Keeping Up With Your Job Description

The little travelers play a game when they’re stuck in the car. They call it submarine. They pretend that the car has the capacity to turn itself into an underwater vessel that if necessary, can easily “hide” itself in the ocean. Immediately after someone decides to start a game of submarine all four travelers become animated, everyone begins to get excited, rules are made, changed and argued as they go along. The sight of another car is an octopus, a bus is a killer whale, people are puffer fish and motorbikes are sharks.

“Oh my gosh! I don’t like what I see. Look over there. There’s a huge killer whale coming our way!” All four will immediately duck and squeal, someone will attempt to steer the submarine in a different direction, someone else will suggest a better route while dodging a school of jellyfish and a coral reef.

I could listen to them play Submarine for hours. Not only are they hysterically funny but it’s the insight I gain from their imaginations. The fourth traveler likes to fill his underwater world with mermaids, they often have names of people in his life with matching personalities. I can tell exactly who’s in the good books and who’s hogging the play equipment at recess within five minutes of being submerged. The first likes to be in charge – she’s always the captain of the vessel. The second traveler injects humor while remaining a fan of the underdog, the shark is misunderstood, the killer whale is actually a really nice guy. The third will aim for chaos and feel the need to either harpoon or run something down.

Each time they play I gain a glimpse of their internal thoughts, thoughts that I may have never heard. And like most mothers, I enjoy that brief moment where everyone is happy, where they giggle together and form one solitary unit against the world. I bask in my happy family moment, where everyone appears to feel loved and lucky. I quietly congratulate myself on my wonderfully happy little family. Look what I’ve done. How clever am I.

Which is maybe why I struggled when I found the poetry on my iPad.

It was titled “Lizzie’s poem about sadness”. As I began to read the words I felt the familiar proud parental chest puff. At age eleven my poetry consisted solely of roses being red and violets being blue (which is dumb because they’re obviously violet) whereas she had written a real poem, with real emotion. My proud moment felt tarnished though by the pre teen angst. Within the words I felt a sting. Was she really that sad. Did she really feel alone? How could I not know this?

As I lie in my bed,
life goes on and on.
I watch it go by,
people come and go.
I rest my sadness on my elbow and look out of the window.
I’m all alone in my own little world,
happy as can be in there,
until someone taps my shoulder and I look out the window.
I’m watching, not living.
I live in my own world.

I approached her with caution. I told her how wonderful her poem was, how clever I thought she was, how I could have never written anything of that quality at age eleven. And then as gently as I could, I asked “are you really feeling that sad?” She looked confused for a moment, and then she put it all together, my worried face, the poem, the concern. There was an eye roll. “The poem is about sadness, what it feels like to be sad, I wrote what I feel like when I am sad”.

“Do you feel sad very often?”

“It wouldn’t be normal if I didn’t feel sad Mum. It’s not like the movies. If I was happy all the time then it would be fake. No-one can be happy all the time. You have to have the sad moments to be truly happy”

She had quoted me. I roll out that last sentence on a bi-weekly basis, usually in the middle of someones personal drama, whether it be not making the basketball team or chosen for the talent show. My nearly twelve year old had just shared a piece of my own advice with me.

When she was a baby consoling her was as simple as a feed, or a cuddle. As a toddler it was an offer of a bandaid or a promise of a trip to the zoo. As a tween it’s getting complicated. Sure, there are still the quick fix options of a download on iTunes or popcorn at the movies, but emotionally she’s beginning to work through things on her own. Before running to me it’s possible there will be journal entries, poetry, music played on high rotation, and conversations with good friends.

I’m not always the first option. It’s no longer an automatic reaction to run to Mum.

I always knew my job description was going to change, I knew there would be new skills required. I’m learning that it’s not just about being there at the right time. It’s about knowing when I don’t need to be there. Stepping back and letting her grow.

She tells me about future apartments in Paris, about University and travel. I am in awe of how beautiful she is but I’ve learnt to stop telling her on a half hourly basis. And even though I can see her braces, her ponytail and a hint of lipgloss, her face is exactly as I remember it at three years of age. I have to stop my mind from wandering back to a different a time, a time where she made me promise that we would be together forever. “I want to live with you and Daddy forever, you have to promise, pinky swear” and I did, because I knew it wouldn’t be me that would have to break it.

We have to have the sad moments to be truly happy.

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/10437498511254202582 Sarah-Jane

    Great post – just the perfect advice for my 12 year old (and me) right now. S x

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/13195684182481935384 Sarah

    Did you ask her if you could post her poem on your blog?

    I think parenting gets trickier as they get older.

    • http://www.blogger.com/profile/15026987107815016616 4 kids, 20 suitcases and a beagle

      Oh God Yes! There is NO WAY I would have posted that poem without full permission.

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/08609190990579743429 Kath

    I so hear you – my daughter turns thirteen today – http://blurbfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2012/05/lucky-lucky-thirteen.html

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/02893083162115591562 Catherine Rodie Blagg

    Beautiful post.. Made me a bit teary. Your daughter has your talent for writing, I hope she has a wonderful birthday x

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/00747747919718890319 Ariana

    My daughter is just almost six, but this still made me cry! Good job recognizing the changing roles moms play, and the grace to let her grow on her own. Thank you for sharing!

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/08499944412217904302 vegemitevix

    She sounds a little like my 12 year old. They come out with the most amazing wisdom, don’t they? I’m still in awe of them, these people my body and heart made. Lovely post Kirsty xx

  • http://www.theamericanresident.com/ Michelloui | The American Resident

    Oh, ugh. Now you have me thinking anxious mother thoughts about my 14 yo daughter. I know what you mean when you said how (relatively) easy it is to soothe them when they’re little. I do struggle with the changing roles. I try to have very open communiation with my daughter and we even talk about how difficult it is for me to adjust to her changes sometimes, and how we both need to be patient with ech other, etc etc. That works over all, but it’s all still so tough. Great post.

    • http://www.blogger.com/profile/15026987107815016616 4 kids, 20 suitcases and a beagle

      Exactly, it’s the whole patience thing and asking questions without pushing it too far. I really have no idea what I’m doing. 🙂

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/08939805218711968317 Mark Fendrick

    Wonderful post Kirsty. You have quite a young lady there. I am sure mom and dad are quite proud of her. I look for her to grow into a woman who will make a difference.

    • http://www.blogger.com/profile/15026987107815016616 4 kids, 20 suitcases and a beagle

      We are incredibly proud. She’s an absolute star.

  • Anonymous

    wow : “I rest my sadness on my elbow and look out of the window.”

    • http://www.blogger.com/profile/15026987107815016616 4 kids, 20 suitcases and a beagle

      I KNOW!!! Just beautiful.

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/09543258551991778888 mamabook

    There is not a part of this post that I did not love. That is all. x

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/02554185913419299026 hisqueen

    Love it..My step-son will be 12 in the fall and I’m having a very hard time not being a helicopter mom. He is very smart but also very gullible because he wants so hard to fit in and not be the smartest one in class. I’m letting out a bit of rope in the fall and letting him ride his bike to school..It’s going to be very hard to not worry about him getting there and back safely and not be swayed to do something he shouldn’t because someone talked him into it.
    I love the 1st travelers poem. I wonder if my little guy feels the same way sometimes.

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/12734450335251336493 Linda Sand

    My daughter is 42 and I still have one of the first poems she wrote. They continue to be our children no matter how old they get. 🙂

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/09834682329952369721 Joanne

    Well, I’d say you’re doing a mighty fine job of explaining life. Carry on. Grandmother approved.

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/00773581188651200076 Coal Valley View

    That’s a stunning poem! My eldest is 7 and I’m already fretting about her increasing independence but actually reading this has made me not worry so much – you’ve done an excellent job!! Mel x

  • http://www.blogger.com/profile/14643066498784270991 Jen at Semantically driven

    They grow up before your eyes don’t they and come out with the most mature things sometimes. It’s spectacular, and scary at the same time.