Roots And Wings...

We all know that we're supposed to give our children roots and wings.
Roots to give them a foundation. Something to be a part of. Something to ground them.
Wings so that they may fly. On their own. Without us.
Since my kids are all under age seven, I can go for long periods of time just focusing on the roots. I tell myself that the wings part will come later, and I can sometimes go for weeks actually believing that. But then there are times, like this week, when I am reminded that the wings part, to some extent, takes place now, too. I think, That's right, this is part of my job, too. And then I think how over-rated wings are.

It's counter intuitive, really.
Holding them close, and then pushing them away.
And yet, if we don't, we're only doing half of our job.

Earlier this week, B had his third swim class. This time, I had been asked to stay outside of the pool area, and watch through the one way glass. I promised him we'd get a cheeseburger for lunch if he did a good job. So I stood on the other side of the door, watching, as he laid on the concrete on the side of the pool and cried.
No, that's not really true. He didn't cry.
He sobbed.

Of course my initial reaction was to go in and tell him that I would sit right there and watch. But I had been asked not to, so I didn't. Instead, I waited, and just watched him. As he sobbed.

I thought of going into the pool area despite being asked not to. Then I thought of going in, grabbing him, and leaving. The instructor thought it would be a good thing for me to watch from behind the glass. But I was trying to figure out which part of this was good.

After obsessing for a few minutes, I decided that I needed to give it a chance, so that's what I did.
I stayed there and watched him sob, for the majority of the class. I came close to sobbing myself, for the majority of the class. And then, when the class was over, I went in and got him, and wrapped him in a towel. While he was still sobbing. And stating that he didn't want to learn how to swim.

 I bought him a cheeseburger anyway, in the hopes that he would remember the cheeseburger, and not the trauma of the swim class when his mother wasn't there.

Today before school, N had an audition for the school talent show. Well, she was supposed to have an audition for the talent show. She had been excited about it for weeks. I suspected that there would be some drama as it got closer. She is only six, after all, and this would involve singing, on a stage, in front of people. Part of me had even thought I should tell her she needed to wait until next year. But then I figured it was probably better to let her try, and see how it goes.

We were actually drama free the whole time leading up to the audition. But then we got to the audition. And she saw that there were actually people there. And she started sobbing. She calmed down for a while, until it was her turn. Then she sobbed some more. 

Ultimately, there was no audition. Which was just fine with me. But apparently, the only thing that made N sob more than the thought of an audition was the thought of not doing an audition. She declared that she wanted to go home with me instead of going to school. I actually thought about it, and looking at her tear streaked face, it was hard to tell her no. But I did.


She asked me to walk her to her class, which is highly frowned upon. I decided I didn't care, and walked her to class anyway.


Tonight in our house, no one was sobbing. Or even crying. It might have something to do with my new philosophy:

Screw you, wings.
I'm going back to my roots.

At least for now.