Rapids

I’ve been whitewater rafting a few times in my life - a youth group trip here, a family vacation there. From what I remember, it’s pretty fun. You paddle when you’re told to paddle, try not to fall out, and enjoy the ride. All of the hard stuff is done by the guy in the back who is paid to steer and get you through safely. I enjoyed the contrast between breathtaking rapids and lazy, slow times when you let the river pull you gently forward.

These days, I live in an area defined by its lakes and beaches, but lately I feel like I’m constantly on a whitewater trip. Every day brings new challenges, some seen, some that sneak up on me. And just when I think we’re done, another set of rocks looms ahead. It has been such a turbulent year, ending, for us, in lots and lots and lots of transitions. And like the guide at the back of the boat, my job has seemed to be the person who looks ahead to what’s coming and steers us to the most fun, yet safest route.

And to be honest, I am really, really bad at that. I always exaggerate the bad and ruin the calm waters looking ahead to the next rapids. it’s a great plan for keeping everyone alive, but not so much for letting us all enjoy the ride.

A few weeks ago, in the middle of a bunch of stress for me, Forrest became fed up with a lot of food pickiness and rudeness from the kiddos. He decided that they’re now on KP duty for the indefinite future. At the time, I was very annoyed. Really? A change in rules right then? When I was too busy to even remember whether I’d brushed my teeth most days? He laughed and said, “This is not a coincidence. Why do you think this storm and stress is happening right now? Because you’re distracted and not smoothing things out.” After a few moments of grumpiness, I realized he was right. What looked like a terrible case of “spoiled-kid-itis” was actually their way of letting us know that they’re ready for the next jump up in responsibility.

Like the formerly well-behaved baby who regresses upon learning to crawl, my bigger kids aren’t quite big enough yet to verbalize that they’re ready to take on more grown up chores. No longer just able to help out with the safe stuff, they want to have the ability to decide, really decide, how and when they eat. And the flip side of that is that they need to learn, really learn, how to cook.

That scares me. Not the safety part of it. They know their way around a campfire and a stove, and no child of mine makes it past first grade without learning how to make tea. But what if they decide to have peanut butter sandwiches for every. single. meal. What if I become that parent whose kid doesn’t eat anything but cereal?

There have been so many river rapids these last few weeks. My kids, like all kids, don’t exactly like it when you put more work on their plates. Saying things like, “If you want to have a say in what you eat, you need to make it for yourself,” doesn’t go over well. (It’s even worse because now that Forrest and I aren’t cooking to a kid palate as much, we're having fewer pb&j’s and more tuna melts.) All I want is to be that guide and steer our family around this hard time. Who cares? Yeah, they’ll throw a fit when the crusts aren’t cut off perfectly, but isn’t that better than being the mom whose kid brings an apple and a cheese stick for lunch because she’s pissed off that she had to help?

But I don’t want to steer this boat forever. As I said, I’m not great at it. And I don’t get to enjoy the ride at all. And, not for nothing, but in the middle of all this conflict, we’ve seen our kids make great strides in wanting to be involved in managing their diabetes. Related? I don’t know. It’s time to hand the steering over to them, just a little bit more.

This year, we’ve all had to learn the river, without the many, many supports we usually have. I often had to remind myself that when I had children, I did not ever expect that I would be cut off from friends, family, school, childcare, or even, at first, playgrounds and other child-exhaustion tools. We’ve learned to navigate our own rivers and along the way, our kids have had to pick up the oar occasionally too. I don’t know how that will affect them. As hard as it’s been, I don’t think I would wish that growth away. They’re turning out to be pretty amazing people and nearly as stubborn as their parents.

And I know this: when their day comes, they’ll be damn ready to steer their own boats.