The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Here is my new mantra. I say it, wait one hour, then repeat. My kids will be okay. My kids will be okay. My kids . . . you get the idea. When or if I'll actually believe it is another story. When they were younger, all I worried about was them being physically hurt. I knew I could kiss away the bumps and bruises but the thought of anything posing a real threat to either one of them was enough to propel me to the nearest bottle of wine. Now that they're older, I find myself worrying more about their emotional, psychological well-being, their ability to function as productive, responsible adults. With hindsight, those early years seem like a walk on the beach. Walking, talking, learning to feed themselves, writing their names, riding a bike, so many skills were taught and mastered within hours, days, months. Now, everything has shifted into slow motion. Waiting for kids to decide on a major, find a job, buy their own car, move into their own places, these things seem to be measured in weeks, months, even (the horror) years. I keep asking myself, when is this maturity thing going to kick into high gear? Are they ever going to be motivated enough to WANT to earn the money it takes to purchase big-ticket items for themselves? What is it going to take for them to get so fed up with having their parents looking over their shoulders, critiquing their decisions and offering unwanted advice that they actually leave?

What's really frustrating is there are moments I think we're almost there. When my son comes up to me saying he can't wait for school to start. When my daughter relays her discussion with a doctor about reducing her bill to an amount SHE can afford. When I come home to a clean kitchen. All these moments give me hope. And then there are the other moments. Seeing my son play World of Warcraft for hours on end. Watching my daughter leave yet another job before the six month mark. Having to remind them for the upteenth time to clean the bathroom. I want to enjoy the time I have left cohabiting with my kids but it's getting harder and harder. Am I just enabling them? Or am I simply providing a safety net while they work up the courage to pack their bags? I have to believe it's the latter, because as much as I loved my parents, as much as I appreciated my comfortable lifestyle, I couldn't wait to get out on my own. Scary or not, I revelled in those first few years of independence and I want my own children to experience those feelings,too. Soon.