I’ve always loved teenagers.
My husband and I were youth pastors when we started our family, and adding “youth babies” to our group was a great joy for us. Our students rocked them, doted on them, played hide and seek with them in the church, babysat them, and were a genuine extension of our family.
Being a young mom surrounded by teens was a gift.
In fact, being a young mom surrounded by teens instead of toddlers was the real gift a lot of times, because those little bitties were just so doggone needy. Engaging with teenagers was my break from the ceaseless grind of parenting littles. There is no rest for the weary with small children, and I had to be constantly “at the ready” for whatever they needed. When they were hungry, I was there for them. When they were sick or hurting, I was there for them. When they were learning through play, I was there for them. If they had a bad dream or needed a hug in the middle of the night or just wanted to snuggle in my lap, it didn’t matter what I had been doing a moment before, I was there for them.
When my kids were younger, I used to daydream about them becoming teenagers, when they would be self-sufficient and independent and wouldn’t need me so much. I would be able to have independent thoughts and nurture outside relationships and pursue my own goals while they took care of themselves. I had spent so much time with teens, I figured this would be my time to shine as a parent: easier and so much more fun to boot! As much as I cherished the precious years with my bitty babies, I was genuinely looking forward to them breaking away a bit when they got older.
It’s true that my kids don’t need so much hands-on work from me anymore. They can eat and use the toilet unattended, and they can totally make boxed mac ‘n cheese without help (usually). Puberty brain fog – which would be more appropriately called brain stonewall-against-common-sense – has taken over the boys, so they apparently forgot how to brush their teeth and have no index of speaking volume and honest-to-God do not notice that smell, but the oldest one has finally decided to shower daily, so I’ll take that win. My 16-year-old got her attitude from her mother and costs more money than I ever spent on diapers and formula, but she runs to the store for me when I forget an ingredient for dinner, and she drives her brother to 7am football practice before school so I don’t have to make an extra trip. In a lot of ways, I really have reached the Promised Land of parenting when I can step back and admire my work from time to time.
However, this endeavor is far from over, and if anything I feel more mentally exhausted than I ever thought possible.
While I’m not having to delicately rinse shampoo without getting it in their eyes or buckle them into car seats, my children still need me constantly at the ready to help them navigate big-kid and even grown-up life. When they interrupt me making dinner, or working, or having a conversation with their dad, or getting myself ready for bed at 11pm, and they want to talk, it’s time for me to be there for them once again. My window of influence is narrow: they will talk to me right that moment, or they will talk to a peer or ask the internet, so I have to be ready when the opportunity presents itself. And they’re not coming to me for a refresher lesson on those little circles with the toothbrush, nah. They need my full attention, my full arsenal of insight and resources, and for the love of all that is holy, they need me to control my face and tone! (There are no words to describe how much energy this last part requires, and I still suck at it.)
Parenting teenagers is living life at the ready, a hyper-vigilance akin to when they were infants and toddlers, and yet completely overhauled and reshaped to fit not just the ways your kids have grown, but the way you have grown as a parent as well. Those in-the-moment, split second decisions aren’t about whether to remake a grilled cheese cut into triangles to cull this tantrum or press through with “you get what you get and don’t pitch a fit.” These are big questions with bigger consequences; your list of hills worth dying on gets smaller every day.
I’m not the same mom I was 10 years ago, and it’s a good thing, because she was way too soft for this melee. Truth be told, I don’t even know if all my great parenting will pay off in the long run, because if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that there are way too many variables for anything to be certain in child rearing. But now is not the time to back down or ease up. I have often heard those early years with littles described as “in the trenches,” and if that’s the case, then the teen years are the Battle of the Bulge, the last great surge of strength to seal your victory in raising these babes. There are a lot – like, a lot a lot – of moments when I think I’m really screwing this up, and deciding if I should stay the course or regroup and try another approach is really a toss-up, because I likely won’t see the results of that decision for years to come.
