Have you seen this commercial? The one where the dad is giving his daughter the keys to the car, but the little girl is about 5 years old? Then, in the last frame, we realize that the little girl is really 16, and that the dad just sees her as a 5-year-old.
Every time we see it, Greg shakes his head and says it's the meanest commercial he's ever seen. Then, he has to get up off the couch and walk into the kitchen or bathroom, for just a minute. You see, I married a pacer. I learned about this when we were dating. Greg lived with his sister, Janet and her husband, Ben and their three kids when we were dating. Well, he lived there part-time. He still had an apartment in Provo, but a job in Salt Lake. Not to mention a girlfriend in Salt Lake. So, he stayed there part of the time. One evening, we were all sitting around their kitchen table when they got a call from Greg's parents. Greg's little brother had eloped in Las Vegas and had just turned up at his parent's house in California. I sat in the chair and watched him walk into the front room, back into the kitchen, down the stairs into the living room, up the stairs into the front room, back into the kitchen...over and over again while talking on the phone. Whenever Greg is walking the house while chatting on the phone, I know that something is bothering him.
But...back to the commercial. As my children are growing up, and their problems are becoming "bigger" than potty-training, who took what toy and from whom, and sleeping through the night, I have a really hard time not seeing them as my little ones. I struggle with knowing how to handle a problem that does not involve pulling my toddler or preschooler on my lap and just cuddling it away. I also have a hard time not looking into the future and seeing how a particular problem will become so challenging. I also have a hard time accepting the fact that we all have issues that we battle with throughout this lifetime. I can see some of those in my kids, and I have to accept that I can't fix them because they aren't for me to "fix." They were hand-picked trials that God has given them to battle through. I can support and I can help, but they are theirs and theirs alone. That is a heart-wrenching truth for a mother, and it seems unfair to look at an 11-year-old or 8-year-old or even a 5-year-old and see those trials and struggles and know they are for their good.
In all honesty, sometimes I miss those kids. Getting Austin to talk...just talk to me...is like pulling teeth. And I look at him and see that sweet, always energetic, chatty little three-year-old who loved every second of life (so much so that he couldn't bear the thought of going to sleep because he might miss something). He was my little buddy. We loved being together. Just like the dad in the commercial, I can look at Austin and see him as that little boy that I simply adored. Sometimes, I wish I could just reach back in time and squeeze that adorable little boy, and read him a story, and tuck him in bed.
I guess I just find myself on the cusp. On the cusp of teenagers...on the cusp of "real" problems...on the cusp of Jr. High...on the cusp of PG-13 movies and parties and short skirts...on the cusp of temptations of every shape and size...on the cusp of new friends. I'm nervous for this next phase of life. I worry about my inability to handle what is inevitably coming our way. And just like the dad in the commercial, I desperately want to keep my kids safe and sheltered, but I know I have to start to let go and trust. Trust that (just like I did and still do) Austin will learn from his experiences - good and bad. Trust that his struggles will make him stronger and that growth comes from trials. Trust that the Lord will compensate for the things that we lack as parents. Simply trust in this process of life.
And I wonder if I will always see my children the way the dad in the commercial sees his little girl? I wonder if my parents sometimes look at me and think: When did they allow a cute, chubby, curly-haired little girl to become the mother of 5 children?!? When I struggle, I wonder if my dad wants to just climb in bed with me and tell stories and sing songs and rub his fingers through my hair until I fall asleep just like he did when I was little. I wonder if my mom wants to slip me some frozen chocolate chips and settle down in the recliner and tickle the inside of my arm with her beautiful fingernails to calm me down.
And I wonder how a mother's heart is supposed to navigate all this "growing up" that must take place?!?
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