She scurried around excitedly getting ready to go to camp. Her bags had been packed and set by the door the night before and she was putting together her last minute items. I was stripping the toddler's bed of dirty sheets to throw into the wash before we left to bring her to the bus.
"Are you all ready?" I called from the bedroom.
"Yup!" she said. "I'm so excited!"
I came around the corner with handfuls of bedding and made my way down the stairs. She followed me.
"You remember what I expect of you at camp?" I asked her as I loaded up the washing machine.
"Yes." she said.
"Be respectful to your teachers, your bigs and the other kids. Don't leave anyone out. Include kids who are playing by themselves. Go to sleep when it's lights-out."
"But Mom?" she asked.
"What?" I said.
"Never mind." she said.
Her little mind churns all day and I'm almost positive it goes all night too. She is a deep thinker but lucky for me, a big talker so I usually know what's on her mind. When she stops herself from speaking what's on her mind, I know it's something that's bothering her.
For a few months, she has confided in me that she doesn't feel like she has any friends. I've relayed to her time and time again that everyone feels that way sometimes, even adults and grandparents too. I've given her tools to help her overcome that feeling. Introduce yourself to someone new. Reconnect with someone you already know. Invite someone over. Do something kind for someone else. To have a friend, you have to be a friend. You can't always wait for someone to come to you. Most of the time, you have to reach out.
"Step out of your comfort zone." she said this morning as I spit out more advice. "Loosen up."
"See?" I thought to myself. "She'll be fine. I don't know why I'm even having this conversation with her."
As we drove to the church, she visited with her siblings from the backseat and answered all of their questions about what camp was going to be like. When we parked, I asked her if she wanted to wait for the bus in the car or if she wanted to go wait with the other kids by the church doors.
"I'll go with the other kids." she said, confidently.
I watched her walk away with her backpack and sleeping bag and find a place among the crowd. The first thing I noticed about her is how small she is compared to those her age. The doctors have always told me that she is short for her age but I never really noticed it. At home, she is the pack leader, outgoing, boisterous and our biggest child but suddenly she seemed so small.
I saw her scan the crowd for any familiar faces but there were none. She moved to the side, quiet, while the other campers chatted with each other. I wanted to go nudge her into the crowd and tell her to go introduce herself to someone. I restrained myself. I can't hover over her.
Time passed and more kids arrived. I saw one of her friends and I felt some relief that she found a familiar face. Her friend didn't see her and walked into the crowd and started visiting with some other girls. She continued to stand by herself, clutching her sleeping bag and pillow, looking towards the road for the bus. I could tell she was fighting back tears.
I waved to her and she came walking back to me.
"Are any of your friends here yet?" I asked her.
"Well, yes, but they are with their other friends." she said, trying her best to be strong.
"That's ok." I said. "You can be friends with them too. Don't be shy. Some of my best friends were friends that I made at camp."
She nodded, conflicted between confidence and nervousness and turned around and walked back towards the group.
She is a complex child who has a difficult time relating to other children her age at times but she has the same needs as every other child her age. She needs friends. She wants to feel loved and included. At home, we meet her needs. She is fed, bathed, hugged and listened to. For years, that was good enough. As we transition into these school age years, those things aren't always enough.
The pain that our children experience, we as parents experience them as well, and sometimes that pain from our youth is still fresh in our minds. That just hit me as I watched her board the bus, unsure of who she was going to sit with, going to a place she hadn't been before, without Mom or Dad or grandparents. I was watching her face an uncomfortable situation and she was having to navigate it without me. The only tools she had were what words of mine she had retained in her mind, if any.
I got home and unloaded the kids and woke up my sleeping hubby. I told him I had a hard time driving away and resisted the urge to go onto that bus and scoop her up and take her back home with me. He chuckled and patted me on the back and said, "There, there." He told me of his childhood, how just as he felt comfortable in one place, they packed up and moved again and he would have to start all over again. She has moved once in her life and it was about six miles away. She is fine. I'm making way to big a deal out of this.
I nodded. I knew what he was saying but it wasn't just that she was going to camp for a few days that was upsetting me. This was just the beginning of parenting from a distance. Watching your older children navigate difficult situations on their own. Wishing you could fix something but knowing it's best to let them figure it out. Watching your strong, confident child reduce to tears and nervousness as she leaves for three days.
"She will have fun like I always did at camp. I didn't know anyone when I moved out here and I still had fun. It's camp. It's fun." he reassured me. "You are way overthinking this."
"Probably." I said. "I can still worry though. I will always worry. That's what moms do best."
She occupied my thoughts for the rest of the day and by the time the sun rose the next morning, I stopped worrying. I went to pick her up yesterday and what do you know?
"CAMP WAS AMAZING AND I CAN'T WAIT TO GO BACK, MOM! I MADE NEW FRIENDS AND STONY LAKE IS SO FUN!"
"Are you all ready?" I called from the bedroom.
"Yup!" she said. "I'm so excited!"
I came around the corner with handfuls of bedding and made my way down the stairs. She followed me.
"You remember what I expect of you at camp?" I asked her as I loaded up the washing machine.
"Yes." she said.
"Be respectful to your teachers, your bigs and the other kids. Don't leave anyone out. Include kids who are playing by themselves. Go to sleep when it's lights-out."
"But Mom?" she asked.
"What?" I said.
"Never mind." she said.
Her little mind churns all day and I'm almost positive it goes all night too. She is a deep thinker but lucky for me, a big talker so I usually know what's on her mind. When she stops herself from speaking what's on her mind, I know it's something that's bothering her.
For a few months, she has confided in me that she doesn't feel like she has any friends. I've relayed to her time and time again that everyone feels that way sometimes, even adults and grandparents too. I've given her tools to help her overcome that feeling. Introduce yourself to someone new. Reconnect with someone you already know. Invite someone over. Do something kind for someone else. To have a friend, you have to be a friend. You can't always wait for someone to come to you. Most of the time, you have to reach out.
"Step out of your comfort zone." she said this morning as I spit out more advice. "Loosen up."
"See?" I thought to myself. "She'll be fine. I don't know why I'm even having this conversation with her."
As we drove to the church, she visited with her siblings from the backseat and answered all of their questions about what camp was going to be like. When we parked, I asked her if she wanted to wait for the bus in the car or if she wanted to go wait with the other kids by the church doors.
"I'll go with the other kids." she said, confidently.
I watched her walk away with her backpack and sleeping bag and find a place among the crowd. The first thing I noticed about her is how small she is compared to those her age. The doctors have always told me that she is short for her age but I never really noticed it. At home, she is the pack leader, outgoing, boisterous and our biggest child but suddenly she seemed so small.
I saw her scan the crowd for any familiar faces but there were none. She moved to the side, quiet, while the other campers chatted with each other. I wanted to go nudge her into the crowd and tell her to go introduce herself to someone. I restrained myself. I can't hover over her.
Time passed and more kids arrived. I saw one of her friends and I felt some relief that she found a familiar face. Her friend didn't see her and walked into the crowd and started visiting with some other girls. She continued to stand by herself, clutching her sleeping bag and pillow, looking towards the road for the bus. I could tell she was fighting back tears.
I waved to her and she came walking back to me.
"Are any of your friends here yet?" I asked her.
"Well, yes, but they are with their other friends." she said, trying her best to be strong.
"That's ok." I said. "You can be friends with them too. Don't be shy. Some of my best friends were friends that I made at camp."
She nodded, conflicted between confidence and nervousness and turned around and walked back towards the group.
She is a complex child who has a difficult time relating to other children her age at times but she has the same needs as every other child her age. She needs friends. She wants to feel loved and included. At home, we meet her needs. She is fed, bathed, hugged and listened to. For years, that was good enough. As we transition into these school age years, those things aren't always enough.
The pain that our children experience, we as parents experience them as well, and sometimes that pain from our youth is still fresh in our minds. That just hit me as I watched her board the bus, unsure of who she was going to sit with, going to a place she hadn't been before, without Mom or Dad or grandparents. I was watching her face an uncomfortable situation and she was having to navigate it without me. The only tools she had were what words of mine she had retained in her mind, if any.
I got home and unloaded the kids and woke up my sleeping hubby. I told him I had a hard time driving away and resisted the urge to go onto that bus and scoop her up and take her back home with me. He chuckled and patted me on the back and said, "There, there." He told me of his childhood, how just as he felt comfortable in one place, they packed up and moved again and he would have to start all over again. She has moved once in her life and it was about six miles away. She is fine. I'm making way to big a deal out of this.
I nodded. I knew what he was saying but it wasn't just that she was going to camp for a few days that was upsetting me. This was just the beginning of parenting from a distance. Watching your older children navigate difficult situations on their own. Wishing you could fix something but knowing it's best to let them figure it out. Watching your strong, confident child reduce to tears and nervousness as she leaves for three days.
"She will have fun like I always did at camp. I didn't know anyone when I moved out here and I still had fun. It's camp. It's fun." he reassured me. "You are way overthinking this."
"Probably." I said. "I can still worry though. I will always worry. That's what moms do best."
She occupied my thoughts for the rest of the day and by the time the sun rose the next morning, I stopped worrying. I went to pick her up yesterday and what do you know?
"CAMP WAS AMAZING AND I CAN'T WAIT TO GO BACK, MOM! I MADE NEW FRIENDS AND STONY LAKE IS SO FUN!"
Comments
Post a Comment