But the things that no one told me are good, too. Like cuddling with a five year old and reading Junie B Jones and laughing at that girls antics. No one told me how good that feels. Or how good it feels when they say “Thank you” without being prompted. Or when they do something remarkably kind for each other. When they tell me they love me. Everyone said motherhood was great, but they couldn’t have possibly told me how it feels in my heart in those great moments. Nothing like it. Nothing.

b.–that means a lot to me to know that.

Maryb has a good point. Because he was an August baby, we waiting a year to put Luke in school, which meant he had his call before he graduated and left only three months after, never having been away from home. I’m sure that made it more difficult.

I’d like to clarify two things about my essay that Michelle mentions in her post:

1. My purpose in writing the essay for Segullah wasn’t to scare moms about sending their babies away on missions. I wrote this because I don’t like it when we are not honest or open about things that are difficult for us. When we make everything about living the gospel look easy I think it makes life more difficult and more lonely for those who struggle. I have a friend who has a hard time paying tithing. I appreciate her being honest with me and others about this being hard for her (even though it may come easily for me) because I suspect she isn’t the only one who finds it difficult.

The Sunday School answers come easily to us (we send our kids on missions, pay our tithing, etc. because we are commanded to and we are blessed for it). Sharing our experiences of the realities of going through something difficult or gaining a testimony of something particularly challenging to us or even of being obedient to certain commandments can help us feel less isolated when we struggle and can teach us compassion and understanding when we don’t.

2. Six months down the road I would still say it was difficult and painful to say good-bye and admit that I miss my son. But I would also tell you how much we have been blessed by his missionary service, how much I have loved watching him grow, how much I have grown by doing this thing that was hard for me, and how the Lord has blessed me to be able to not worry and also to feel connected to him and aware of his mission experiences in ways I could never have predicted.

Sure you wish you could be a fly on the wall and be connected with them on their mission adventure. Sure you anticipate each week’s letter or email and love to hear from them. And certainly you miss them. But it feels right. And it feels like it’s time. And because you, for years, have loved watching your sons and daughters tackle and handle good, growing, challenges that make them better people, you will love watching them tackle this one.

I do recommend sending them off to college for a year first. It eases the transition from in-home teenager to young adult for them and the attendant separation shock for mom.

Someone once said that their mission was not the two best years of their life, but “the two best years FOR their life.”

How can I not give that to my sons? Even though my heart breaks already. Ten years early.

And my mom (who sent four sons on missions) said that sending a child on a mission is a lot like labor. It hurts more than you ever thought possible, but the result is worth every moment of pain.

Please remind me of that in ten years. And again in fifteen. And then eighteen.

My children are trying to flex their wings and fly. Two in college, and a high schooler. I am so proud of them, and the choices they are making now. I am terrified of the future though – did I teach them enough? do they know what to do in an emergency? can they feed and care for themselves? are they happy? are they safe? – argh! the list is so long…and there is a big, bad world out there. I worry, and then I worry again. And then I think of how much our Heavenly Father must worry about all of us. It is odd, but that gives me strength. To think that He feels the same about my children as I do. It is overwhelming to me.

I have to agree that potty training is probably the worst part of childhood, but then you reach tween and teenage years, and realize that it was really a piece of cake – comparitively(sp?)

Kaye and Lisa– your words took my breath away. Thank you, thank you for contributing to the conversation.

Harder than returning to the Lord His son for two years, was becoming a mother-in-law and realizing that there is now another woman who is the central focus in my sons life. When they leave as boys they truly do come home men and they are never yours again.

I had been warned to enjoy their growing up years. Sadly I don’t think I truly understood the importance of that advice until I retrospectively examine my roll as a mother. I look forward to sending my last two boys. . . but I will cherish their remaining years under my wing.

At times, the way we talk about our children leaving the nest can sound quite cliche, but today you have given some real words to a very real part of being a parent. But as I read your words, I couldn’t help feeling the transcendence to me as a daughter who once left my parent’s loving nest.

Perhaps I can no longer consider myself a young mother, but I do have young children. One tip for watching the days spin by is this(and I even used it this morning with my 5-year old baby, Willa):

When I am with my girls and I want to remember the moment or feeling of a special time, I literally cast my eyes toward heaven and I say these words aloud: PLEASE HELP ME REMEMBER THIS MOMENT. And so far, I have a shimmering list of all of the moments I have asked to remember recorded in my heart. This is one of the ways the Lord answers my very verbal and loud prayer to be an ever-present mother to HIS children.

And this poem is always a good reminder: Every mother deserves a gift on her child’s birthday for the labor and tears of giving birth. For you…ENJOY!

Going
Patricia Fargnoli

The children walk off
into crowds of strangers
their laces tied
their backs straight.
They wave to you
from platforms you cannot reach.
You want to hang on.
Running after them,
you thrust out small packages:
vitamins, a new blouse, guilt.
But they keep discarding
Your dreams for their own.
They carry admonitions
in their pockets
and their children will sing
your lullabies,
so that, finally, knowing this,
you let go.
They blur, fade.
You settle back.
The years pass, silent as clouds.
Sundays they come for dinner,
serve up slices of their lives,
but it’s not the same.
Sometimes, in a crowd,
you will catch a glimpse
of long braids,
a ribbon streaming,
and you will remember—-
a head beneath your hand,
a quilt tucked in,
small things snapping on a line.

I also had never been told how hard that first few weeks after birth can be…the recovery (my first was awful), the PAIN of breastfeeding (HELLO? THAT is when I used my Lamaze breathing techniques…once I got past that, though, I LOVED breastfeeding).

Potty training for me wasn’t so bad because I spread it out over a year or two for each child. (No kidding, but with three children in three years, I didn’t have it in me to do anything different.)