SLINKING AWAY

Each of my children has faced a bumpy road lately.

And each of them seems to have navigated it better than their mother.

When Kayla was having a disagreement with another girl - a disagreement that took an ugly turn - this mama bear had to work very hard to keep her responses measured and her words kind toward somebody who was hurting her cub.

Then one night, Kayla came home and calmly said "Oh, we worked it out. Things are fine now."

Now I have a confession.

When she said this, I wanted to say "But...wait...what do you mean you worked it out? What if she....you can't have...."

"Wait, what?"

But there was such finality to her statement, such calm assurance that I, for once, was able to keep my mouth shut and listen and learn.

It's over. It never happened. For now I choose to believe in this peace.

And I slinked away in shame.
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Yesterday Blake had an encounter with an adult that, in his words, left him feeling intimidated.

And here came that mama bear again.

I calmly said to him something like "I'm sorry this happened to you. Do you want me to step in and say something?"

And he said "No, mom. I have a future ahead of me that's so much bigger than this man and this situation...."

And I slinked away in shame.
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Last Saturday was Senior picture day for Blake, and since it had been a while since we'd had family photos taken, we turned it into a session for all of us.

And as I watched a couple of Blake's shots (I didn't want to watch them all - I want to be surprised) I turned into a puddle of goo just thinking about the fact that we were at this point in life.

Then, just for fun, I had our photographer take a few shots of Kayla.

And I turned into a puddle of goo.

Because, come on!!

How does this happen so quickly? How do we get to this point so quickly - the point where we no longer spend an hour getting the perfect shoes, the perfect dress, the perfect socks, the perfect bow for pictures? The point where we no longer beg and cajole and threaten so that Blake will cooperate with "just a few shots, buddy. - PLEASE!" The point where Blake no longer has to hold his head at odd angles to work around the giant bow on his sister's head.

The point where our children are fighting their own battles better than we could fight for them and coming out the other side with a lesson learned.

The point where glimpses of their character are starting to shine through and we can, between prayers and frustrated slaps to our own foreheads, say maybe, just maybe, things are going to turn out just fine.

And we get out their baby books and try to convince ourselves that those days really weren't so sweet after all.