I have a confession to make.
Last night I was counting down the years until all of my children would be living their own lives - under their own roofs.
Choose any other day and perhaps I couldn’t bare the thought of the three of them not living with us, but not last night.
Last night I wanted them out.
I had this strange feeling that we are all adults trying to share the same space, cook at the same stove, be hungry for dinner at the same time, all the while creating adult size messes that somehow only this adult is expected to clean up. Legally only my daughter can be considered an adult but my 16 year old son sports a man size body, and my 13 year old is not far behind.
I certainly remember feeling exhausted when the kids were little but never did I fantasize about them being out on their own. Perhaps it seemed eons away or maybe I just could not picture them in adult bodies.
I think this is how it’s supposed to happen for us parents. If we didn’t start getting in each other’s way or start annoying each other it would be too hard to say goodbye.
It takes seeing them as competent people, ready to start life on their terms, in their own kitchen, for us to finally be ok with them leaving home.
Parenting is about being ok with feeling both, wanting to hold them tight and wanting to provide that gentle push that sets them off on their own.
For now I take a bath, light a candle and take a breather, making space for myself. I know that in the morning I’ll be happy that all three of my children will be clamoring around the kitchen getting ready for their day. I’ll make room for them at the stove, happy to have this precious, fleeting time together
all under one roof.