Twenty Seven Years of First Days

There are many good things about parenting children in groups.  First, I get a second chance to do everything "right" (or at least better) that I messed up on with the first batch of kids.  Second, the older kids learn alot by having younger siblings and having teens hanging around happy to babysit is also a big bonus.  I am a wiser and less nervous parent this time and much more appreciative of the speed in which parenting happens.  So, that's the good stuff. 

There are also some negatives.

Not the least of which is the realization that by the time my youngest child graduates high school I will have had twenty-seven STRAIGHT years of "First Days" of school.   Yes you read that right.  My oldest started kindergarten in 2000 and my youngest will graduate in 2027.   Coincidentally I was also 27 when my oldest started first grade and I will be 41 when my youngest does.  I will be 39 when my oldest graduates high school and I will be simply O-L-D when my youngest does.  As in, I haven't done the math and am really sure I don't want to. 

Without further whining on my part, here are my children on their respective First Days - Year 11.

This is Greg.  15 and heading into Grade 10.  Also quite possibly his last year at home due to hockey.  No, we aren't going to talk about this because I will cry.  And no, apparently I am not allowed to be his roommate.  And yes, I asked.  By the way this IS smiling for the camera when you are 15.  Remember 14?

This is Eric.  14 and heading into Grade 9.  We have found his niche with the school he attends and he is thriving.  Well at least on day 1.  Ask me again in 6 weeks.   He was far more worried about Rep Hockey Team tryouts than he was his first day of school, which is a very good thing! 

This is Tanner.  Almost 13 and in Grade 8.  From a small elementary school to a high school with over 900 kids, letting this one head off has been HARD on me.  As you can see, he is growing like a weed upwards, but still disappears when he turns sideways.  For perspective - go look at the little boy he was on his first day of grade 7.  TRUST ME the growth in this kid is shocking.

My wee one, Caden is 9 and in grade 4.  A new "guy" teacher this year has him nervous and excited.  He is still my cuddler, my son happy to hug me in front of his friends and usually has a smile on his face.

And not to be out done.  Here are the two that will make me feel old and keep me being young. 

Miss Taya is wearing Big Girl Panties now that are mostly dry.  Mostly.  She is not quite two and a half but thinks she is 15.  Make sure someone checks in on me when she is really fifteen because this one knows what she wants and how she is going to get there, and she keeps up hopping!

By the way that is Annie in the background.  Our completely, totally fine Annie. 

We are SO thankful for sedatives that kept her resting!

Miss Chunk Of Love Jayde is 18 months and demanding to be potty trained along with big sis and mom is demanding she stay in diapers. I already have two dogs and one toddler peeing on my carpet THIS one can wait a while.  And yes, this is the best picture I could get of her this morning.  There are far more interesting things to do than stay still and actually look at the camera!  And see?  She has HAIR in PONY TAILS.  My baby is growing up!

Just think, only sixteen more years to go. 

So tired. Need maid. Send Help.

So. So. So Tired.

Seriously people. SO tired.

Not sure why?

Could be the 4 boys needing parenting.

Or the fact my husband is away.

Or maybe its the 30 kids the first year teacher and I, first time Teacher's Aide, are responsible for all day.

Could be from hockey tryouts every night this week.

Or the fact my attachment disordered dog feels ignored.

And did you know groceries don't buy themselves when you work all day?

The dishwasher stays full?

The bills, the bills still need to be paid. At the BANK?

And laundry. Oh the laundry.

Lunches. I hereby decree that I hate school lunches. FOR ME. When you can't eat wheat, menu items that are packaged quickly in a lunch kit are few and far between. And new school regulations that dictate that NOTHING processed can be sold in schools anymore? Seriously, how can I avoid grocery shopping when my kids cant buy french fries anymore? Carrot sticks only tempt teenage and preteen boys so much.

On a good note, all 4 boys are loving school. Tanner enjoys french immersion, Greg seems to love his Hockey Academy Program, Eric is relieved I am in his class to be the buffer and Caden has made several new friends.

And if you enjoy housework, boy do I have a fun project for you!

Adoption Thoughts: When Letting Go is Hard to Do

I am a mom. I love being a mom. I love mothering. I have always been a mom who has wanted to stay home with her kids. Although aching at times for adult conversation, I have never, ever ached to leave my kids with other caregivers. To escape into the work force. To miss out on the days with my boys.

When my boys attended school, I was the mom that drove every field trip. I walked them into class every morning, and picked them up after school every day. They acted disdainful, but I heard about it if I dared miss a day. Ever.

And then, in 2004, we began to homeschool. Together all day, every day. Lots of good, some difficulties. But overall, mostly, it was fun. We are closer in many ways because of it.

And that's all about to end.

Tuesday. September 2, 2008

The day my boys will walk out our front door and enter the halls of various schools. Entrusted to various teachers. Leaving my kitchen table. Leaving ME. 6 hours a day. Every day.

For four years we have been together. Schooling together. Learning together. Being together.

It's time. But its hard. Harder on me than on the boys.

I would like to say that the separation, the letting go, starts next Tuesday, but in reality this entire summer has been a long process of loosening my grip. Letting my boys experience life without me by their side.

There was "family camp". Family camp that really means the boys are off with their friends from dawn until long after dark and if we were lucky we saw them for meals. I actually missed them despite the fact we were in theory all camping together.

There was the Missouri trip. Letting Greg see I trusted him enough to make the sorts of decisions that are involved in meeting his other family. Reality was, for me, there was tearing and sharing involved in that process and it wasn't always easy.

Plus, to go to Missouri, I had to leave my other 3 boys at home. 12 days. The longest separation ever. I had to trust others to parent them. Trust that they would be ok. They were.

Shelby's accident. Kids left behind. Scattered. Shared. Not planned but necessary none the less.

Greg left for hockey camp. He was scouted. He is now noticed by people to whom it counts. Invited to play in front of college scouts in Vegas in the spring, Burnaby next May. Words like "drafted" and "junior hockey" discussed. He is 13.

Imagine if letting my 13 year old walk to school alone causes me to lie awake at night in dread what hearing those words does to me?

"You must be so proud, Greg could be playing in the Big City soon"

"How awesome for you, finally some free time"

No! No! No! I don't want my boys gone. I don't want school to start and daily separation to begin. I don't want to think about my future 15 year old choosing to move out to play a SPORT away from his family for 10 months of the year. I want my family here. I want to be a mom.

And I wonder ... is this because I am simply a mother? Or is this because I am an adoptive mother?

Greg and Eric weren't "mine" until they were 3 and 4. Its been 9 years this coming week since I first held my sons in my arms. I am not ready to let them go. I AM, slowly, and because its the right thing to do, but I do not FEEL ready.

Parenting the older adopted child is some days like parenting in fast forward. Life skips ahead at an alarming rate. Today you meet your child, tomorrow they are grown up. Independent.

You work on attachment with a pre-schooler and then have to let them go to kindergarten. They play their first soccer game and then want to reunite with their first family.

It feels like days, in reality its years. But not enough years for me.

I think there is a process to mothering. A slow, methodical process that allows moms (or at least moms like me!) to let go as their kids grow up. My heart, my mother heart of my boys, is 9 years old. But I am parenting a 12 and 13 year old.

On Tuesday, I will let them go with a smile and a hug.

"You will do great"
"This is so exciting for you"
"I am so proud of you"

Inside? Inside I will be aching for the days missed. For those baby cuddles I never had. For those toddler years shared with another mother. For the memory of a newborn smell I will never know and can't recapture. Coping with how the shock of their teenage independent selves wreaks havoc on my emotions.

My big, beautiful, amazing, mature boys will walk out the door. They will never know, never understand, how much it hurts to let them go.

I want a pause button on life.