the car

A few months ago I was at an open house, visiting with my extended family. Eventually the conversation drifted to a discussion of my blog. Some had seen it. Some had not. To describe what my blog is like, my sister-in-law Eileen stood behind me, and placed her hands on either side of my head. “It’s about what’s going on in here,” she said.

True enough.

But as I sit down to write this week’s blog I wonder if I can describe what’s going on in my head with any clarity. I’ve had a jumble of thoughts this week. Most of them centered around the lives of my children.

Being a mom is a tough job. But it’s a job I have embraced and treasured from day one. In fact, I can remember day one like it was yesterday. I was lying flat on my back in the operating room. They had numbed me from the waist down, and a team of doctors and nurses had gathered to deliver my firstborn by Cesarean Section. Even though I couldn’t feel it when they cut me open, I sure felt it when the pulled my baby out! It was a very unusual sensation, and one I had never felt before. First a pulling, then a releasing, and then an emptiness. In no time at all, a huge part of me was removed, and I was left with a hole in my belly.

Thankfully, I didn’t have much time to ponder the emptiness, because soon the room was filled with that joyous sound…my baby’s first cry. That’s when it happened. God reached into my heart, and flipped the switch labeled mom to “ON.” For the first time in my life I finally knew exactly who I was, and why I was here.

I know I made lots of mistakes those early years, but mostly I was a good mom. I fed them when they were hungry, cleaned them when they got dirty, and rocked them to sleep when they needed to rest. I read them books, and took them for walks, and taught them to know Jesus. I held their hands when we crossed the street, and bundled them up when it was cold out. I made sure they always had lunch money and clean clothes to wear. And when they were 15 I taught them to Parallel Park and make 90-degree back turns. I made sure they had a cell phone if they needed to call me for any reason. And mostly, I prayed. I prayed that God would guide them and keep them safe. I prayed that their decisions would be good ones, and they would do what was wise and good.

But they’re kids. Sometimes they make mistakes. Their choices aren’t always the choices we would prefer them to make.

This is what happened on Wednesday. My 20 year-old son decided he wanted to buy a car. It had been several years since he crashed his last one, he had saved up, wised up, and felt he was ready to be a car owner once again. He wanted me to take him to Shakopee to look at a 1995 Mazda he had his eye on.

I fought him on it.

I asked him how much money he had, and told him I didn’t think it was enough. I told him we would be willing to give him our old minivan. But no. He wanted the Mazda. He said if we lent him the money for the car he’d have enough for the insurance, the parking permit, and be able to pay us back over time. I told him he should save up more and buy a nicer car. The Mazda was so cheap. Something was sure to be wrong with it. By this time he had become quite upset with me. “Why do you always yell at me when I tell you what I want to do!”

“What do you want me to do,” I finally asked.

“I want you to take me to Shakopee so I can look at that car.”

So I did. And he bought the car with the money we lent him, and now I wonder and worry if he made the right decision.

Jeff says, “If it was a mistake, it was his mistake to make.”

But I don’t like it. I don’t like to think of him having to make car payments along with his other bills and expenses. I don’t like to think about him behind the wheel again… in heavy traffic, or poor driving conditions, or late at night. But you know what I don’t like the most? I don’t like that I can’t hold his hand, and bundle him up, and give him his lunch money like I used to do. I don’t like that he’s not my little baby anymore. Once again, I feel like someone has reached in and pulled part of me out, and I’m left with an empty hole. And I suspect the one holding the knife this time is none other than my own son. That hurts.

Yeah. Being a mom is hard. But it seems the harder task for me this week was figuring out how to turn that mom switch to “OFF.” I don’t think I can do it. I don’t want to do it. If I’m not a mom, what am I?

Hopefully, my son will read this blog and forgive me for being so difficult on Wednesday. Truth is, he’s probably more than ready to have his own car, even if he did have to borrow a little to pay for it. I just hope he remembers to wear his seat belt, don’t text and drive, and keep his focus on the road. That goes for all of you kids.

Yeah. The mom switch is definitely still set to “ON.”