Letting Go

As a parent, there inevitably comes a time when our children are ready to strike out on their own and be their own people.  For me, it’s happening much too quickly.

I have very clingy children.  They like to climb on me and smother me.  Even at ages 9 and 6, they still want to climb in bed with me at night.  They want to be snuggled to sleep.  They clamber on top of my head and rub my hair in my eyes.  They always say, “Mama, play with me!  Mama, watch this!  Mama, fix me a snack!  Mama, mama, mama!”



I do my best to meet their needs, but for years I have longed for just a bit of space to myself, some room to breathe, some time alone to think.  And suddenly, within the last few weeks, I have it.

I’m not ready.

We get to the playground at school in the morning, and instead of holding my hand and giving me a snuggle, Rowan (9) shouts a quick, “Love you, Mom!” and runs off to his classroom to dump his backpack, then heads off with his friends.  Henry (6) doesn’t hold my hand anymore, either.  He runs and skips and looks offended when I offer my hand.  When we get to his classroom, instead of me going in with him while he hangs up his backpack, he pushes firmly on my tummy when the door opens, to let me know that I am Not Welcome in his classroom.  This is his space, with his teachers and his friends.  Mommy isn’t needed there.

Oh, my heart.



I was talking this morning to Donna, one of the assistants in his special classroom.  She doesn’t see him much anymore, either, because he’s spending most of the day in the regular first grade classroom.  The fact that he is not just going there, but thriving and spending the majority of his days there, simply floors me.  There were many, many days and months and years when I doubted whether he could ever function in school at even a basic level.

Anyway, Donna and I were commiserating with each other about how Henry just doesn’t need us anymore, and she said, “Well, that’s really what our job is.  We provide as much and as little support as they need, and the ultimate goal is that they don’t need us anymore.”

Oh, that is so true, and it hurts!  Some part of me wants to cling to my little children forever, keep them snuggled up with me.  This morning Rowan opted to stay in his bed for ten extra minutes instead of having snuggle time with Mom in the rocking armchair.  And I love that he’s comfortable in his own bed, but my heart!

I know they still need me.  They still come to me for hugs and kisses and snuggles, to find their shoes, to fix their food.  There will always be a part of them that needs their mama.  But it is growing less every day, and while I am so glad and so thankful for their continued growth and development, I am not ready.

Back to School

Rowan (9) and Henry (6) went back to school today.  I thought briefly about taking pictures, but that thought was quickly driven out of my head when Henry went into full meltdown mode this morning.

It’s not that Henry doesn’t like school.  He really does.  He likes the structure, the activities, and the learning.  He loves his teacher, Mrs. A., and the two TAs who work with him the most, Donna and Sharon.  It’s just that he really, really enjoyed summer.

He loved waking up at 8:30 or 9:00, wandering into the dining room for cereal, then settling down to play Minecraft.  He loved lazy summer days spent outside in our backyard, driving trains over tree roots, throwing the ball for our dog, Lili, going to the river, and spontaneous visits to cousins or grandparents.

We’ve been trying to prep him for school the last few weeks.  He has always stubbornly responded with, “NO SCHOOL.”  Yeah, not happening, kid.  The staff at his school have many more tools in their toolbox than I do, to guide and teach through his autism.

So this morning he absolutely refused to wear any of his new clothes, despite them consisting of the same type of t-shirts and sweats he always wears.  I guess with everything else, it was just too much new  and scary.  We compromised at last with just a new t-shirt, and everything else old and familiar.  He’ll get used to them in time, I suppose.

There is a happy ending to this story.  When I picked him up, Sharon said that Henry had a GREAT day, and that his time in the regular first grade classroom [he bounces between the special ed room & the regular class] was “night and day” different from how he started in the regular kindergarten classroom last year.  He also got a candy for practicing safe body techniques all day, so that was great!

As for Rowan, while he wasn’t thrilled about going, he was excited to see his friends again.  He sits across from his friend C. and she offered to introduce him to all the kids he doesn’t know yet!  I got a running and jumping hug when he came out, and he told me that “today was the BEST school day I’ve ever had!”

In conclusion, I think we’re going to survive this year just fine.