A small voice broke the silence from the backseat.

“Mommy? Is f%@k a bad word? Joshua said it was. Then he told me some other words that are bad.”*

(*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.)

(*Also, I have the memory of a cabbage and can’t recall his real name.)

I snapped out of my daydream and fixed my eyeballs on the rearview mirror. My brain was trying to catch up with what my ears just clearly heard coming out of my precious six-year-old angel baby’s innocent mouth.

Then I glanced over at her three-year-old sister strapped into her car seat next to her, oblivious to the whole thing. She was staring out the window, watching a sea of elementary kids walk to their cars as we idled in the pick-up line.

An unreasonable amount of time passed before I found my voice.

I finally spoke up, saying “Yes, sweetie, it is a bad word. That is not a nice word at all.”  And of course, the inevitable happened.

“What does it mean?”

Sigh.

I wish I could tell you that I came up with some brilliant response right there on the spot. But I was at a loss for words and also fighting off an impending stroke. I’m pretty sure I said something profound like, “I’ll tell you later.”

Clinging to Control

It was just one of many moments when I desperately wanted to control the situation. I longed to wrap my daughter in bubble wrap. I wanted to shelter her heart and mind from the influence of a big wide world full of big wide worldly things.  I constantly found myself striving to create a utopian childhood for my kids where they never experienced hurt, fear, or stress.

You can imagine how relaxed and composed I was at all times.

I still believe that my responsibility as a mom of young kids was to protect them to the best of my ability. As a result, I was always on high alert and suffocating from the pressure to control every moment.

I spent so much time averting their eyes from the tabloid magazines in line at the grocery store (why are we teaching six year olds to read!?)

I tuned in to every conversation they had with friends on a playdate.

I actually approached teachers with concerns over playground behaviors (I now wish to publicly apologize to any of their primary teachers that may be reading this).

Stress was a constant presence as I did everything in my power to protect them.

Finding Their Ultimate Protection

Last week we were watching old videos of my daughter as an infant. She was on her tummy, struggling to push up on her arms. Eventually, she buried her face in the blanket and sobbed. I scooped her up, and she immediately stopped crying when I held her close. It’s as if she knew that I was there to protect her from the pain and struggle.  It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.

As we watched, she said something that I haven’t stopped thinking about. “Isn’t it so weird that I’m the same person? I mean, that baby is ME!” I nodded in agreement, once again at a loss for words.  It’s true. She is that same baby. She’s also that same six year old inadvertently cussing in the back seat.

Except she is also completely different. And honestly? So am I.

With another decade of parenting under my belt, I’ve come to realize that my children need so much more than I can ever provide on my own. It’s always been that way, but in those early days I was clearly operating under a delusion I like to call I’m in Complete and Total Control of This Entire Operation.

I mean, that story from the elementary school pick-up line sounds like a scene from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood compared to the conversations that have come up since our kids first dipped their toes into the cesspool known as high school. There’s no way I’m equipped to deal with what they face every single day!

I can offer my kids guidance and share my opinion on all manner of topics. Sometimes they take it willingly, and other times I give it anyway. But I can’t overcome this world we live in and make it a perfect place for them.

Our lives have changed since the days when they had a 7 pm bedtime. I can’t keep up with the ins and outs of social media, and half the time I’m not sure I know what language these kids are speaking. 

They’re going to encounter hard times and roadblocks that I won’t be able to drag out of their way. For the most part, I’m no longer able to shelter them from life and the scary things they’ll face. 

Instead, I’m handing the baton back to the One who gave me the honor of running this race in the first place. I’m sharing the truth with my kids about the One who is truly their safe place. I want them to realize where they can find ultimate shelter and protection in this life.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.  (Psalm 46:1)

My New Role

All my best efforts in being a good parent are buffered by the grace of God. It isn’t that I don’t desperately long to protect them from the pain this world dishes out, but I recognize my limitations now that they’re nearly adults. I’m learning to let go of the pressure I put on myself all those years ago.

Teaching them to seek their true source of protection gives me so much comfort as a mom. It’s so reassuring to me (and no doubt to my kids) that God is the one in control, not me. He has always been, and will always be, the author of their lives.

In the meantime, I’m soaking up these last few years of having someone in the house who can offer daily Instagram tech support.