They really aren’t mine

The sun is setting low at my back as I push the accelerator on the 4-wheeler. We’ve come to the farm to pick up the big kids after a week away.

Photo Credit: deliriant

My son spent his week here with a friend. They worked on the broken 4-wheeler until the turn of the key and the push of the button roused the sluggish machine.

I’m enjoying the fruits of their labor. I speed past the barn and the riding arena to the open field off in the distance. I drive in a large circle over the ruts and bumps, enjoying the solitude.

When I return, both of my big kids are sitting on the picnic table smiling. He is thirteen, tall and tan, and looks so much like a man I’m not sure he’s the same boy I dropped off a week ago. She’s 10 and all aglow, Her hair and skin illuminated in the evening light. I marvel at her independence.

The sun hides behind the neighbor’s barn as they laugh and smile and revel in the late day cool. I watch from a distance and can’t help but feel separate from them.

Having two half-grown children and a toddler has given me new perspective. With my little one there is no separation. She will tug at my leg, ask to be picked up, and offer a sweet baby kiss. We are connected by an invisible tether. I am her mommy and we are one.

With my big kids, the tether is loosening. They are their own people.

My heart fills to overflowing as I watch them embrace their own giftedness — him with his fishing pole and left-handed bow; her with her paints, brushes, and art canvases. They are growing into themselves. And they are different from me.

Little-bit needs a clean bottom, a full belly, and safe place to play. She’s happy if those conditions are met. The big kids need room to stretch and grow and become. That’s what this week has been for them. Time away from home to stretch into their own skin and become who they will someday be.

I’ve always known they really aren’t mine. I’ve known it like I’ve known that Abraham Lincoln was the 16th president or that a² + b² = c². But today, maybe for the first time, I feel it. And although it’s not what I expected when they were toddlers tugging at my leg, it is good.

Counting gifts today with Ann:

Glimpse of a deer in the neighbors yard

Everyone home again

Albuterol and prednisone and deep breaths

Turkey sandwiches on a hot summer day

Friends who’ll open their door at a moments notice

Freshly polished nails and a thank you afterword