I am becoming irrelevant.
I’m quite certain that in the not-too-distant future, Cat and Tate will announce, “Mommy, we regret to inform you that due to dynamic conditions within our family unit, we no longer need someone to serve in a Mom capacity full-time. We will keep your name and number on file as we may need your services from time to time on a contract basis, but effective immediately, your full-time services are no longer required. Take a minute, collect yourself, and then one of us can escort you out.”
I won’t be surprised. I have always known that my days in this role are numbered. I have always known that if I do my job, there will come a time when the girls no longer need me. If I do my job exceedingly well, they won’t need me but may still ask me to come around from time to time.
To mix my metaphors, I am in the midst of the parenting roller coaster, looking down the big drop and knowing the any second now, we will pick up speed and the ride will be completely outside of my control. I sit, teetering at the top, trying to enjoy the view and ignore the waves of nausea that I feel. “This is fun. This is exciting. I waited a long time to get to this point. Bring it on.” All of which I feel, except for the part of me that says, “No, no, no, STOP RIGHT NOW. I’m not ready.”
But my readiness, or lack thereof, is immaterial. They control the ride. And I am but one passenger of many who will pass through their lives.
My angst, my sadness, my sudden sense of irrelevance started with a kiss. Or rather started with a missed kiss.
The girls started camp this week. It is their third year at this particular camp and I suspected, correctly, that they would quickly get back into the camp groove. They have. Whereas in years past there was some clinging and whining and “Mommy, stay” this year I was summarily dismissed with a “Later, Mom.”
On day one of camp, as I was leaving, I said “Give Mom a kiss, good-bye.” Instead of upturned cheeks or puckered lips, both bent their heads and allowed me to kiss the backs of them, each one shielding the other from the view of their fellow campers who clearly were not burdened by the embarrassment of a Mother who wanted a kiss.
Yesterday, Cat, ever the Mommy-pleaser, allowed me to kiss the back of her head upon my departure. Tate, ever her own person, shook her head at me when I turned her way and said, “Peace OUT, Mom. Later.”
So just prior to drop off today, as we approached the drop off area, I whispered, “Ladies, am I still allowed to kiss you good-bye at drop off?” I wasn’t prepared for the raucous “No” they yelled in unison. “If you MUST kiss us, do it before we leave the house,” Tate offered. “If you MUST.”
And so it has started. Kisses at camp drop off are now verboten. Holding hands inside the school building was banned earlier this year. Tate, now nearly 7, has started sleeping through the night in her own bed with increasing frequency, something I did not think I would live to see. I will be banned from speaking in front of their friends will be next, followed soon by a prohibition on existing in an overly obvious manner. Despite my loyal years of service, I will be marginalized, left only with “special projects” and then, only if I am lucky.
And so I am left to hang on, try to enjoy the ride, and to try to add value where I can, all the while knowing that like all good rides, this one will be over much too soon, leaving me breathless and wanting more.
