Apron Strings Removal

It’s happening.  I’ve prepared myself for it. I’ve repeatedly prayed for God to make me strong.  I’ve had moments of insane confidence that I’d weather it in stride.  And now it’s happening and I don’t like it.  Not one bit.

Pearce is pulling away.  He’s becoming his own man.  He’s finding his independence.  All the things I’ve groomed him for.  They are happening and it feels like the air in my lungs is thinner than it used to be.

I know I’ll adjust.  And I know I’ll try really hard not to become the Martyr Mother.  Or the Guilt-trip Queen.  Although I think these reactions are intrinsic in my maternal make-up. 

This summer has been a summer of manic activity for Pearce and Cole.  It’s been a combination of friends, athletics, church youth events, and vacation.  And I feel like I’ve seen them 10 minutes since school ended.  But there’s more to it.  I feel disconnected.  Pushed out.  Like a Mom.  *shiver*

My first big clue was during Mission Trip.  Every year, my church’s youth group spends a week in service.  This year, both Pearce and Cole went.  Cole called me almost every night.  And he called his dad every night but one.  Connected.  But Pearce – I didn’t hear a peep from him.  Instead, I stalked him like a crazy person – trolling Instagram for a glimpse of his week, searching the daily videos for a Pearce (and Cole) sighting.  I finally fell victim to my urge to troll his friends’ Instagram feeds (and the youth leaders’ feeds) for a morsel.  And when I’d find one, I shoved my phone in Chad’s face saying, “Look, there he was behind the kid they are interviewing!  He walks by!”  What happened to the cool mom who posts her own life on Instagram?  She was gone - replaced by That-Mom-I-Used-To-Make-Fun-Of-With-Pearce.  Suddenly, Instagram became the instrument of my indignity. 

Then, various activities kept us running around – barely seeing each other for weeks.  I’d get him up early, drop him at his dad’s house, go to work, pick him up from somewhere, and then watch him disappear into his room not to be seen until dinner.  And after dinner, he returned to his cave until I went to bed – stealing a hug or a wave goodnight.  I found that even though we were in the same house, I missed him.    

Then, the shame spiral deepened.  He left for a week-long vacation with a friend to Red River, N.M.  And he gave me a signature hug, which is like a sarcastic bear hug.  I know that’s a weird definition, but if you received one, you’d come out of it saying, “Hmm…it IS a sarcastic bear hug!”  I asked him to text me each night to let me know he was safe.  It wasn’t too much to ask.  He looks like a man, but he’s only 14.  He hasn’t texted me once on his own. 

Here’s a screen shot of our discourse over 4 days.  I make the request, he says yes.  I remind him, he says yes.  Then, I resort to subtle mom-guilt.  I put the emoticon in there to soften the guilt.  J

 

Because my son is wholly wrapped up in his amazing teenage vacation adventure, I am forced to resort to more shameful devices.  Namely, the Find My iPhone app.  It’s the devil.  I’ve never used it before, but it’s been on my phone in case I need it to locate a missing phone.  I opened the app, refreshed the feed, and I knew the exact moment Pearce crossed from Texas to New Mexico.  I knew when he was at his cabin.  I knew when he was in town.  I was like an evil satellite Cyclops, looking down upon my son from my malevolent space-eyeball.

It’s time for self-intervention.  Time to be the confident mom I profess to be.  Time to be the mom who is intentionally raising her son to be independent from apron strings.  I honestly didn’t think it would be me who needed to loosen them. 

I knew there’d be a day when he’d be on his own.  That is the day I’m parenting him toward.  I want him to be his own man – self-assured and self-sufficient.  I just expected it would be college before it started…