A few weeks ago, another toothbrush left the pot.
You would think this would take the pot down to six toothbrushes, but for some reason there has always been more toothbrushes in that pot, than people living in this house. Sometimes it is double the number. It baffles the husband every time he makes them point out which toothbrush is theirs in order to throw the excess ones away. It doesn't change anything. It goes into the mysteries of family life, like odd socks and tupperware lids.
So a toothbrush has gone, as have the Star Wars and Film Lego sets. The record player has gone, as have the guitars. Stitch has gone as have the unique T-shirts. The room is empty, much to the siblings' intrigue as they prepare their motivational speeches about having their own rooms. I watched him pack it all away. Well, I watched him pack away the bits he wanted, the rest he left in a pile or two (or three) for me to sort through. He carefully packaged all the bits that needed to be safely re-homed in our loft, and all the bits that needed to go with him to his new home.
He actually accidently left home without realising it, and without telling us. It just sort of happened. He thought he was just decorating the new place but ended up staying there. He then called me to say that he may have accidently left home. We landed the call with a plan for him to come home for family dinner so that we could all get a chance to say what we love about him, and say a goodbye of sorts. The husband packed all of his things and some of my memories into the car and drove him off to his new adventure. I went and stood in his room. I closed my eyes. I breathed in the quietness and had a good cry. I needed to feel the empty space, grieve the empty space. It visually and audibly helped me resonate with what was going on in my heart.
I read somewhere last week that for the most part, we know our children as adults longer than we know them as children. It made sense but it stopped me in my tracks. Of course they are always our children but you don't really even comtemplate that thought when you're smack bang in the middle of the messy years. You're too caught up in the giggles, the chatter, the colour, the chaos, the loose teeth, the open doors, the running, the plastc tat, the early mornings, the car seats, the knee scrapes, the trips to the park, the pack mentality, the tree climbing, the head bandages, the Cheerios, the wet wipes, the noise, the breakages, the muddy trainers, the imaginative play, the same old adventures. Then they're teenagers and maybe their doors are a little more closed. The noise and the chaos come in bursts when they feel safe, happy or mad. Less trees get climbed and their trainers stay clean. The colours tone down. They become individuals. Early mornings get later and later. The chats become less but so treasured. And then their bags get packed, boxes get filled, the space empties and they're off for some new adventures.
It's both wonderful and awful all rolled into one. You spend your life as a mum, being there for them. You're there when they need you, nurturing them, shaping them, chanllenging and encouraging them, making sure they've got everything they need in order to grow into people who don't need your shaping and nurturing so much. You have to go through the painful bit where they don't think they need you but they desperately do, through to the bit where they actually don't need you quite so much and you need them more than you realise.
I did a Valentine's activity for the ones still at home and realised there were of course names missing. (One was a bit poorly and didn't fancy chocolate and two have moved out). The mum guilt was there, as it tries to be in all seasons of a mother's life! It was like I had forgotten them, which I hadn't but this verse actually stood as a great encouragement to me.
"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palm of my hands..."Isaiah 49v15-16
These kids I have been blessed with are not mine to keep, but arrows to be sent out into the world. I can trust that God not only has His eye on them. He's got their names on the palms of His hands. They are His. He knows them. He created them for adventures. He created me for this adventure too.