The Witching Hour

Posted by Guest | December 18, 2009 | 12 Comments

Today’s guest post is from Jenny, who lives on the east coast with her husband and five terrific kids. Her children say: “she cooks good food, and takes too many pictures.” She likes to eat food that other people cook (preferably people in restaurants), take pictures, write, shop, spend time with family and to be on vacation.

. . .

“GET OUT OF MY ROOM!”

I silently scream, while I concentrate on willing my face to remain placid, interested, focused.
I smile, I nod, I ask questions. I steal looks to my husband that convey my desperation for the few spare moments in between a very. long. day. and (hopefully) a deep uninterrupted sleep. I want to read, I want to talk to another grown-up, I want to clock-out for the day; I want decompression time.

But the child lingers.

It is the magic moment of deep confidences and honest answers to “how was your day?” It is the “one more story, one more kiss, can I have a drink of water?” from early days. It is, in effect, part stall-tactic and part sub-conscious act of desperation, “I must, I must get these words out so I will be able to sleep tonight.” While it was still early, I watched him struggle, and squirm, and tease and sulk, not quite sure what to do with his evening. Something right up close, but just under the surface wanting to be freed. “Ask me. Ask me. Ask me,” he pleads with his restlessness. And so I do.

But the words are stuck. And they cannot come out. (Why is it, the older they get, the less of themselves must be revealed in daylight hours; and the older I get, the more I wish it were not so.)

Frustration boils. The night is over. The busy bustle and sometimes struggle of teeth, pajamas, prayers, bed begins. Every child needs their own invitation it seems. Sometimes more than one. I watch the clock, freedom for me is near. I can taste it. But in my periphery, I can feel the fidgety angst. And my lovely thoughts of relaxation swirl the drain.

He waits draped across the bed. Spindly arms and legs. (When did they get so long?)

Other children vie for attention (isn’t it always the way in large families?)–but not really needing it and seeing an opportunity for a temporary “lights out” reprieve, they silently scamper away to play or read.

“What?” I ask.

There is still silence. They are almost ready to escape, but his words still need a few more minutes of patience. I breathe. I wait. I start to get ready for bed. NOW I am really ready for my bedroom solace.

I give him a look, and magically, as if the clock chiming away has released the spell,

the words tumble out.

(Phew, nothing really serious this time. Just too many thoughts and feelings struggling for existence and validation. A little trouble at school. Some questions. Some advice. Some love.)

And so I listen.
I should be so glad that this is where he wants to be. Right here, in my room, confiding in me, close to me. The message I send him is this: I am here if you want me to be.

And here
I will always be.

. . .

When and where are your teens and tweens most likely to spill their guts? When are they most willing to let you in? How do you watch for it so you don’t miss it?

Comments

12 Responses to “The Witching Hour”

Annie
December 18th, 2009 @ 6:20 am

Oh, I get this. Over the years I’ve realized that teenagers and older kids still have bedtimes rituals…they’re just different from the bath+book+song of earlier childhood.

My best time for talking with my teens lately is in the car, driving to lessons or seminary or an errand. There’s something about being next to each other rather than facing each other (and alone together) that encourages all sorts of confidings. My middle daughter jumps at any chance to run errands alone with me and then just opens up and spills.

Watching for it is a little more tricky…I’m sure I’ve missed many chances. But it’s where quality time (being available) meets quantity time (being present), I think. I do find that my son needs more coaxing than my daughters but is more relieved for the nudging and opportunity to open up.

My inner screaming happens when my children tell me, scene by scene, a movie or a dream they’ve had. (Aaaargh!) I have to force myself to keep listening and not check out completely.
wonder woman
December 18th, 2009 @ 9:35 am

I’m about halfway between having done this with my own mother and doing it with my own children. My mom and I have always been good friends, due mostly to the fact that she would seek me out at night. For most of my high school career I was occupied from 5 am to 11 pm with seminary, school, extracurriculars, and working part-time. But nearly every night, my mom would come down to my room and we’d talk. I loved it. I needed it. I’m surprised to find out now as an adult that most parents don’t seek our their kids like that — that it’s the other way around. I know she was tired, but she knew it was important.

My mom’s relationship with me has given me the perfect example of the relationship I hope to have with each of my kids.
Sage
December 18th, 2009 @ 10:18 am

Jenny,

This was so well-written. I could feel your impatience, and then, at last your love and gratitude that you made room despite your need for solitude.

My oldest doesn’t open up as much as I’d like. My second will do very similar waiting around in my room.

Thanks for the reminder to be there and even to seek out those important moments.
Jill Shelley
December 18th, 2009 @ 11:34 am

Late at night. When I was really tired and about to nod off, that is when they wanted to talk. I think it has something to do with the lights being down low. So sometimes I would try to not make direct eye contact with them as they would venture into personal subjects. Listen carefully, and not react a lot…that can scare them off. That’s what worked for us.
Coffinberry
December 18th, 2009 @ 12:22 pm

I hear you. Oh do I hear you. 11 Pm to 1Am. Dining Room table.

that’s what’s been so hard about my 21 year old RM’s job at Walmart… he gets home at 1:30 AM, but I have to get up at 5:00 AM. I miss our late-night check-in chats.
she-bop
December 18th, 2009 @ 1:25 pm

Great post. I can feel your frusteration, and joy, at your relationship. You sound like a great mom.

LATE night is when it happens at our house. I like to stay up, and be the last one in bed. My mind needs some time to turn off. So the later they talk, the later I’m up. Last night I finally relaxed about 4am.

High schooler always wants to talk, after her bedtime. I used to think it was an excuse to stay up later. Now I realize it’s her way to unwind. I guess I should be glad she’s sharing at all. And “listen mom”, “don’t talk” is usually what she wants. That’s hard for me. I’m a fixer.

Two college girls at home. One is fast and furious. Meaning – she wants to get it all out fast and walk away. No discussions. Just throw it all over me, and then she’s done. It’s hard to recover after her “talks”.

Other daughter is the one who just wants to talk, and talk, and talk…..She gets home late and then it begins…for hours, if I’ll let it. I try. I really do. But sometimes I am just so tired. But I love her. So I try to be attentive.

One question – why does it seem like this is mom’s territory? Do any husbands talk and talk? Just wondering….
Michelle L.
December 18th, 2009 @ 4:06 pm

loved this post, Jenny.

For us it’s the kitchen counter after school. There’s about an hour and a half gap before the younger kids come home and my older boys like to talk then. Not every day, but often.

For the tweens it’s during ping pong, UNO or chess. All of which feel like a sacrifice. Why can’t it be Scrabble?
Course Correction
December 18th, 2009 @ 9:12 pm

I used to tell my kids I was not their mother after 8 p.m. “Go to sleep. Your mother will be back in the morning.”
This worked until they hit their teens at the time I hit middle age. Every night just as I was getting warm and drowsy in bed, one or more would come in and ask me something and I’d incoherently agree to whatever they said.
They got a lot of mileage from my need to fall asleep by 10 p.m. For some reason they never wanted to talk to their dad at that time when he was wide awake.
sc
December 19th, 2009 @ 1:23 am

My friend Kathleen used to make sure she was chopping vegetables when her teenage daughter got home from school. Lack of eye contact was essential to getting her daughter to open up.

I read (in some magazine? maybe _Fine Homebuilding_?) about an architect who deliberately built a nook into the side of a kitchen which was placed in such a way that a teenager could be heard without being seen. If I recall correctly, it worked as intended.

I tend to talk to sisters and roommates in/into the wee hours of the morning; my theory is that, since we don’t normally have anything scheduled for that time, it feels “free”; all of the jumbledy ought-to-do list that prevents us from thinking clearly so much of the time begins to lift as we prepare our minds and bodies for sleep, and as that clears, we are able to more clearly see the things which truly matter to us. Also, because much of the rest of the world is asleep at that time, true privacy and uninterrupted-ness is available in ways that they just aren’t during the day.
sc
December 19th, 2009 @ 1:44 am

(Just thought of this as I was proofreading my comment, now that it’s too late to do anything about any mistakes I find.)

Maybe lack of eye contact provides a sense of privacy and freedom (or, freedom enough) from ought-to expectations, in a similar way to how talking late at night does. Back when I was awake for them, early mornings afforded such luxuries to me (for myself alone); late nights are more likely to do the trick now, partly because said sisters and roommates’ talking-time preferences shifted my sleeping schedule. And during that one bizarre period of my life, that one semester I when went out every week for like, two months straight, I found myself missing my solitary Friday nights fiercely. Who knew that being un-dateable to so many of the men around me could have had such a salutatory effect on my overall sense of peace and happiness? I myself would never have guessed had not the Cloak of Invisibility To Date-able Men been mysteriously whisked off my shoulders for that brief period.
jenny
December 19th, 2009 @ 4:57 pm

Annie,
You’re lucky your kids want to talk in the car. (That’s where we seem to be most of the time!) Mine haven’t opened up in there…
I’m right there with you on that “inner screaming” and the scene by scene, real-time telling of books, movies, etc. Aaaargh! indeed.

wonder woman,
You are very lucky to have such a good example in your own mother. What a blessing.

Sage,
(thanks!) And that’s one of the biggest challenges to motherhood, isn’t it? Each child is SO different and we have to try and figure out what is going to help each one of them.

Jill Shelley,
Late night, so far, is definitely what happens around here. I agree about the ‘not reacting’ alot; it’s paramount to keeping those flood gates of information open!

Coffinberry,
You sound like a great {and dedicated} mother.

she-bop,
I laughed at your description of your “fast and furious” daughter. My sister was {and still is} just like that.
I do think that for the most part this does seem like a mother’s territory. I think we, as mothers and women, are just sometimes more in-tune to the unspoken things that our children need and we tend to hover and hang around–waiting for the right chances. I’ve heard wonderful stories of fathers enjoying the blessings of being involved with those “talks.” I would have been more inclined to spill it to my father, had he been more available to me when I was a teen. I am the oldest of eight, and there were toddlers and babies needing lots of attention. My father also went to bed very early because he got up so early every morning. Just recently, my mother said to me, “You don’t realize what you’ve missed with your oldest, until you have teenagers without the toddlers and babies. Then it’s too late…”
She’s right. I used to feel sorry for me, because of that. But now, as a mother, I feel more sad for her. I know how sad she is that she missed it.

Michelle,
You’re right, my oldest kids do seem to tell me things over that afternoon snack–before the younger kids burst into the house.

Course Correction,
“Go to sleep, your mother will be back in the morning.” (loved that!)

sc,
I completely agree with your conclusions about the eye-contact and the time it happens {whenever that may be} feeling like “free time.” Thanks for your thoughts.

I loved hearing what works for different people.
I seem to soak up any hints, helps, or advice on parenting older kids these days! {For better, or for worse, I felt much more confident when my kids were younger.} Being the mother of teens has been wonderful and scary and humbling all at the same time.
Angie
December 20th, 2009 @ 2:51 am

I’m not sure how to express this – you mothers are so Christlike. Literally. Sacrificing your own comfort and needs because the one you love needs YOU. Your children are immeasurably blessed to have you.