A battle rages within me. The soft, maternal, mama-bear part wants my children to be protected and to never hurt. The no-nonsense, suck-it-up girl in me wants them to be tough. Yesterday, the battle intensified.
Here's what happened: PalmGirl is taking sailing lessons, and her lesson yesterday was cut short when she was hit in the head with the boom. It knocked her into the bay and left a nasty lump on her forehead. She was understandably shaken, and she lost some enthusiasm for sailing. In fact, she said, "Sailing is hard and scary, and I don't want to do it anymore." I refused to let her quit after 2 lessons, reminding her of times in the past (tennis lessons, for example) when she didn't like something at first but ended up enjoying it. I was actually frightened by her accident and the sight of the bump on the head, but I had to pretend to be calm for her sake (a part of the mom job that no one warned me about!). She was fine, with no signs of a concussion, and she was riding her bike later that afternoon. She's up now and dressed for her lesson today.
Then last night PalmBoy called from Boy Scout camp. It's his first time away from home without family for this long, and he's homesick. He was upset and wanted to come home. He said his friends were homesick, too, and that one was getting to go home early because of it. I kept our conversation upbeat and got him to tell me about what he's been doing. He calmed down as we talked and even laughed about some things. I told him that he would regret it if he gave up and that I knew he was tough enough to stick it out and enjoy camp. I reminded him of our conversation about giving his worries and fears to God, relying on Him for strength and comfort. He seemed receptive and better by the time we hung up. PalmPilot called back and talked to his scoutmaster, and he said that all the first-time campers were homesick, but that they'd be okay. He said PalmBoy had been maturing on this trip -- taking initiative about things, etc. That made me feel a little better, but I still tossed and turned much of the night.
I don't like to see my "babies" in pain. I don't like to remember how homesick I was at Girl Scout camp and know that my son is going through that. I don't like to pretend to be calm and in control when on the inside I'm crying. The mama-bear in me is miserable right now.
The no-nonsense, suck-it-up girl in me, however, knows that in the long term, the PalmKids will grow through these experiences. If I jump in and make everything better for them they won't learn to be strong. They won't have confidence that they can try new things. They'll be paralyzed or, at the very least, crippled. They'll regret the things they didn't do.
I'm writing all of this now so I can look back in those "weak" moments when I want to gather my chicks into the nest and stay safe. I'm reminding myself that I must keep the long view in mind. What kind of adults do I want my children to be? I must consider that and work backwards from there. I must not be carried along by my emotions, teaching my children to be captive to
their emotions. Most of all, I want them to have a strong, unshakeable faith in God. They need to see that in me, and I've failed countless times. They need to see me not giving up, though. They need to see me sticking it out in the tough times. Oh, God, increase my faith!
The battle rages, and it shows no signs of letting up anytime soon. May we parents fight hard, long, and strong.