Reading · Moms of Bigs with Esther Joy Goetz

“Our relationship with our big kids needs room for moments that accomplish absolutely nothing.” (Esther Joy Goetz)

I can still picture my son walking through the door after school sometime during the fall of his senior year, quickly rummaging through the pantry to find those Doritos he had asked me to get at the store.

I had spent most of my lunch hour thinking about him.

It was NOT in the sweet, I miss that kid kind of way. I had been making a mental list and had written it down in my notes app on my phone so I wouldn’t forget.

He hadn’t turned in an assignment for English. He was supposed to talk to his soccer coach about missing a practice. There was a college application that had to be done if he wanted to be considered for “early decision.” And there were a few “something else’s” I can’t remember now, but I’m sure at the time felt VERY IMPORTANT.

He had told us he wanted to go to this one particular college, but he just didn’t seem particularly interested in doing any of the things required to actually get there. And senioritis? Oh, it was strong with this already eighteen-year-old.

So while I ate my lunch, I was coming up with a mom strategy plan of how I could bring all of this up without making him immediately regret coming home. (You know the one!)

I knew I couldn’t hit him with everything the second he walked through the door. I’d learned that much. I’d give him a little time. Let him eat his Doritos. Ask about his day. You know, be super chill.

And then maybe I’d just happen to mention the missing assignment.

And since we were already talking about school...well, maybe I could slip in something about the college application too.

See what I was doing there?

The problem was, my “casual” questions weren’t fooling anyone. Certainly not him.

Because I had my mom agenda.

And he knew it.

I don’t remember exactly what happened that particular afternoon. I don’t remember whether he did the assignment, dealt with his coach or filled out the application or whether we ended up arguing about any of it.

But I do remember that afternoon and this kid and this pattern of ours.

So many of our conversations had become about what needed to happen next. Or, if I’m being really truthful, what he needed to get done so I could finally breathe that mom sigh of relief.

Did you turn that in?
Have you talked to your coach?
What’s your plan?

And the ever-popular:

When are you going to do that?
Have you checked the deadline?

I had questions. So many.

And underneath every single one of them was a mom who loved her kid like crazy, wanted good things for him, and could see consequences coming that he couldn’t or wouldn’t see yet.

For me, this is still one of the trickiest parts of being a mom to big kids.

And (surprise, surprise) it didn’t end when they graduated from high school. The questions just changed.

Did you hear back about the job?
Have you figured out where you’re going to live?
Did you make that appointment?
When will you know if you can come home for break?

In fact, right now as I’m writing this, I’m waiting to hear from my daughter about her work situation so I can buy her plane ticket for her brother’s wedding.

The wedding is in five weeks.

So yes, every practical part of me would very much like an answer.

And when we’re waiting on something that affects plans or money or other people, it is REALLY hard not to make every text or phone call about the thing.

Case in point, an actual text I sent her on Sunday:

So hey! Just curious if you ever heard anything from your boss. I would love to get your plane tickets!

See? Still doing it.

And the thing is, sometimes we actually do need an answer. I’m not asking about the plane ticket because I have some deep need to manage my grown daughter’s life. I need to buy a plane ticket. Preferably before it costs approximately $4,000.

Their lives bump up against ours. It’s just not as simple as saying, Well, they’re adults now. Let them figure it out.

There are still plans to make and holidays to coordinate and money involved and people waiting for answers. There are times when a little pressure is part of being in relationship with each other.

BUT pressure has a way of expanding.

One missing assignment becomes three questions at dinner.

Their overflowing laundry basket somehow follows us into the car.

The college application sneaks into the five minutes we’re standing together in the kitchen.

And later, the job situation finds its way into every phone call. The plane ticket becomes the first text we send.

The thing we’re worried about becomes the thing we keep circling back to.

And pretty soon, every time our kid sees our name pop up on their phone, there’s a decent chance we’re about to ask them about something.

Then we wonder:

Why do I feel like they’re avoiding me?

I keep coming back to the word pressure.

Because if I’m paying attention, I can feel it in almost every one of these moments.

The pressure I feel because something needs to happen. The pressure I put on them because I want it to happen. And then the pressure that starts building between us because we’re both feeling it.

I’m not suggesting we sit peacefully on the couch while our ninth grader fails English in the name of relational presence. And I’m also not going to wait until the week before the wedding to ask my daughter again about that plane ticket.

But here’s the thing: Pressure has a way of taking up all the oxygen.

Especially when I care about the outcome.

And when pressure fills the room, or the car, or the text thread, there isn’t much space left for anything else.

Which brings me to another word.

Presence.

And this is where presence comes in.

And a question: Do I know how to just hang out with my big kids?

Not because I need an answer or there’s something we need to talk about. Not even (oof, this one is where it gets real) because I’m hoping we’ll have one of those really good conversations where they tell me something important.

Just because I like them.

That sounds ridiculously simple, but I’m not sure it always is.

I mean, having big kids means bedroom doors close and friends become more interesting. We don’t have all that “car time” anymore and some of them, how dare they, have actually moved out and made their own lives.

But I don’t want to make it all about getting things checked off my mom to do list that I miss the new ways of JUST being together.

One of my kids calls while driving to work every morning. I have a Wordle text thread with my two daughters and a boyfriend where we only talk about Wordle and Connections and how ridiculous the Wordle was on July 15th that ruined everyone’s streak (don’t believe me, look it up here). Sometimes we’re standing around the kitchen when everyone is home and someone starts telling a story. And the videos I’m sent that I’m clueless about, they’re okay too. I laugh along.

I’m trying to get better at letting those moments be what they are without sneaking an agenda into them.

To not use the last two minutes of the phone call to ask about the job.

To not tack “Oh, and did you ever...” onto the end of the text.

To not see every opening as my opportunity to finally ask about the thing.

Because maybe presence with our big kids is actually pretty ordinary.

It’s being interested in what they’re interested in, even when we don’t quite get it. It’s picking up the phone when they call. Sitting around the kitchen a little longer. Watching the stupid video.

It’s remembering that every conversation doesn’t have to accomplish something.

Sometimes I can just be with this person I raised.

This person I really, really like.

I’m starting to think something else happens when I can actually do that.

And if you are paying attention, it’s a third P (because I’m a writer and all that): possibility.

Maybe they tell me something or we laugh till our bellies hurt watching silly videos I actually do get. Maybe I learn something about them I didn’t know that I wouldn’t have if I’d spent the whole conversation asking questions. Maybe I beat them at Marbles and Jokers. Maybe, for five precious minutes, neither of us will be thinking about what we’re supposed to be doing.

Sounds magical!

So what would I do if I could go back to that afternoon during my son’s senior year.

I think I’d still ask about the application.

I’d probably still care about the missing assignment.

Most likely, I’d still help him figure out how to get from where he was to where he said he wanted to go.

But I think I’d protect a little more space where none of those things were allowed to follow us.

And here I am, all these years later, with a different kid, still learning to do the same thing with the dreaded plane ticket.

But no matter how old they get or I feel, I don’t want the thing I need from them to become bigger than the relationship I have with them.

I want to remember that underneath whatever needs to be figured out is a person I genuinely enjoy.

And sometimes I want to let that be enough for a while.

From my trying-to-be-present-with-no-agenda mama heart to yours,
Esther
Mom Coach and Author

💬 Mom-to-Mom Reflection:

What do you wish your kid would get done right now? What’s on your list? We’re allowed to say it all here. Or anything else you want to share, because I love comments!!

Why Does My Big Kid Seem Annoyed Every Time I Ask a Question?

Comments