Holding on Tight
But not to the ones you'd think.
People always say to me, “Twins going to college, you must have double the stress.” And I’ve actually come around to the idea that doing everything at once might be easier than the stair step way. I remember when the twins were out of the toddler years and I’d see newer parents with Irish twins, fifteen months apart, and I thought, that looks harder. One barely talking, one not yet. Diapers and potty training and teething and midnight feedings all at once. Bless you all.
We never took a birthing class. Never did a baby class in the hospital. We flew completely blind eighteen years ago. If you know us, you are Zero Level of Surprised. Nothing has changed.
And I thought this would be the year of holding tight to the twins, grasping at every last thing they did. But I’ve found myself holding on to someone else instead.
As you may know, there’s a seven-year gap between my twins and my youngest. Seven grades apart in parenting terms might as well be a generation. Different parents, really, because we are different parents now. Different technology, different pace, different singleton and twin things. And I know what’s coming for him, because I watched it happen with his brothers. The shift into middle school…the hugs may get a little shorter. They seem to need you a little less. There’s the last time you physically picked them up. The last time they reached for your hand in public. Free time with friends is much preferred over time with Mom and Dad. The deodorant.
So I find myself holding on more tightly to him right now, even as the seniors are doing exactly what seniors should be doing: pulling away, making plans, filling their calendars and gas tanks. There’s definitely the spoiling of the nest. It’s almost like senior year is the first year of nostalgia and also the first year of them being gone. The twins are out of the house so much, and that is everything you would hope for. People are already asking my youngest how he feels about his brothers leaving for college. I watch him struggle to answer it because, in so many ways, they are already so often not home.
I’ve been thinking about how differently people experience this season. Sending your oldest daughter to college is a different thing than sending your youngest. Sending a mediator middle child is different than sending the life of the party youngest one. Distance matters. Gender dynamics matter. The specific role that child played in your home matters. It’s not one experience. It’s as many experiences as there are families. If you’ve parented long enough, you know that this is a big DUH.
I don’t know what’s coming. I keep hearing that you get a new version of your kids back when they return from college, a better conversation, a real friendship forming, and I believe that. I’m holding onto that.
I also know what a privilege all of this is. The logistics, the worries I already have about the long drives they will take alone. But there’s also realization about some of the time I’ll have to focus on new things in my own growth and wellness.
For now, my mind is swimming between the present, the future, the past. As much as I am holding on, I’m letting go, and I’m so curious about these next chapters for all of us. I understand that while there are about to be more goodbyes than we’ve ever experienced as a family, there are, God willing, going to be just as many welcome homes.