Teen in the House

I am the mother of a teen. That’s the kind of news that starts to sink in a few days before it actually happens, and then continues a few weeks after that. It’s not that I either want or expect my children to stay eternally young. I like all of the stages we’ve traversed together, and I look forward to more.

But when you have a teen in the house, there is just no way to deny that time is moving forward. Quickly.

We’re on vacation in Jackson, Wyoming, and while Ed and Connor make their way through a ropes course together, I have opted to play the role of chaperone to Helen. She’s too young- or more likely-too small to be with them. She’s stuck on a smaller course. It kills her. I know.

And this is somewhat ironic, since just a few hours earlier we went hiking to a rock that our travel book declared made a great place to jump into the lake – at least 25 feet below. Helen was the first to take the leap, and Connor only followed to save his pride.

Regardless, as I look up at Helen, it hits me like the proverbial ton of bricks.

Parenting from here on out involves a lot of trust. Trust that the world will provide a safe place to tether to, and trust that your child will find those places and tether on.

It’s a series of moments when I realize that my heart is doomed to dangle dangerously outside my body, and the best thing to do is let that happen.

And even when I’m not sure what the ending will be, the story must be written in someone else’s handwriting.

Elaine