It Gets Different

I was recently visiting with a young man who had children much younger than mine. His blond-haired toddling daughter was as bouncy as could be, wiggling all over him on the couch while he tried to carry on a conversation with the adults.

“It gets easier when they get older, right?” he asked me, smiling hopefully.

I paused.

And really thought about it.

“It gets…different.” I answered. 

This week, I realized Theo’s jeans are officially too manly for me to wash with the rest of his clothes. When they are little kid pants, you just throw everything in there together with some soap and give it a whirl. Now, his jeans are manly, tough, big, and need their own washing cycle.

I’ve been noticing other things too. No one asked to go to any Easter Egg hunts this year; that is little kid stuff. Both my boys are in men’s size socks now. In a quick few months, they will both be on their way to Middle School. Theo can play guitar. Remi can cook himself several meals from start to finish. There is men’s deodorant in their bathroom on the counter, and cologne.  And Remi actually smirked at me recently when I asked him about messaging with girls on messenger. 

Temperatures here in Michigan hit a whopping 80 degrees yesterday, so of course the entire state came unglued with outdoor activities. It’s a tradition, it happens every year in April before promptly falling back into the 40s, which it is forecast to do by Tuesday. Love Michigan. 

Remi’s wild child came out in full force in the sunshine. He was barefoot, muddy, soaked, and sunburnt for pretty much the entire day. He played basketball, made mud pies, played in the hose, hunted for worms, and filled a bucket full of water balloons.

“Mom, can you tie this for me?”  he asked while I sat in my chair, soaking up the sun with my dog at my feet.

 “Sure bud.” 

I tied water balloon after water balloon before asking myself the question, how much longer will he want me to tie his water balloons for him? 

When they were very little, the needs were constant. We weren’t tying water balloons, we were making sure they didn’t choke on them. Or die, or otherwise severely injure themselves in a thousand different ways. They were noisy, screechy, clingy, and stinky. They were very cute, but very demanding. I did not for one single day feel rested for the first five years of their lives, at minimum.

These days I wouldn’t say it is easier, but it is for sure different. The hard things are different. 

The hard is knowing how to counsel them on friends, politics, government, taxes, war, and all the other major issues of life. 

The hard is knowing how much space to give, and how much to reel them in. 

The hard is technology use and the role of social media and phones in their lives. 

The hard is eye-rolls and life-is-not-fair door slams. 

The hard is realizing they are growing up to be their own people, with their own choices and opinions.

So we do our best, and trust that Jesus fills in the cracks with his grace. 

Does it get easier? 

It gets…different.