Friends, I started writing this essay on a bench at Urban Air — a classic, big-kid indoor gym with all the bells and whistles. While my boys were lined up for a zip-line course that wound throughout the building, I tapped out a quick thought in a photo caption. And then I started seeing signs that my boys were growing up everywhere — this week, last week, all summer long. I thought you might like to see how a hovering mom like me is discovering the scary joy of letting go. Hope you enjoy, and hope your summer is a wonderful one. 🌻
You know you’ve reached a new season in motherhood when your children are at one of those places and you’re not within arm’s reach. You know the ones — indoor gyms and pools, zip lines, action-packed kid-zones that used to send a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart the moment we walked through the door. Now that my twin boys are almost eight and my oldest son is ten, they are tall enough and strong enough to hold their own in the middle of a crowded kids gym full of rock walls and trampolines — and honestly, they make a neat little crew, a team, the three of them together. But when they were younger, I was the mom who made everyone wear bright colored shirts so I could spot them across a crowded room, who orchestrated a group bathroom trip before we even got through the door, who would work out the division of labor with my husband Erjon before we even walked in: “you’ve got William, I’ve got Jamie — and Michael will just have to tag along.” I could not have imagined — could not have fathomed — being one of those moms who cracks open her laptop at a nearby table and starts writing. That mom seemed like a different species to me. And yet at this very moment I am over HERE, a solo mama writing at a bench, and my boys are over THERE on a zip line, and it is all okay, and my body is relaxed. Ok, I’m still a bit suspicious of this freedom that I have in this situation. But I like it…I think.
It’s like that moment in the department store when you suddenly realize you’re no longer in the toddler section and you’ve crossed over into the big boys aisle without even meaning to. A little graduation and a little goodbye, all at once.
I could feel this change coming when my boys started to ask new questions this summer. It started on an ordinary midday morning, just a few weeks ago. I was updating our living room bookshelf with fresh reading material from their school’s summer reading list when all three of them appeared in front of me like a small delegation. Clearing his throat, Michael spoke first: “Mom?” — and something about the tone in his voice made me stop and tilt my head. Oh boy, what’s this gonna be? “Hmm? Yes?” And then, pointing to his wrist: “So I have my Gabb watch on, and… Jamie and William and I want to ride our bikes to the small park so… we wanna play there a while so… by ourselves. And… yeah.”
And standing there, meeting their intense gaze — Jamie and William and Michael all holding their breath — I knew that this was the moment I was supposed to say yes. And so I said… yes! And in an instant they rushed past me to the garage, chatting up ideas about game plans for the park — what about a soccer ball, who’s gonna get the backpack — and me calling after them about their helmets and “Michael, is your watch really fully charged?” — and then they were gone. Just like that. And I stood there in the middle of the living room, wondering how that had just happened so easily. And I waited, pretending to find something to do, excited for them and quietly proud of myself for letting go, before getting myself dressed to meet up with them later. And so several minutes later, I was riding my own bike toward the playground, around the block and through all the overgrown summer wildflowers that had come up along the path, taking a long minute to enjoy my own leisurely approach.
When I arrived — gliding through the flowers with every effort to appear nonchalant — there they were! Occupied with a game of groundies and taking turns on the swings. And when I rolled up, Jamie and William shouted across the playscape: “Hi Mommy! Hey, did you see all the flowers? Wanna take a picture?” And for the next several minutes we took photos of all those gorgeous yellow post-rain flowers together
This summer of practicing independence has been quietly showing up at church on Sunday mornings too, and I have to laugh when I think about where we started.
Two years ago we walked into our first Mass — me with a survival bag stuffed with coloring books, stickers, and markers — convinced that keeping three pairs of hands busy and entertained was the only thing I dared to ask for. But this past Easter, after a year of Faith Formation classes, our boys received their First Holy Communion — and I could tell that something had shifted. One Sunday not long after, I looked up during Mass and realized I had heard the entire homily — and shared a pleasantly surprised gaze with Erjon. And what were my boys doing? Reading along quietly in their Magnifikid missalettes, engaged and settled. They went up with us to receive Communion, came back to the pew, and knelt. And afterwards, on the way out, William tugged my sleeve and whispered: “Mom, I prayed for Gjyshi to get better.” Just like that. And with a hug and a smile, we walked out and headed over to the donuts in the parish hall.
There’s a moment in the Gospel of Luke that has made quite an impression on me this summer. Mary and Joseph lose Jesus in Jerusalem — he is twelve years old, and when they leave the city they travel a full day’s journey homeward before they realize he isn’t with the caravan. To be fair, it was a HUGE procession of travelers, full of families and animals — maybe they figured he was just a few families ahead, somewhere between some distant cousins. But then came three days of frantic searching, retracing their steps all the way back to Jerusalem, before they finally found him in the Temple — calmly seated among the teachers, listening and asking questions. And, as Luke tells us, “All who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers.” (Luke 2:47)
And here’s my mama thought: couldn’t he have at least given his parents the satisfaction of an argument? A little “But Mommmmm, I’m busyyyyy!” would have gone a long way. When Mary asks him — exhausted and probably at the end of her rope — “Son, why have you done this to us? Your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety,” he simply says, matter of factly: “Did you not know that I must be about my Father’s business?”
Ouch. And poor Joseph, standing right there for that one — this was a rough way for Mary and Joseph to discover that their boy was growing up. A tough way to find out.
But — to return to the rightful sacredness of this scene — Mary, on the other hand, “kept all of these things in her heart” — which tells me that the worry and the letting go can live in the same moment. Maybe that’s exactly the point.
And yet, a sweet, precious “nothing” happened tonight that tells me boyhood is still here in our house a little longer.
Tonight my twin Jamie ate a hot dog for dinner — yes, we do that on Saturdays sometimes — and while still munching, he wandered over to me at the other end of the kitchen table where I was working on this very essay. He began to play with my hair and talked about some Pokémon character he’d watched on TV earlier. As he continued to chat and run his fingers through my hair, and as I zeroed in on my typing, I noticed a distinct Oscar Mayer wiener scent settling on my head. And you know what? That was fine. I like hot dogs, and there are worse things than smelling a little meaty when your boys are growing up and away so fast.
And then, to continue the yummy sensory overload, Erjon gave everyone one of those mini ice cream cups — the ones that feel guilt-free because they look so cute they just couldn’t have any calories, could they? And after finishing his vanilla cup, Jamie wandered over to me again. Just as I was creaking and stretching up out of my chair, he wrapped his arms around my waist and looked up at my face, loudly whispering — “Mommy, I LOVED being with Grandma and Nëna and Gjyshi at Daddy’s birthday party last night!” And as Jamie reached up, closer and closer to my face, the scent of vanilla ice cream floated up and I smiled and said “Well hello — my little vanilla bean!” And with that, Jamie pulled back, hands on his hips, with a scrunched up look on his face. “A BEAN?!” he said. “What do you mean a BEAN? I’m a big boy!!!” — giving me that silly glare that means he’s completely fine with it even if he has absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. And I laughed and gave him a big hug.
This summer is turning out to be a series of little nudges that are catching me off guard — but apparently, my boys and I are ready for each one. Slowly, I’m testing my toes in the waters and loosening my grip on my growing boys by one more degree — trusting what’s already been planted in them.
And I realize I haven’t even begun to tackle the big moments yet — of driver’s license tests, crazy hormones, first girlfriends, and so on and so forth. I know this is just the beginning!
For now, I’m happy to learn in the kiddy pool a bit longer.
And the special treat — the part I didn’t see coming — is that my boys keep coming back.
Riding my bike through a sea of yellow wildflowers… Hot dog fingers running through my hair…Cool vanilla whispers.
My boys aren’t escaping from my grasp. They’re breathing outwardly, and then coming back home for a quick inhale.
I’ll take that any day of the week.
Sharon Eisert Manaj writes about faith and family at “Rooted at Home”.