always there

 One of the things I always try to do when dropping Ada off for school (and have been doing for almost 2 years now! Time...) is to watch her until she's gone. It's not always possible if somebody is impatience behind me or a teacher is standing in the way of the door, but I try to see her as long as I can. Very occasionally I can count on her looking back and waving or smiling or blowing a kiss. But I am always watching, regardless.

Recently I was thinking about how that is such a parallel to parenting. We really try so hard to be there, to be waiting in the wings, or to be openly and obviously standing at the ready. We try to make it clear that we will always try to do our best, to be available to teach, aid, guide, correct, encourage. Sometimes I worry that I am too much of a crutch, too often there to help when they should be figuring it all out themselves. But in the end, I know that what I want for them is to be sure of me, to be certain that I am a pillar that won't crumble or disappear suddenly from their lives. 

But...kids are kind of oblivious. Ada is by far our most perceptive so far, she really does miss much. She's aware of others' emotions and often sees deeper meaning behind actions that go unnoticed by so many. However, I don't think she's aware of even half the times I am standing behind her—either literally or figuratively—ready to support her in any way. And that doesn't bother me. In fact, I have started to realize that it must symbolize some kind of inherent trust, an innate belief in me as a mother. She knows that I won't be gone when she turns around. She knows that her mom—and dad, for that matter—are going to be nearby, sometimes in spirit and sometimes in person, but always there. It doesn't have to be a question for any of our children whether we will be the parents we have shown them time after time after time that we are: committed, loving, serious about boundaries, excited to share fun, happy for them to grown, eager for them to learn. We have tried our hardest for them to see that we love them, purely and without condition. And that we are always there, usually watching when they don't even realize it, seeing them in their quiet moments, their beautiful moments, their difficult moments, their dark and scary moments. We are always there. And always will be.

Every time that Ada chooses to turn around right before the gate shuts behind her or the door to her classroom swings shut, she will always see me, eyes and heart open to her going into the world on her own, but never alone.