This morning, I was in line at a store waiting to purchase a cart full of supplies for my son’s tenth birthday. It doesn’t make sense that I have two kids with ages in the double digits, and I felt even more aware of this as I was surrounded by moms and their little kids. The toddlers and babies were noisy and a little chaotic, and I realized how quickly time slipped through my fingers. I got home, and I said to Evan, “There were so many babies and toddlers at the store.” And he said, “Do you remember when you used to do that? You used to take the kids to Target when they were little just for something to do.” How quickly the years passed when I didn’t quite notice it.
Yet I notice it. I notice it when I have an argument with one of my boys. The argument was about responsibilities and ended with a discussion on respect. It was messy, emotional, and frustrating. I walked away with my heart in knots because it all felt like a failure. My mind was buzzing, and I didn’t know what to do with this son that I love so deeply. How did we end up here when only a few years ago, we were taking weekly (daily) trips to Target and enjoying the simplicity (chaos) of toddlers and babies?
I sat on the edge of my son’s bed after some time had passed. The argument was fresh in my mind, and the feeling of defeat was fresh in my skin. But I looked at him, and I knew what it meant to love him. To want what is best for him. I remembered the squishy boy he was and the growing adolescent he is becoming, and the fury melted.
“This is hard, you know? It’s hard to be you today, at this moment, because every day you’re learning how to be you. And it’s hard for me, too. Because I’m learning how to be your mom every day. And I’m sorry that it’s hard sometimes and that we fight. I’m sorry that I couldn’t control my anger.”
In the last three years of living, I think the greatest thing I have allowed myself the grace to learn is that being a human is really hard. And raising humans who are learning how to be people is hard. I have allowed myself the grace to learn. This is not how I used to be. Something in my brain was wired in such a way that I believed that I should know. I should know how to do everything, how to be a mom, how to exist in love, how to forgive, how to face conflict, how to function as a human–but the truth is, I just don’t know. I don’t know everything. The pressure to live in perfection has deflated immensely as I have allowed myself the grace to be fully human, imperfect and filled with a lot of, “I don’t know how to do that yet, and I think that’s okay.”
I miss when my kids were babies. There are some days when they will specifically request to go through the pictures and videos on my phone of when they were little. It feels surreal in many ways. You don’t realize you are fighting to survive until you’ve literally made it to the other side, and that’s how I feel some days. Raising these kids has been so hard, was so hard, and has taken so much of me. I’m sure it will keep taking more, and my prayers have changed drastically. “Equip me for each of them, uniquely. Help me love them in the way they need. Show me how to be more like You. What am I doing? What should I do? How do I know if..?”
The years have slipped through my fingers, and I look down and wonder exactly at what moment things changed. The last time I picked them up. The last time we held hands to cross the street. The last time their fingers had dimples, and their cheeks held all my kisses. The change is bittersweet.
But then there are moments like yesterday, when my boy just needed to know he was loved. I hugged him, I told him how much I love to be his mom and to have him as my son. And the knots in my heart released. I remembered that we are learning so much together, so many hard things, so many new ways of being. That is precious, and I hope I am always awake to witness it.
It all slips through my fingers. May my prayers change from worries to surrender, from fear to praise. May these children become people who know a God who knew them first. May I continue to become. May there be oceans of grace for us to swim in, reminding us that it is okay to learn again and again.
JANELLE DELAGRANGE 