motherhood, parenting, thoughts

Crying to Adele: The Emotions of Raising My Kids

So the other night my son and I were coming home from a mother/son date. Okay, okay, he’s four people, we’re not quite to Norman Bates level yet.

It was nine o’clock at night, the summer sun was setting, the stars were coming out and Henry asks me if we can listen to Adele.

Both of my kids LOVE Adele. In fact there’s a section of “Rolling in the Deep” where my two year old daughter always yells from the back seat,

“Here comes the pay off!”

It’s hilarious and so cute to watch them dance in their carseats to the more upbeat songs on the album.

But tonight, Henry requests a special one. A song called “Turning Tables”. It’s a beautiful song, slow and sad. It talks about the heartbreak of getting hurt in a relationship and the walls we put up after. My four year old son, for whatever reason, adores it.

He loves reading song lyrics. I see vast amounts of karaoke in his future. He can also memorize what he reads fairly quickly and so, there I am driving the car on this gorgeous night, hearing my little son in the backseat singing in his sweet little voice,

“I won’t let you close enough to hurt me, no, I won’t ask you, you to just desert me.” And there I am hearing all of it, bawling my eyes out.

I’m a very emotional person when it comes to my kids. I cry at the drop of a hat thinking about them. But for some reason that night and hearing him sing those words made me think about him growing up and having to face the lyrics of that song.

Some day someone is going to break that little boy’s heart. Some day someone is going to break my little girl’s heart. What am I going to do when it happens? What do parents of older children do?

It’s like everyone says, bigger kids bigger problems.

And as cheesy as it sounds, it’s true that a bandaid and a some ice cream can’t cure a broken heart. Well… the bandaid certainly can’t.

I wonder if there are support groups for parents of older kids who have had to go through this. Maybe there’s just not a building big enough to hold the meetings themselves.

You should at least get an award or the key to the city or something.

“Hey, someone broke your kids heart and you didn’t commit premeditated murder.”

Can I still have the key Mr. Mayor if it was just vehicular manslaughter?

The night this realization set in, Henry and I had just spent the whole night goofing around at a playground and then, later, at a trampoline park. We were both making each other laugh with jokes that only our family gets and both not wanting the night to end.

I don’t want this to end. There are some days, yes, I wish for them to be older, for some emotional maturity to kick in, but this, this time of simple joys and fixes, I don’t want this to end.

But it has to. If it doesn’t we ARE in Norman Bates material.

I hope and pray that some amazingly lucky man or woman comes along and fills my son or daughter’s heart the way their father has mine. I love thinking, even now, who that incredible person might be.

But time will tell if I’ll be able to weather the storm of broken hearts before it happens.

Maybe I should start watching “Orange is the New Black” with a notepad, just in case I can’t cut it.

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