We saw Z tonight for dinner. It was a cold, rainy day after a short return to summer. The temperature went from low 80s to high 40s in less than 12 hours. Sleep was not plentiful last night—whether because of the family room full of teenage boys who admitted to falling asleep somewhere around 3 am, the drop in temperature, the animal(s) making repeated squeaks right outside the window, or the catch-all culprit, perimenopause. I spent most of the day doing errands, a lot of it in the car or waiting in line. I felt as if I had just woken up for most of the day. Had the plans not been with Z, who I hadn’t seen in three weeks, I likely would have canceled them. But after dropping L off at work, the four of us (D, M, and I) got in the car and drove the 35 minutes up to get Z and head to dinner.
Seeing this boy—though I really should say young man because only his mama would call him a boy—woke me right up and my heart felt happy and I forgot that the day had dragged. He was talkative, sharing information on the topics I’ve come to expect now—the status of his articles for the campus paper, his classes, friends. We talked about Thanksgiving, he and M both agreeing they would like to have something besides turkey, M suggesting salmon or ham. Z suggested roasted chicken or duck. As much as I loved to hear every word from him, to see the way his life is filling out and settling in, just hearing his voice, having him sit next to me at dinner was all I really needed. Just to be near him. As I was almost every day of the 18.6 years before he left for college.
Eight weeks. He left home and moved into his dorm eight weeks ago. And this has been the longest stretch of not seeing him. I know that the timeframes will likely get longer and longer. That this phase of seeing him every two to three weeks is temporary and part of the transition.
I know.
I know.
I know.
And it’s good and important and what I want for him.
And it is still hard. Not having him around still hurts.
Z had some years when he was in elementary school that were really tough. Things were going on at school, and he struggled to let me know what was happening and just how hard it was for him. He was angry and upset, and I often felt like I was failing him. But we moved him and his brothers out of that school and into the public school and it was truly as if a weight had been lifted. I remember tearing up when I had him and some new friends in the car and I heard him laugh. Saw his smile in the rearview mirror. I didn’t know just how much I had missed it during those hard years.
Z stayed with that group of friends all through middle and high school. They spent so much time together—some in robotics; some online; some in their role-playing, tabletop game; and all of them on runs to Five Guys, Wendy’s, and the local markets, for all manner of gummies and soda. COVID happened at the end of Z’s freshmen year in high school, and while it’s hard to know exactly how it changed his social life, it certainly did. I rarely worried about where he was or who he was with. He and his friends were not big risk takers. He didn’t ask to go to parties or stay out much later than agreed upon. He shared all the important details of where he was going, with whom, and when they planned to be back.
Kids are wildly different. Even in the same family, as anyone who has been a kid or raised kids know. While Z’s sophomore year was 2020-2021 and thus, completely muted by COVID protocols, L is roaring into his sophomore year. This boy wants to be constantly moving and busy and social. He gives things everything he has or nothing at all. Middle ground or moderation are not things L will choose easily. He is selectively open with me, and much more willing and able to talk about his life than either of his brothers. And he expects so much from me and the world.
This weekend was a trying one with L. He can be funny and kind and appreciative. He can also fully embody the necessary but painful stage of pushing so hard against the boundaries that I feel like I’m going to crack. The insistence with which he argues starts to erode the edges of my boundaries, and I wonder if I am holding too firm. And then 24 hours go by, and he acknowledges that my concerns and reasons for holding those boundaries are all accurate. The ups and downs of parenting this one are enough to make me nauseous. And definitely enough to make me take the dog for a nighttime walk and cry.
It’s lonely parenting this kind of teen. In some circles, the same parenting decisions are viewed as lenient and flexible (maybe even too flexible), while in others, they are seen as overprotective and too concerned. It’s hard to share your parenting worries when you already feel like you are constantly making the wrong decisions. I can (sometimes just barely) tolerate being L’s parent, not his friend, and knowing that his job right now is to push and push and push. But I have a much harder time with other parents not respecting the boundaries I’m setting for my child. It’s easy to feel paranoid because I don’t know what is being said about my kid or what other parents know that they aren’t sharing with me. I know this is happening, because L has shared things with me that I can’t share with others. Trust is so fragile with these teens. I know other parents are like me—wondering if they are doing the right thing, setting the right boundaries, keeping the right confidences or breaking them in the right circumstances. It is such a hard time. I miss the days when the problems were smaller and the connections stronger and easier. And I am even more grateful for the friendships in which we can both support each other and share the different ways we approach this phase of parenting.
And of course, I can see what lies ahead. I can feel in my bones what is coming for us. I know that this pulling away, this insistence that almost 16 means ready to make all the adult decisions, they are big steps on the road away from childhood toward adulthood. That is what tempers it all. The knowledge that I need to be present with the arguments, the slamming door, the accusations that I am treating him like he is 10, because not too long from now, I will be moving L into his dorm room and wondering when or if he will reach out.
So, on this rainy end to a tough parenting weekend, I was glad for the simple pleasure of being in Z’s company. Of my job being to listen to what he offered and see his happiness. To know that sometimes I have gotten it right and that in the end, it is more likely than not that all three of them will be good humans.
I mean, how could these three not be out to save the world from all the evils?