Musings on Daughters Growing Up

Walking with DD#4 the other day, I went to grasp her hand while crossing a parking lot. In that moment, I realized how she no longer has "little girl" hands and that she is no longer my "little girl", that she's 9-1/2 years old and that she is growing up. I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

I think I'm going to miss the "little girl" stage of my kids' development the most. This is when it's still okay to hold Mom's hand, bedtime snuggles are required (to ward off bad dreams), and they're not embarrassed to hug and/or kiss Mom in public. They start showing some independence... but still need Mom nearby "just in case." Where they can't wait to tell you everything they did during the day and are proud to read a bedtime story to you, instead of just letting you read to them. The only clothing battles are when they want to wear capri pants when it's snowing outside or when they insist on wearing the same pair of black leather "motorcycle" boots every day, no matter how warm outside. (Our current battle - lol.)

The next stage, where DD#3 is securely ensconced, is "pre-teen girl". It's a source of mood swings, eye rolls if Mom even tries to hold their hand, battles over why I refuse to buy her ripped jeans or tops with skinny spaghetti straps (because they won't pass the school's dress codes), or how it's the *end of the world* because I still won't let my almost 12 year old have a Facebook account even though "EVERYONE ELSE at school has one."

Oh, don't get me wrong. This stage still needs Mom but mainly it's because she needs help with her unruly wavy hair or she needs a ride to after-school activities or a shoulder to cry on when she's feeling left out because two of her friends hung out without her. But it's not as needy as the "little girl" stage.

This is the stage where independence starts showing up. I mean, it's not as bad as "teen girl" stage, where you really have to learn to pick your battles, nor as bad as "young adult woman" stage (DD#1 and #2 are here), where you bite your tongue, hope that you raised them right and that they'll use the moral compass you helped them develop to make the right choices. And if they don't? Well, you have to be there, NOT say "I told you so!", help them pick up the pieces and muddle through. However, no matter how much you want to, you can't be the one to "fix" their problems. They have to do the fixing by themselves.

And that, my friends, is the hardest part of parenting for me. Recognizing that, even though I will always see them as those tiny little bundles of joy and wonder brought home from the hospital all those years ago, they are independent young women. That they are now independent, capable, strong, smart, fierce young women. (And sitting in disbelief that I actually had something to do with that!)

In addition to dealing with the end of "little girl" years and DD#3's "pre-teen girl" issues, I also have DD#1 finishing up her second year of college and DD#2 her first year. DD#2 just returned from her first vacation with her boyfriend and his family (they're been dating almost 3 years now) and she's working full time for the summer. This weekend, DD#1 will be leaving to spend the entire summer with her bio-dad (my ex-husband) approx. 1,500 miles away.

In June, DD#3 & #4 will be away for a week of sleep-away summer camp. That will be the first time in a VERY long time that I'll be completely child-free (DD#2 will be working and spending every free moment with her boyfriend, while she contemplates transferring to a school halfway across the country, away from us and him.)

It'll be as close to an "empty nest" as I've had in the almost 20 years since I've become a parent. I'm not sure what to do. I mean, it'll be nice having time alone with DH (and the dog) but not having to make breakfasts or pack lunches for anyone other than us. Not having to play "Mom Taxi" for a week. It being okay if I don't want to cook dinner and, instead, have a bowl of oatmeal with a piece of fruit. While I'm thinking about it, what *do* people my age do, when they don't have kids under foot?

I'm sure I'm going to miss the chaos that is my normal, everyday life. I'm thinking that that particular week will be a sneak-peek of what my life will evolve into in about 9 years, when DD#4 starts college, DD#3 will be a senior in college, DD#2 and DD#1 will (hopefully) both be on their own and not living with Mom and Dad. (Yes, I know DD#1 is an art major and there's a pretty good chance that she may still be living with us. But let me just "go" with this one, okay? lol) We're in the single digit years until all this happens and that is a scary thought.

In the meantime, I'm going to check up on my sleeping little girls and my older girls, who are just hanging out and getting ready for sleep. Soon enough, I won't be able to do this with as much ease as today, when I can just walk down the hall to their rooms. I'm going to enjoy this while I can.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall. I Am My Mother After All.

It’s official.  I have become my mother.  I’m not sure how (or even when) it happened but it happened.  I’ve turned into my mother.  Now don’t get me wrong.  My mother was an awesome, amazing woman who lived through so much that I sometimes shake my head that she even lived as long as she did (my mother passed in 2001 at the age of 68.)  However, my mother was your typical Irish/Italian woman.  She was the one who yelled if you didn’t eat enough.  She yelled if you ate too much.  She complained if I had my hair in my face but, when I would cut it short, she would say “It looked better longer.”  Always with the contradictions.  The main thing about my mother, though, was food.  She was ALWAYS cooking.  Granted, I come from a blended family and am the youngest of 8 children, so there was a time where it would be only natural for my mother to be cooking all day.  But, even after everyone moved out, she still did so.  And still cooked in the same, absurd amount (enough to feed a small army.)

Yesterday was Independence Day here in the US and where was I?  In the kitchen, at the stove, just like her.  And that was where I spent most of my day, just like her.  Baking two batches of buttermilk biscuits (the first batch didn’t rise enough and definitely weren’t flaky enough for me to be happy, so I had to make a second batch), making potato salad, baked beans (well, doctoring up a can of Bush’s baked beans but I like theirs and, well, I didn’t feel like making them from scratch), corn on the cob, corn/pepper relish (which I made and canned last weekend) and fried chicken.  Keep in mind, I’m using a modified version of my mother’s recipe, which is a "little piece of heaven" on a plate.  Actually, it’s more like a "little heart attack waiting to happen" on a plate.  (The stuff is fried in lard.)  And, by the time it was done, I made enough food to feed at least a dozen people… and there were only the six of us, and two of us are under 10 years old.

I know by today’s standards, I have a large family.  Not too many families are having four (or more) kids.  But I know I’m not alone in this.  Every mother I talk to does the same thing.  We cook like there’s no tomorrow.  Why?  Granted, I like having leftovers and homemade always tastes better than buying it pre-made or getting takeout.  But why do I feel this need to constantly feed people?  Am I going to be like my mom and continue going at this level even when my kids start moving away from home.  DD#1 is moving to college 500 miles from home next month.  What about next year when DD#2 leaves for college? Am I going to keep cooking for six (or more) people at every meal, even though I can’t just pack it up and ship it to them at school?  Like I said, I like having leftovers but, in 15 years, am I going to want to eat leftover fried chicken and potato salad for lunch every day for a week?

Maybe I’ve inherited the “show ‘em you love ‘em by feeding ‘em” gene from Mom.  In high school and college, all my friends loved coming to my house because my mom would feed them like no one’s business.  (She’d also kick their butts playing “quarters” but that’s a different post all together.)  Perhaps I’ll do the same with my kids’ friends.  I’ve already had one of my daughter’s friends ask if I can send her care packages when she leaves home.  And maybe one of my kids will inherit this gene from me, and the legacy of taking care of the ones you love with food will continue.  In the meantime, I’ll just keep feeding my family and friends (as an expression of love), one piece of juicy southern fried chicken at a time.  Pass the biscuits, please.