Firsts

This weekend was one full of firsts. I am realizing that the kids are growing up, and need to have a little space to do things on their own. I guess I came to this realization when I remembered that Rea will be turning 16 in 2 months! When I turned 16 I got my drivers license and my own set of keys to the car I shared with my big sister. Right now I can't even imagine Rea driving, let alone in as quick as 2 months!
So now that I realize that I need to start letting go, I made a very hard decision on Friday night. It was a HUGE step for me! Friday night was Homecoming and Rea asked me if she could ride to the ballgame with some friends. Yes, she asked to be turned loose to get in a car with 3 other teenagers and be driven 10 miles down a farm to market road in a car driven by a 17 year old!

SHIT!! That was all I could think for a few minutes as my mind temporarily froze up, not unlike my computer does at times when I really need to do something important, but then are forced to reboot it and start over. Well after I finally rebooted my brain I realized that I had to let her go. Needless to say, I didn't like my decision, but I was proud that I made the first step to what I know would be an endless string of hard decisions.

The kids and I got to the game about 30 minutes before Rea and her friends. My nerves were ragged as I sat in the bleachers waiting for her to arrive. I only called her 4 times! When she did arrive, I breathed a sigh of relief and tried to act "normal" when I saw her. I pushed away the tears that were welling up in my eyes (I've been doing a lot of that lately!) and restrained myself from throwing my arms around her! So she (and I) survived her first joy ride with the teenage species! Whew!
Rea wasn't alone in getting some freedom that night from this awfully overprotective mother. For the first time in the history of our town, the Friday night Homecoming game was SOLD OUT! They had to start seating our spectators on the visitors side because the bleachers were packed like sardines. Well, just barely into the 2nd quarter, Piggy got thirsty and asked if she could go down to the concession stand and get a drink. Well, we have been to many High School football games and have stood in line at the concession stand waiting for our chance to buy those cheesy nachos, artery clogging Frito pie, and giant pickles, but NEVER have we allowed Piggy to go by herself.

After she asked me about a dozen times if she could go by herself, I finally relented and said "Yes". I immediately felt a bit sick about my decision, but I really didn't want to get up and push my fat self out of the crammed row I was on, saying "excuse me" to the 12 people that I would have to squeeze past to get to the stairs and then not know if I would have a seat when I returned. Now, it's not like Piggy was going across a busy street to the convenience store. She was going down about 10 steps to the concession stand directly below us. Not to mention that I knew about 78% of the people at the game, ALL of whom know Piggy. So she went on her journey with a 5 dollar bill and returned safe and sound a few minutes later with a Sprite and a giant pixie stick. Whew! Again with the tears when I saw her. I pushed them back down and told her how proud I was of her. We both survived! Two points for Mom and ten points for Shelby!

Now that I was dishing out independence, I decided to give Bubsy a serving as well. Bubsy had a cross country meet about an hour away on Saturday morning. He had to be at the school at 5:30am and I was completely exhausted since we didn't get in from the ball game until nearly midnight the night before.
I have been to EVERY sporting event that my kids have been involved in with the exception of one when my little sister was in labor with her first child and maybe one or two others for various reasons. I actually sat down and calculated how many sporting events I have been to over the past 10 years (that's really pathetic, right?) and I figured that I been to approximately 600 games and practices. Even though that number sounds quite impressive, it is really no different that most parents.

I am the typical team mom and have volunteered many, many hours to the leagues that the kids are involved in. I am the type that makes those stupid "team shirts" with my kids' names and jersey numbers on the back. I am, and will always be, their greatest fan, biggest supporter, and loudest cheerleader (well, that's debatable as restrictions have been set... read on). Now that Bubsy is in Junior High, I don't have to be the taxi driver when he has sporting events. He rides the bus with the rest of the team. And I have promised not to make stupid shirts and to keep my voice down to a modest cheer as I root him on. Oh, and I was told by Bubsy a few years ago, NOT to run out and check on him if he gets hurt... at least not until the coach asks me to. I learned that lesson after he got hurt in football and didn't get up off the field right away. When he finally sat up and looked around all he saw was his mother's fat ass running across the football field with her stupid shirt on, boobs flapping up and down with every step!! Yeah, I learned my lesson on that one!

Anyway (get to the point, right?), Bubsy had the CC meet real early and far away, so I decided to let him go BY HIMSELF! I took him up to the school and it was still dark outside. He had his gym bag (which I packed for him with a pillow, extra shorts, an energy bar, energy water and some money - he rolled his eyes when I gave it to him and told him what was in it!) as he climbed the three big steps up the bus. They were big steps, for both of us.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, leaving him to embark on his own journey and create his own memories, which I will not be fortunate enough to share with him, I felt the tears welling up again. This time I just let them flow. I was alone, it was dark outside, and as I traveled down that lonely farm road, further and further away from my baby boy, I had a good old fashioned cry. The likes of which hadn't been seen in quite some time. I knew at that point that I was letting go of a sliver of my control in their lives. Inch by inch, piece by piece, they will gain their freedom and I will realize that I can't be there to mend every skinned knee or wipe every nose. That's not my job now. My job has become more important and, likewise, more difficult. My job is to let go. I will do it little by little and I will not enjoy it, but I will get it done.