Today I made the five-yearly pilgrimage to the Registry of Motor Vehicles to renew my license and nonchalantly pretend that the photograph on the little blue card didn’t need to be perfect. Thankfully it didn’t take too long and my five year old son and I waited and chatted for only twenty five minutes amongst the pinging bells of a hyperactive digital numbering system. Fifty dollars and a dubious looking photograph later, we went on our way to do errands.
The last time I sat in this busy government office I didn’t have a Social Security Number. I had a visa but I didn’t have my green card. But I did have the same little blond boy aged almost 8 weeks in his baby car seat. On that visit, I spent the time tackling his 2 year old sister determined to forcefully rock his vehicle of baby transport. I am somewhat glad that the dark-eyed, haggard looking 35 year old in that picture has been replaced by the face of someone who looks more like they know what they are doing. Turning forty on the day my license expired turned out to be a very good thing, in my opinion.
About five years and eight weeks ago, I looked on our now almost-second-grader as she slept peacefully as a two year old in her room. As a mom in the later stages of labor, I stroked her head and kissed her quickly before Grandma waved us out to the hospital. As I waddled down the stairs and out to our car, it hit me head on, and to the point of tears, that it wasn’t going to be just me and her anymore. Our relationship as mom and daughter, and our family dynamic, were both about to change. Three was about to become four. We welcomed our son a couple of hours later just after a beautiful spring sunrise. In the midst of that contraction-driven scramble out of the front door, I’d unknowingly experienced the end of my first era of motherhood.
There’s nothing particularly dynamic about our ‘mommy-Sam’ mornings together. We’re playing in the garden, at the park, or maybe a quick trip to the mall. Maybe we’ll go to the YMCA for a swim time together. In the midst of our errands we usually sit down to enjoy donut munchkins for him and a caffeinated drink for me. But today I know that this will be the last time that Sam and I have a ‘mommy-Sam’ day in its purest form. Tomorrow afternoon is his last session at pre-school. In September he will be attending the same educational institution as his big sister for the first time, as a bright and shiny Kindergartner. Sure, we’ll be able to take time together to do stuff, and there will be many more munchkin moments. But it won’t feel as free and easy as it does right now because I know that it will take more organizing and have to be more deliberate for us to spend time together. This time the calendar and school district regulations make it clearer to see, but here endeth the second era of my motherhood.
The renewal of one’s driving license might seem to be a legal formality which is annoying and reminds us that we’re simply five years older. For me, it provided an unexpected reflection on how powerful and intense that period of time was. The RMV isn’t aware of my struggles as a mom, the developmental concerns, the sleep issues, or the fights and disagreements these parents had as we thrashed this parenting thing out together. It doesn’t need to know about the people we loved and lost to incurable sickness during that time, or the friendships that we thought were forever but simply fizzled away. The seasons of sickness, surgeries, and rides in ambulances with injured kids aren’t on our driving records. And our disbelief as we watched the western world plunge into a financial tailspin doesn’t show up as an unpaid violation.
Yet intermingled with those deep and meaningful events have been five rich and precious years. Years of watching our kids grow from defenseless babes in arms, to power-seeking toddlers, independent preschoolers, and now world-at-their-feet elementary school students. We’ve played at the beach, built snowmen, and monitored Halloween candy consumption. We’ve nurtured friendships for the kids and ourselves, watched dance recitals and nativity plays. We’ve criss-crossed the Atlantic with our mini international travelers many times savoring vacations with our family in England. Our memories are wrapped up in the conversations and experiences we remember with these little people. They are seen in the photographs that rotate on our screen savers. They can be touched and held as crudely constructed preschool crafts sitting in the top of my closet in that slightly hard-to-reach place. The place that requires a ‘steppie stool’ to gain access to the storage box.
The last time I sat in this busy government office I didn’t have a Social Security Number. I had a visa but I didn’t have my green card. But I did have the same little blond boy aged almost 8 weeks in his baby car seat. On that visit, I spent the time tackling his 2 year old sister determined to forcefully rock his vehicle of baby transport. I am somewhat glad that the dark-eyed, haggard looking 35 year old in that picture has been replaced by the face of someone who looks more like they know what they are doing. Turning forty on the day my license expired turned out to be a very good thing, in my opinion.
About five years and eight weeks ago, I looked on our now almost-second-grader as she slept peacefully as a two year old in her room. As a mom in the later stages of labor, I stroked her head and kissed her quickly before Grandma waved us out to the hospital. As I waddled down the stairs and out to our car, it hit me head on, and to the point of tears, that it wasn’t going to be just me and her anymore. Our relationship as mom and daughter, and our family dynamic, were both about to change. Three was about to become four. We welcomed our son a couple of hours later just after a beautiful spring sunrise. In the midst of that contraction-driven scramble out of the front door, I’d unknowingly experienced the end of my first era of motherhood.
There’s nothing particularly dynamic about our ‘mommy-Sam’ mornings together. We’re playing in the garden, at the park, or maybe a quick trip to the mall. Maybe we’ll go to the YMCA for a swim time together. In the midst of our errands we usually sit down to enjoy donut munchkins for him and a caffeinated drink for me. But today I know that this will be the last time that Sam and I have a ‘mommy-Sam’ day in its purest form. Tomorrow afternoon is his last session at pre-school. In September he will be attending the same educational institution as his big sister for the first time, as a bright and shiny Kindergartner. Sure, we’ll be able to take time together to do stuff, and there will be many more munchkin moments. But it won’t feel as free and easy as it does right now because I know that it will take more organizing and have to be more deliberate for us to spend time together. This time the calendar and school district regulations make it clearer to see, but here endeth the second era of my motherhood.
The renewal of one’s driving license might seem to be a legal formality which is annoying and reminds us that we’re simply five years older. For me, it provided an unexpected reflection on how powerful and intense that period of time was. The RMV isn’t aware of my struggles as a mom, the developmental concerns, the sleep issues, or the fights and disagreements these parents had as we thrashed this parenting thing out together. It doesn’t need to know about the people we loved and lost to incurable sickness during that time, or the friendships that we thought were forever but simply fizzled away. The seasons of sickness, surgeries, and rides in ambulances with injured kids aren’t on our driving records. And our disbelief as we watched the western world plunge into a financial tailspin doesn’t show up as an unpaid violation.
Yet intermingled with those deep and meaningful events have been five rich and precious years. Years of watching our kids grow from defenseless babes in arms, to power-seeking toddlers, independent preschoolers, and now world-at-their-feet elementary school students. We’ve played at the beach, built snowmen, and monitored Halloween candy consumption. We’ve nurtured friendships for the kids and ourselves, watched dance recitals and nativity plays. We’ve criss-crossed the Atlantic with our mini international travelers many times savoring vacations with our family in England. Our memories are wrapped up in the conversations and experiences we remember with these little people. They are seen in the photographs that rotate on our screen savers. They can be touched and held as crudely constructed preschool crafts sitting in the top of my closet in that slightly hard-to-reach place. The place that requires a ‘steppie stool’ to gain access to the storage box.
Era number three will have ended when our daughter is embarking on life at her middle school. It’s going to be exciting, tiring, and no doubt a sharp learning curve for all concerned. At about that time five years from now, I’ll be renewing my driving license again. According to the RMV, this one I should be able to renew online. But I think that I’ll go and make my pilgrimage to the center. Why? Because I’d like my photograph to show the real face of a mom who has a few more years of experience under her belt. And I know that I’ll use that time of waiting for my number to be called to start reflecting again on what’s happened in our lives during the next five years.
No comments:
Post a Comment