Yesterday mid-morning found me at Walmart of all places, picking up dry shampoo and Neutrogena moisturizer and some Wintermint gum--because, if you don't know, I cannot for the life of me break my habit of exercising whilst chomping--and as I quietly pushed my cart through the store, stopping to look at a sleek, black turtleneck and deciding last minute to go grab some marshmallows for oven s'mores and all the while listening to a captivating novel on Libby I realized that I am in a new phase of life. A brand new phase.
My kids started school last week. T and Ev are both ruling their respective schools as 8th and 6th graders, and Quinny and Coco are moving up the ranks in 1st and 2nd grade. For the first time in my mothering life, all four kids are in all-day school. T rides away on his electric scooter just a bit after seven, and does he look back to see his mother waving from the window room, you know he does not. And then the three elementary babes walk themselves through Ms. LaNae's gate to their teachers and friends. Yesterday I went to grab something from my room and when I returned to the garden to send them off for the day they were already gone, cocooned no longer and flying fast into the future. They don't return to my home again until nearly four in the afternoon. They're independent creatures, I've raised them this way and nothing makes me prouder than their confidence and self-determination, but ask me if it feels weird to not be needed in the same way that I have been for the last 13 years and I'll tell you the truth: absolutely. And then, if you want to test my vulnerability, ask me if at times my breathing quickens as I consider the ways I could fill my time, if I question how my life is to bring value to the world outside of mothering, if I worry that I'm boring, or lost, or just a royal disappointment to past versions of myself. To all of that, yes.
It's a new phase, a brand new phase. And new phases come with growing pains and unknowns and at one moment you're peacefully walking through Walmart enjoying every second of the solitude and in the next moment you're at the check-out line and the toddler ahead of you is crying to his mother about wanting chocolate and he's grabbing candy bars off of the shelf and she's telling him, "Baby, you don't even like chocolate, we're not going to buy all of those candy bars" and with alligator tears rolling down his cheeks he yells, "Mama I wuv choc-wit and I want choc-wit and why you not wet me have choc-wit?" and tears start rolling down my cheeks because I was there too, once. I was that Mom. I had that toddler and I was tired and my life was ruled by nap times and park playdates and bottles and planning my next pregnancy and now my kids leave on their own and come home the same way and for eight hours a day the commotion has been traded with quiet and I am an expert in busy but I'm learning how to sit in silence and I'm not sure I'm going to be any good at it. And I could fill my time with this or that, serve in the community, find a part-time job, write a book or article or finally get a piece published like I've wanted to do for so long and maybe I'll do all of that, or maybe I'll do none, but I don't exactly know what I want to do, what I should do, so I'm giving myself time and grace to figure it out. I'm slowly walking into this new phase of mothering, this new phase of my life.
