The last month has been an emotional roller coaster for me.
Thing One turned 16, passed his driver’s license test, and now has a car.
Thing Two turned 13, spends more time with his iPhone than with me, and can now have a Facebook.
I’m feeling older than dirt.
And scared. Terrified that I won’t know who I am when they are gone.
Call it Empty Nest Syndrome IN ADVANCE.
But as I was mowing in the heat this week, I happened upon the most beautiful little blue robin’s egg.
That discovery caused me to ponder…
Barring any circumstances such as a medical diagnosis or tragic accident, if my children don’t grow up, then I haven’t done my job.
If Thing One would be complacent to sit on my couch until he’s 40 eating Cheetos and taking turns staring at his belly button and then the TV, I would not have done my job as a parent.
So the fact that he is ambitiously searching for a new job, independently running errands, and crafting a life for himself, is evidence that I have been a successful parent.
If Thing Two wanted to cling to my legs in every social situation rather than striking out on his own and carrying conversations with new friends, and chose to hibernate in his room playing Xbox until his 40th birthday, I would have failed.
The fact that he’s self-assured, able to entertain himself and beginning to have interests in his life that I have no part of, is evidence that he’s on his way to successfully arriving at adulthood.
As painful as it is, I must face facts: I want them to leave someday.