We launched our oldest child off to the real world on Tuesday. I had been so excited for her, so eager to see her start her journey of adventure, that I hadn't realized how difficult that day would be.
She and I spent the prior week shopping, organizing, culling the unnecessary and storing the necessary. We scheduled all professional maintenance agents - dentist, orthodontist, optometrist. We worked on grocery lists, shopping lists, dorm lists and moving lists. I cleared my schedule and asked her father to clear his so we could move her in.
He grudgingly acquiesced, because this is where our complementary parenting styles abut each other. I come from the "strengthen through comfort" school of parenting. He comes from the "Don't let the door hit you on your way out" school.
When I went off to college, my Dad designed and crafted a sturdy loft bed just for me. Mom bought all new bedding and decorations, seeking to surround me with comfort and beauty in the midst of uneasy transition. She and I even visited the college early to ensure that the sunlight in my dorm room was adequate.
My husband's parents sent him off to college with a, "Hey, are you coming home for deer hunting?" No new bedding, no ride, no feathering of the nest.
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The major difference between him and me, in this instance, is that at 18, I ate up all the coddling. At 18 he had his own set of wheels, his own set of ideas and wanted nothing from his parents.
Now here we are trying to launch a child with two very different philosophies. What's the best way to send a child out into the world - hands off or hand-holding?
We delivered our daughter to school. Students moved her stuff in; I set up her bed; we took her grocery shopping. I wanted to stay and put away groceries and figure out what activities were scheduled. But there was a little voice reminding me that this wasn't my time.
Actually it wasn't a little voice, it was a gruff male voice who said, "She can put her own groceries away." I shot my husband a stern look. Of course she could. Of course they were her groceries and it was her kitchen.
I was out of place. I had held her hand long enough.
When my husband thinks of the word "comfort," he thinks of stifling pillows, stuffy rooms and flabby people. However, the word "comfort" comes from two Latin words: "fortis," or "strong," and "con," meaning "with." To comfort someone means to strengthen them. I am struggling with the most effective way to strengthen a young someone.
A friend was telling me about a day when her teenage daughter, an only child, had a complete anxiety meltdown. They had to stop everything and be late in order to help her cope. I explained that if my youngest daughter had been in the same situation, she would get a very different response. Her three older brothers would not make space for an anxiety fit. Her context forces her to get it together and move on.
I feel bad that I can't offer that kind of shelter for a child, but on the other hand, I'm quite sure that my youngest daughter's context will force her to stand up straight and strong.
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The key is knowing what type of comfort to offer - Mom's comfort of a cup of tea and a warming chenille throw, or Dad's kind of comfort, a hug and a simple, "See you later!" My comfort offers a respite from the weary world. His comfort offers up a vote of confidence and the belief that the most successful path to achievement is often through those stark places where the comforts of home are removed.
After checking in with housing at the university last week, I had some questions for the woman in charge. She politely answered and then chirped, "We'll take it from here!"
What she wanted to say was, "Hands off, Mom."
