I’m a touch nervous this morning. Shaken, anxious. I’ve allowed my three children to walk to school. It’s not far, and they’ve done it before.
Why so nervous today, I hear you ask?
Well, other days when they’ve walked, I have left shortly after in my car for my regular gym visits. The school is on the way to my gym, so it is fortuitously timed that I drive down the main road, around the time they arrive at the pedestrian crossing. I see them. I toot the horn. They wave, cross the park and they’re in school. It’s perfect.
Today…today, I don’t have a gym sesh planned, I don’t have to be anywhere. So I let them walk off, and I am still home. It’s ten minutes before nine o’clock, as I write. I have no idea if they’ve arrived.
Of course, the school marks a roll. The secure section of the school’s website contains an electronic notification system, so I can log on and see if they’re marked late or absent. I can, obviously, email their teachers. But I need to let them do this. They are growing up, my boys particularly are itching for more responsibility. I have to temper my anxious concerns. I have to let go, little by little, so that they grow into functioning adults.
I’ve heard it said, many times, that to be a parent is like having your heart permanently torn, chewed up and spat out. It’s the way to never feel safe, or unworried, or calm again. Fears that previously never crossed my worried mind, now lurk in the corners, sometimes in the forefront, and refuse to be chided away. I used to think that parenting would become incrementally easier, as they grow in stature and maturity. I’m learning, however, that the fears and worries change as they do.
So, to the rest of the day. It’s now 9.15AM. Writing this post has been a very effective way to work through my concerns, and to prevent my grabbing the car keys and driving off, just to make sure they get there. I shall make myself a coffee, and commence the editing work I’ve been asked to do. And by the time 3.15PM rolls around, I’m sure I’ll be fine.