Growing up

For the first five months that BB was in kindergarten, every single drawing that she brought home was labeled, “BB AND MAMA.” It didn’t seem to matter what the subject of the drawing was: landscapes (a house with a door and windows), portraits (BB in neon pink and yellow, with enormous eyes), hearts and flowers, oddly appealing bits of geometric abstraction — all of them bore somewhere, “BB AND MAMA.” It was her compass rose, pointing always toward home.

Now, at the end of April, when I empty BB’s backpack at the end of the school day, I find drawings that are carefully labeled in a firm, controlled hand. Just her name, a simple signature in clear capitals and lower-case letters in their proper order. Just BB, standing alone.

I would like to say that it’s been a smooth transition from there to here, but of course it hasn’t been. There were complications, contradictions, an avalanche of notes typed or written to the finest specifications for heartbreak: “DeaR MAMA I DoNT wANt to Go To scHool plEAsE cAN I stAY HoME wiTH You.” When the heartbreak failed to have the desired effect, there was rigorous scientific experimentation to see if some combination of willfulness, piteousness, and flat-out misbehavior would do the job. The testing has eased now, but I don’t expect it to end. She is a stubborn and gifted investigator into the ways by which one may affect the actions of other human beings, and it is clear that she will never stop probing until she has determined exactly which of the laws governing the operation of the universe are susceptible to her control. It is awe-inspiring to watch. It is often exhausting to supervise. There is no respite to the process of growing up. Not for any one of us.


There was some discussion on the blogs awhile ago as to whether it was easier or harder to parent children once they reached school age. People I respect made arguments in support of both positions; and I nodded in agreement to points made by both sides. They’re both right, after all. Parenting is never simple: There are things that get much, much easier as the kids get older. There are things that get much, much harder. For myself, though, I’d have to say that it has gotten easier, if for no other reason than that my work week is now thirty hours shorter than it used to be. Well. Between half-days, holidays, school vacations, sick days, and volunteer requests, it is never a full thirty hours per week that I get off from the immediacies of parenting. I do say no to almost everything that’s asked of me during those hours — after eight long years of having to ask for every single moment I ever got to myself, I don’t feel any shame at all about turning down volunteer requests. The volunteers in our school do good work, of course. But I can’t help but notice how many of their activities are about busy work and tending to social connections. I don’t have the patience for such things anymore. Each hour I have to myself seems too precious to squander. After eight years of being on call to my family 24/7, I have earned the right, I think, to know my own strengths and play to them for as long as I can.

So I spend my hours as intelligently as possible. I take long walks, because walking is the only exercise I’ve ever liked. I tend to my closest relationships. I read. And I write. I hope to have, by sometime this summer, a completed first draft of a novel. Not something I ever intend to circulate or publish, but something I did entirely for myself, to see what the skills are that one must develop to accomplish such a thing, and to see whether or not it is fun. It is fun, actually — that’s surprised me, how much fun it is. It’s surprised me how much I enjoy submerging myself in something that isn’t for the benefit of anyone at all, except possibly myself. Whether I have managed to acquire novel-writing skills in the process, I have no idea. But I have acquired the skill of being for myself when I can, the skill of standing alone, just myself and my own brain getting down to work at something. It surprises me, how much I enjoy it all. It surprises me, how rewarding it is to go on growing up.