One of the delightful surprises of being a parent has been the unique soundtrack that fills our waking home—a blend of the alarm clock’s scratchy beeping and pop tunes echoing from the hallway. The cats racing upstairs, dodging toys and bouncing on beds, the rustle of sheets, and the soft shuffle of tiny feet heading toward the bathroom, followed by a familiar call, “I’m awake, Mom.” No matter what challenges the day may bring, this symphony lingers in my heart.
It was a Tuesday after a long weekend, and the night before, the kids had taken their baths, changed their sheets, and organized their backpacks to ensure a smooth start to the day. I couldn’t help but smile as the morning unfolded.
Little Lila approached me, her beloved footie pajamas enveloping her, the turquoise ears flopping as she leaned against me with a sleepy “G’mornin’ Mama.” I rubbed her back through the soft fleece and whispered my love for her. The older children were a bit slower, their preteen expressions caught between grumpiness and sleepiness, but eventually, they joined us, mostly cheerful.
We prepared lunches in a team effort before Bella curled up with a book and Zoe got lost in her iPad while Lila filled her water bottle, expertly untying her shoes. I was struck by her determination; despite being the youngest and occasionally playing the baby card, she never lingers when it comes to getting ready. She’s always the first out the door, and inquiries like “Did you remember this?” are met with an enthusiastic “Yes.”
This year, I’ve truly embraced the realization that I can’t save them from every situation. I’ve learned that rushing to deliver forgotten items doesn’t promote their independence. While I can’t claim to enjoy saying, “Hopefully next week you’ll remember,” I find solace in the fact that they seem to forget less often—let’s call that progress.
As the focus on remembering things grew, so did our discussions. The girls began sharing more about school, from conversations about avoiding drugs to practicing lockdown drills. My middle daughter explained, “We don’t have enough cubbies for everyone, so I have to share. It’s not too bad because I get there first, but sometimes it’s hard to breathe when the others push in. If there was a shooter, I wouldn’t be in front, though.”
I strive to keep my emotions in check during these talks; I don’t want to instill more fear than necessary. I can’t be in their classrooms, hallways, or gyms to guide their reactions, so I have to trust that they’re learning.
“Oh,” I said, trying to remain calm. “It’s good that you know the plan.” Lila piped up, “In my class, we have places to hide, and we’re told not to even breathe or sniffle. That’ll be tough because if my nose runs or I get a cough, I’ll need to do something, but I promise I won’t.” I nodded and smiled, feeling sober yet proud. These exchanges shape how I respond to their requests to stay home.
With just 10 minutes before we needed to leave, Lila sighed, “I wish I could play hooky.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
She shrugged her little shoulders, “I don’t know. I just would.” Her blue eyes searched mine, looking for a hint of weakness.
“Nope, it’s a school day, especially on a short week. You have to go,” I replied as she dashed off to get her coat.
The cold air stung as we waited for the bus, and she repeated, “I still wish I could play hooky.” I glanced down the street for the bus and suddenly remembered that fateful day when I heard about Newtown. I turned back to Lila, my heart racing, wondering if she sensed something unsettling about school.
I had no pressing meetings, no deadlines looming, and had planned to be home early to meet them at the bus stop, avoiding the harsh winds. I wanted to scoop Lila up and hold her tight all day long, but uncertainty clouded my thoughts.
“Not today. We’ll take a day off in April to visit Grandma. Today, you’ll see your friends, learn new things, and tonight we’ll cuddle and you can tell me all about it. Want me to drive you?”
She beamed, “No, I like the bus.”
“I like you,” I said, feeling relieved.
With a giggle, she launched herself across the icy ground toward the bus. My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t call out “I love you,” knowing she carefully separates my affection from her classmates’ eyes. As I settled in the driver’s seat, tears threatened to spill as I watched her find her seat and wipe the condensation off the window with her sleeve.
She caught my gaze and mouthed, “I love you.” My voice trembled as I replied, and as I sat alone, watching the bus disappear, I took a deep breath, replaying the morning sounds and her desire to stay home, questioning if I was making the right decision.
In Summary
In summary, parenting is filled with joyous moments accompanied by an undercurrent of doubt. The daily rituals, from morning routines to heartwarming conversations, create a soundtrack that stays with us. While we navigate the challenges of raising children, we also learn to let go, trusting that they will grow and develop the skills necessary to face the world.