Ebb And Flow- a condition or rhythm of alternate forward and backward movement or of alternate decline and renewed advance. (Merriam-Webster)

I’m willing to bet that most parents of pre-teens/teenagers can  attest to the ebb and flow of their relationship with these often unpredictable human beings.  Because our family spends a lot of time at the beach, I’m particularly drawn to this analogy since as I sit and watch the waves on any visit, I am reminded of my children both literally and figuratively.

Somehow in a couple handfuls of years, we parents transform from the most important people in our children’s universe to the the most annoying.  Long forgotten (by them) are all of the times we wiped butts or kissed boo-boos or blew on food too hot for delicate little mouths to consume.  Of course it is our job as parents to selflessly perform all of these tasks (and many, many more) and to anticipate the day our kids will begin to pull away as natural development.  If we make them feel safe and loved and nurtured, they will one day be able to roll their eyes at the mere sound of our voices without even realizing what they are doing.
But then there are those glimmers of remembrance of your former standing in those same rolling eyes.  Maybe you are flat ironing your daughter’s hair on picture day and she’ll happen to hug you tightly and say how much she likes your styling tool technique, while what she’s really telling you is how much she loves and appreciates you. Or perhaps you take your son and his friends out for a snack between water polo tournament games and allow them to put down all the windows in your SUV and blare the music of their choosing. The not so restrained smile he throws in your direction tells you you’re sometimes a tiny bit cool and not a complete nag.
While my children are the most cherished people in my life, and the only two individuals whom I will permit to take me for granted, I still find it difficult to come to terms with the reality of my ever changing status in their eyes.  I am their parent first and foremost, a friend-like mom second.  Although I love when they look at me with awe and respect, like when I recall the time I saw Green Day at a little club in Boston (back before they were popular), or when I tell off the asshole trying to do laps in the FAMILY pool for calling a bunch of kids trying to play (including mine) “BRATS.”  The chorus of “Yeah! Mom!” from two not so tiny voices makes me smile almost as much as the first times their infant selves each gurgled “Mama.”
But these moments are few, and we all go on about the business of living and doing what we do and coming together and pulling apart and that is how it should be.  We all have our things to get done and some of them happen to include each other while others don’t so much.  Like marathon training, for example.  Most of the time Some of time  There are times (I’m 11 weeks in so give me a break) I’m excited to have both this 26.2 mile  goal to keep me running and the constant feeling of accomplishment that comes with checking completed workouts off my training schedule.  And then there are the (more frequent) days when I experience a runner’s existential crisis, when I wonder what is the point of it all?  I spend increasing amounts of time by myself logging miles so I’m lonely.  I am more and more physically and emotionally exhausted so I’m crabby.  I’m gone for hours on the weekend running long, and spend the rest of the day out of commission- eating and napping so I’m missing my family.  I register for a half-marathon as part of my training (even though I’ve gotten really, really slow) so I have to get up at 4:15am.  I stumble quietly down the stairs so as not to disturb my sleeping family.  I start the coffee, make some food and find the answer to my existential crisis tucked inside a hand-made purple envelope.  Although I was asked not to post the contents of said envelope on social media, I will divulge this much- it included photos of myself and one of my children, the following thoughtfully selected motivational quote

and the sweetest hand-written declaration of love and admiration I have ever received.

Maybe it was all of my diligent training, or my careful selection of pre-race nutrition, or simply that the stars were aligned in my favor early last Sunday morning. But while I’m not a gambling gal by nature, I’m willing to bet again that the contents of that purple envelope had more to do with my better than expected 13.1 mile finish than any of the other possible factors.  And when I returned home, the warm hug and thoughtful “how was your race?” from my other child was all the existential affirmation I’ll ever need, even if it was followed by a “Ugghh, you stink.”

 

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