A Mother's Prerogative

Mother's Day is Sunday and I'm writing about my kids because that's a mother's prerogative. 

The Driveway

Our driveway is 625 feet long from the front door to the road we live on. That’s the equivalent of two football fields. It’s not paved, but it’s covered every other year with 20 tons of coarse limestone and fine gravel that’s painstakingly spread from the back of an enormous tractor-trailer truck.

The gravel has to be replaced because, over the course of a year or two, it disappears. I don’t know where it goes, but for the past 25 years, about 250 tons of gravel has been spread on it, yet it’s still just one long driveway with a layer of gravel.

I don’t begrudge one single piece of disappearing gravel because that driveway represents the comings and goings of our life. The last leg of our newborn son Mike’s journey home from the hospital was on the driveway. The guests to the christening party, birthday parties, holidays and sleepovers came down the driveway to our house. From the stroller, to the little red wagon, to the tricycle, to the training wheels on the big bike, the driveway was a playground, a basketball court, a soccer arena, and a safe place for a little boy to discover the wonders of nature.

With every trip down the driveway I’m reminded of these times of new beginnings and first steps. The first trip down the driveway with Mike for kindergarten found me gripping his hand as hard as he was gripping mine. The driveway led him to the huge yellow bus and exciting experiences that lay ahead for him in school. Each new school year brought a level of independence to Mike’s walk down the driveway -- from holding my hand, to tolerating my accompaniment, and finally, to solo trips while I watched from the front steps.

From that vantage point I had a bird’s-eye view of a blossoming athlete and outdoorsman. The walk to the bus became the jog to the bus and then the sprint to the bus. In elementary school, no trip to the bus was complete without a stop at the creek that flowed under the bridge halfway down the driveway to check for nests, birds’ eggs, paw prints or feathers.

Soon, we were buying tents, camping gear and flashlights so Mike could explore these outdoor wonders at night. Then, hiking gear and mountain bikes were added to the mix and summer camps in the mountains replaced lifeguarding at the local pool. The driver’s license brought a new independence, and suddenly the driveway became the first leg of many eventful journeys past the bus stop. The gravel was my friend, as the crunching sound at midnight told me he was home and safe from a camping trip, football game, or a night out with friends.

College came all too suddenly and once again Mike was on his way down the driveway to yet another adventure. We were with him that time as the van inched its way over the gravel, filled to capacity with gym bags, athletic shoes, extra-long sheets, lamps, towels and, of course, camping and hiking gear. We paused for just a moment as Mike took a long look at the creek and then continued on, looking straight ahead, watching the road through tear-filled eyes.

Four years passed quickly, and the Environmental Science degree and desk job followed in short succession. A new Jeep clipped up and down the driveway. The Jeep was perfect for camping and hiking gear on weekends and was a respectable vehicle for the workweek. But, it wasn’t long before Mike explained to us that the desk job was not for him and, frankly, we were not surprised. He yearned to be outdoors and had applied for a job as a track and field coach at a small Division III college in California. He was hired sight unseen and was to be in California within a week. A flurry of activities followed, culminating on the driveway at sunrise the following Monday. The Jeep was replaced with a used Cherokee, and a trailer hitch pulled the U-Haul filled with Mike’s worldly possessions.

The driveway and the world awaited him as we gave him last-minute advice. I handed him a small package with instructions to open it later and hugged him too hard. With a hug, a handshake and a pat on the back from his Dad, he was off. We watched as the Cherokee crept down the driveway and, we were not surprised to see the red glow of the brake lights come on over the creek … the Cherokee paused for just a few seconds and then picked up speed as it rolled up the driveway, past the bus stop and out of sight.

The package? Homemade chocolate chip cookies, a turkey feather, and a GPS compass … so Mike can always find his way to the driveway and home.

Role Reversal

About 27 years ago when my daughter was four and I was teaching Lamaze classes, I would be invited to speak to nursing school classes when they went through their ObGyn rotation. Since her brother was in first grade, I would take my daughter with me to the gig. I would put her at a desk or table somewhere near me or in the back of the room with a coloring book and some crayons while I spoke. She never interrupted or fussed and was content for the hour or so I had to work.

Fast forward to last fall. My flight arrived in NYC around 11 a.m. and I went directly to her office in Manhattan. We traveled to an elementary school to watch Rosie's Theater Kids' teaching artists in action. RTKids organization sends professional musicians and dancers into under-privileged schools in Manhattan and teaches song, dance and movement to 5th-graders for a semester. Those little 5th-graders sang and danced their way through 45 minutes of Shrek's Let Your Freak Flag Fly.

Oh my goodness, I was in heaven. Kids on stage (and on a track) do that to me. I told Thecla, the instructor, "If you know anyone who needs cheering up, send these kids to them." My daughter and I left the school singing the song and laughing about the cute things the kids did.

We stopped for a quick lunch at "Five Napkin Burger" (we had salads : ) and then went back to her office since there was still part of her workday left.

So what did I do as she finished up her workday? ... I sat at a desk nearby hers, coloring. : ) Ha! Not really coloring, but writing.

Is this how life is supposed to work?