a sort of loving attention to what just is—this is generous and connective—so resonant, real and comforting. So, Thank You
I need to write a quick note to express my gratitude for your beautiful memoir. Your reflections have connected with me on such a deep level with my own desires that I have a difficult time articulating how much your book has meant to me. On practically every page I found wisdom and truth that spoke directly to my soul and has profoundly influenced my daily life.
Your book was recommended by a dear friend who continued to tell me, “Julie, you have GOT to read this book, the author reminds me so much of you . . . I know you will absolutely LOVE this book!” A few days ago I included a couple of your insightful passages about “presence” to a blog posting, and just today I bought another copy to send as a birthday gift to a friend.
Thank you Katrina for sending your gifts of wisdom and insight combined with lovely prose out to the world . . .
My children are still very young, two boys aged 2 and 4. I am very aware how quickly time will pass and we too will face the new comings and going between our family life and their life. But given the relationship that I have with my father and step-mother, I can see the promise it holds and the anchor that we will always provide for them.
Your words remind me of the importance of just living life, remembering not to lament what has passed or worry what will come, but to enjoy the day to day for each moment holds unexpected gifts.
I’ll be participating in the chat! I’m looking forward to it.
I am TICKED that I missed the mindful mothering live chat. I guess the good news is that I was spending time with Henry, at the library, holding his sweet, still chubby hand and marveling that he’s finally learned to whisper in the library.
When I read your words, I feel so lucky that I’ve actually gotten to hear you read your own words. I can imagine your voice now.
Thank you for always providing the perspective of the future. xo