The sun beats down on me as I sit on the sidelines. The vastness of the bright green playing field is filled in with players wearing blue and white jerseys, three stripes down the side of their shorts and across the tops of their socks. The ball pops here and there, in and out of bounds, over heads, into goals, and through the breeze that pushes tears around my face. I pull my hat further down and shift in the taupe spectator chair. I swirl the ice in my coffee and kick off my shoes. I have shut down.
My oldest son drifts in and out of action on the field. I watch him push and pull himself in response to the coach’s pleas.
Jamis, move up, son.
Jamis, move back, son.
Jamis, over there. Good job. Nice work, son.
I welcome the weight of the camera in my hands and snap a dozen pictures or so. Remembering my own days on the playing field, I yell get back and move up and get there first, don’t give up! I hear the noise of the other parents on the sidelines–cheering, laughing, clapping, chatting. It is rare to be here without the little boys in tow, and I take advantage of the solitude. I’ve placed my chair at the far end of the field where my kid plays defense, and at least twenty feet from the nearest spectator. I actually have the ability to focus on Jamis in his entirety and that is what I intend to do.
In my mind I will him to give this game his best effort. I imagine taking the field with him and carrying him when he needs to be carried. Giving his feet more life, scooping him up when he falls down and whispering encouraging words in his ear, words I hope he’ll learn to tell himself in times of struggle.
All at once dozens of tears cross paths on my face. It is not him on the field, but me. Twenty years ago. A girl on a field in a bright yellow jersey. Her dad on the sidelines, a long lens slung around his neck, a baseball cap perched awkwardly on his head. I remember glancing at him from my position in the backfield as he tried time and time again to capture the moment of me standing in a field of sun and breeze.
The memory rushes in. And with it the profound feeling of loss and love, together. I am speechless in front of it. I am that player. And that parent. All at once. And I realize, with more clarity than I’ve ever known, that this is how I was loved: from the sidelines. A girl on a field with a ball. A dad waiting in the wings.
And this is what we do. We watch. We cheer. We worry.
This is how we love–from the sidelines.
It takes courage to do it well, to find the balance between being a teammate and being a mom. To find the courage to go to sleep with tears and wake up with a smile. To find the courage to show my kids how to live their best life, even if I haven’t quite got it all figured out myself.
I gave my parents hell. I really did. And for so much of my life all they could do is watch and cheer and worry. They couldn’t fix my past or my present, they couldn’t launch me into my future the way that I’m sure they would have liked. They could just sit. And love me. From the sidelines of my life.
And though I will cheer and clap for my kids. Though I will nurture and nourish, kiss and hug and love, give guidance, direction and suggestion, their lives will become their own. Their approach to challenge, defeat and victory will not always mirror my own. And I must have the courage to wake up every day and be my best self, knowing that this is all I can be for them. This is all I can ask of myself to give to them–the best me in the minutes that I am with them; the best me for a Monday or a Tuesday or a tomorrow, without comparing it to yesterday.
Parenting takes an inordinate amount of courage. There are many days I think that I might fold and tumble and give in to the insecurity of it all. But then there are moments of feeling so truly connected to my past, and my own parents, and finding a sense of clarity in it all. Realizing that I was once the kid on the field, and that in many ways, I still am. Realizing that my parents could only love me from the sidelines, and that in many ways, this remains true. And these moments carry me through an hour or a day. They give me new little mantras to turn over in my mind.
I will love my children fiercely and without apology. I will love them how I was loved, from the sidelines.
*****
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Oh, Sarah, this is beautiful. I can so relate to the feeling of all of a sudden telescoping back in time as you watch your child in a setting you were also in – I have this with Grace sometimes. And it is true that it gives me a flash of perspective onto my parents, seeing as I’m in their shoes now. I have many days when I think I might “fold and tumble and give in to the insecurity of it all” (great, great line). Reading words like these helps shore up my flickering courage, so, thank you.
And we all have to shore it up, don’t we? That courage. This post became something of its own. I was originally going to use it for my Memory post, but I couldn’t get the words out of my mind, and every time I sat to write, this is what came out. And I know it’s what I needed to write because standing here, in front of you all, I am faced with an enormous amount of insecurity. But if I wake up every morning and do this mothering thing day after day, I can rise to the challenge of being surrounded by all of you fabulous people as well.
Telescoping back in time…mmmm, yes! Oh so very YES, Lindsey. Thank you!
This post hits me hard. Because it taps into something so profoundly universal, yes. The notion of guiding and loving from a conscious distance. But it also hits me personally because I too was that girl. On the field as proud parents cheered from the sidelines. Recently, my younger sister found a letter that my own Dad wrote me in 1991 while I was at camp. Dad, sensing rightly that I was homesick, wrote,
“We will always love you, want you at home with us, and want to do things with you – like play catch in the country. But this way you can do two good things – life on your own with your friends, doing things you want to do, and life with us… Also, if I ‘criticize’ you about sports (batting, etc) it is really because I want to be close and do things with you.”
From the sidelines indeed.
Thank you for the great kickoff post for Five for Ten. And for making me remember on this humble Monday morning in May.
Oh Aidan, that is such a treasure. We share the enormous emptiness of a father who has left us too early in life. I ached on the sidelines last weekend as the tears fell down. In my heart I was on the field and it was my father who stood in his green, wool sweater, a Saratoga racetrack hat atop his big, ol’ head, and a camera poised and ready for the moment, MY moment. Every day I wake up I go through the same motions, pouring juice into cups and doling out bananas and pop tarts. But when I stop and spin around and take in the three little bodies filling my house, I wonder how I got here. How I am now the parent. How I will have the strength to continue being strong. I know it’s just another thing we do, waking up and being a mom, but it is one of the most essentially brave things I will ever do, no matter how mundane it becomes.
Sarah – you so hit the parental courage nail on the head. I could see myself watching #4 as I read your words – trying to encourage but not be the only reason she was on the field. Great start to the next ten days.
.-= Nicki´s last blog ..Who in Your Life Has Shown You What Courage Is? =-.
Encouragement is SO FREAKING HARD. And also? Lowering and raising expectations where you see fit, and depending on the day. For now I know that my kid wants to be on the soccer field and the baseball diamond, if that changes, I’ll change too. But in his field of life I will always and forever be there, watching, cheering, worrying and, above all, loving. From the sidelines.
“…in a field of sun and breeze.” so many of my own memories surface that way. who i was, who i hope my kids will have the chance to be.
being on the sidelines is amazing in that you’re close, you have a great view, you can see almost everything. and yet because you’re that close you can see that they’re doing it without you. which is why we’re doing this – to help train them to do it on their own. but damn it’s bittersweet.
awesome post, sarah.
You quote me, I quote you:
“…and yet because you’re that close you can see that they’re doing it without you. which is why we’re doing this…”
Yes, if were any further than the sidelines, say, in the bleachers or the parking lot, I wouldn’t be close enough to see that my biggest kid is very much doing it without me, just as it should be and will be always.
And yes, it’s bittersweet. And sometimes, dammit, it even feels wrong. Like I’ve lost that tiny baby who curled into me so effortlessly way before I was ever ready to. And yet, I’m only just realizing all of this now. It makes we wonder what I’m failing to see NOW that I will miss in another 7 years.
It might not have been on a field, but I get this… and I’m sure if my mother would read this she would get all teary eyed because you are so right. That watching from the sidelines, and only being able to cheer and worry. It’s so hard, but it’s all we can do, all they could do.
Lovely.
Corinne, I know that Momalom’s Mom could write an entire post on this herself. In response to all three of her children, but especially in response to me. We have tried several times to put the watching and waiting and cheering into words, but it is almost too painful to reenact. When the bad is so very bad you have to remember that you don’t have to remember, if that makes sense. You must instead relish in the successes, that life has moved forward, and so have you, mother and daughter, together.
Great post! My post on courage goes along similar lines…but is not nearly as well written. My son had his first soccer game this weekend and I had no idea that I would enjoy it so much, be so breathless watching him run about the field (often in the wrong direction). I can only imagine what it is like to be my mom and dad watching me participate in the field of parenting.
.-= For the Love of Naps´s last blog ..Grace in Small Things #52 =-.
Oh you raise such a wonderful point here. To be my own mother watching me as a mother. I think of this often, actually. I marvel in the ways that we are alike, and I laugh at the ways we are different. (Though, more often than not we are alike.)
More than once my parents have watched me running in the wrong direction. At times they were even more than breathless. Winded, I would guess. But because I always had love, we all managed to reach the goal together.
That insecurity, how I know it. “That I might fold and tumble and give in to the insecurity of it all,” I do, often! I told my husband just last night that I find it so hard to have perspective because I don’t physically see myself parenting. Because I’ve that I’m never sure I’m doing a good enough job. But I can see HIM and it makes me feel very inferior.
That courage that you speak of, the courage to let them be, to discover themselves, I’m not sure it will ever exist for me. Right now it’s so easy, mine are still so young, so connected to me, but I’m afraid of the day when they need me less. When I’m no longer the one that they turn to.
Sarah, gorgeous, lovely! Thank you for sharing.
.-= Christine LaRocque´s last blog ..Courage =-.
But here’s what I’ve learned, Christine, in my 7 short years as a mom (and hopefully there are some moms with older kids who will agree with me, or help me explain it better) that even though your kids may need less of your time as they get older, they will never need less of you. In fact, I feel quite the opposite, that as Jamis gets older he needs more of me as ME, as Sarah, and less of me as me the mom, the diaper changer, the laundry doer. There is indeed going to be a steep learning curve as I figure out when to push him and when to pull back and let him find his own course, but I think that the connections to our kids only grow stronger as we and they age. As babies and toddlers, the need is physical. And that part I miss with Jamis, yes. But the ways in which he needs me now almost seem…I don’t want to say MORE important, because they’re not…but more urgent. Giving my hugs and my loves to my kids comes naturally. I WANT to scoop them up and rock them and snuggle into them at night (well, mostly…:)). But as Jamis has grown and moved away from this kind of need more and more I have had to challenge myself to be a different kind of a mom.
Like I said, I hope someone can put it into better (and more succinct?) words for me. And I hope you get the idea I’m trying to share.
:)
i agree! with my oldest (8 on thursday) i felt the shift in his needs but wasn’t sure that i was still meeting them enough. the littler ones are easier in a way, they are so much more clear in what they need. but with marley, he is so different now. full of needs that aren’t always obvious and wants that aren’t always realistic. in fact, i have been worrying about our quality moments lately until yesterday when he presented me with his mother’s day gift to me. a collage of pictures of he and i entitled “my favorite times with you”. and i needed to feel that validation. that i do still get him and still know how to be his mama.
so, not so succinct, but just a shout-out in agreement! ;)
.-= kate´s last blog ..courage =-.
Kate,
Thank you so much for your shout out! I absolutely adore Marley’s collage and it’s title and it’s meaning. I feel that Jamis and I (my 7yo) are in a new phase, both of us trying to figure exactly how much I am needed, and in what way. And it is the little big things like this collage that help you see exactly what you need to see. And it makes it so worthwhile.
I get it. Absolutely. And actually I’m comforted by it. I know it will get harder but in different ways. I want them to need me, because otherwise I’m not sure what I’d do.
.-= Christine LaRocque´s last blog ..Courage =-.
Wow, what a fabulous post, Sarah. I do think it takes courage to parent. It takes courage to watch from the sidelines. I haven’t yet had to watch heartbreak from the sidelines (my kids are still a bit too small), but I know it will take courage not to go and give hell to the heartbreak-ers. I will have to watch and love and hug, and that will be the most I can do.
.-= Jana@Attitude Adjustment´s last blog ..Then and Now =-.
This post is so lovely, so scary, and so true. I’m like Jana in that my son is a little young for sideline heartbreak. But already I struggle with watching the battle between finding his feet and falling; already, it’s time for me to let him fall a little, and I still find myself wanting him to hold tight to my hand.
.-= Leslie´s last blog ..Courage under love – and a little fire =-.
Leslie, see my comment to Jana (unfortunately I missed the opportunity to also send it to you, sorry!)
But yes to “watching the battle between finding his feet and falling…”
That’s it. Right there. You nailed it.
Well, here’s the thing…I think loving from the sidelines starts REALLY early actually. In ways you may not even realize. In fact, there were several lines in my original draft that I cut out early this morning that went something like this:
I always thought this part would come naturally to me. When my kids fall at the playground, I sit on the bench and wait to see if I am REALLY needed, or if they can get up on their own. If they struggle to turn a sock inside out and scream out in frustration, I wait. I wait because I know they need to know these things. I know I won’t always be there. I know that swooping in and fixing it all does not always make it easier in the end. For them and also for me. Especially now that there are three. But it gets harder as they get older.
Does this make sense? Can you see what I mean about the sidelines? We’re there from the moment we give birth. Waiting an extra moment before we pick them up, just to see if they’ll calm down again on their own. Helping them learn how to eat and sleep and pee the way we do. All of it. We’re their guides. We can’t do any of it for them, though we often (always?) wish we could.
What a way to kick this all off Sarah! Amazing post. I can also so relate to this in the aspect of watching Hannah and wanting so often to rush the field (gymnasium) and scoop her up when she falls or fight her fights when she gets insecure. sadly, I know it’s just going to get harder to stay on the sidelines as she grows. I know I’ll want to save her throughout her life and I’ll need to step back.
And I can also relate in remembering what it was like to BE that girl on the field (tennis court) and feel my mom pacing behind me in the grass willing the tennis balls to go “in”. She didn’t need to say a word but I knew she was coaching me/guiding me through every play and in essence, every day. And you’re so right, it takes courage to parent from afar.
I loved this Sarah.
.-= Becca´s last blog ..New Theme: Bueno =-.
Courage to parent from afar…yes. And not because we WANT to, mind you, but because we must. Because giving our kids space and freedom to explore themselves and find out who they are is all a part of living.
It reminds me of all the hype about Helicopter parenting. Being so actively engaged in every aspect of your child’s life can be a wonderful thing, but can also have its downsides. So how the heck are we supposed to know where to draw the line, and which side of it to put ourselves on???
I’m so exhausted from making so many small decisions in a day that I don’t know how I will continue to make the big ones…as the kids get bigger and smarter and their challenges get bigger and harder.
How? Courage. And Faith. In ourselves. I hope that’s the answer. Because it’s the only one I’ve got right now.
I just had a conversation this morning with a group of moms. We really focused on that line between being involved and too involved.
I can tell you this. My parents were at EVERY event I participated in: from cross-country meets to band concerts to softball tournaments in stifling heat. And I know that because of the security their support gave me, I was able to go to uncomfortable places in my early adult years and survive.
This is very interesting to me. I wonder what makes the difference between a parent who does this and succeeds at being ever-present, and one who crosses a line and effects their children negatively. Is it just as simple as being there for support and without expectation? Being there without putting the pressure on?
I don’t know. But I know I am trying. I know that once my two younger boys are Jamis’s age that I will have to make sacrifices. I won’t be able to be at three games at once. It will be a juggling struggle. But I want my boys to feel my presence on the sidelines of their lives, even if I am not always there. That much I know for sure.
“I will love my children fiercely and without apology” I love that. I never really realized that i was loved from the sidelines… and that I still am. As I move through my life, my parents move with me – cheering me on and encouraging my next move or to get up when I fall down.
Thanks for this perspective. A great way to not only start Five for Ten, but my day! :)
.-= Sarah´s last blog ..A Lesson in Courage =-.
I love to quote people when they quote me… what IS that? I don’t know, but it’s not the first time it’s happening today and it certainly won’t be the last. You know when your own words just aren’t full enough, and someone else’s just add to the mix so perfectly? Well yeah:
“As I move through my life, my parents move with me…”
Because life is constant motion and we aren’t in it alone. We are all connected. As a planet, a continent, a country or a town. And especially, most especially, as parents and children.
Oh Sweetie. What a post! Parenting is such a slog sometimes. But then there are mornings like this, when you open your computer and find an essay that validates your struggles. That tells you the job you did was OK. that tells you your child knows that she was loved always, even when she was giving you hell.
Remember the love during those slogging moments. I’m sending an extra dose down the Mass Pike today. Thank you for this lovely post.
Oh Mama. A “slog”? Sigh. Yes. A slog. And exactly the word I would have expected you to use. :)
And I think I’m just mostly glad that you and I can look at each other and laugh and say, “Yeah, I gave you hell.” Because being able to say that to one another is the emblem of our love. And I wouldn’t change any of it if I could today. (Except for maybe the part where you chased my boyfriend out of the house while clutching a kitchen knife after finding out I shaved my head. Nah, not even that. Makes for a great story…which I know you are just THRILLED that I am sharing here. BWHAHAHA!)
Wow this was a great start! My mom has been my sideline coach my whole life. SHe keeps me moving! It has been a tough week for me so it was inevitable that I would cry even thinking of courage and then reading that, I know why I cry. Because it does take SO much corage to go through the days being a mother. I think this is becaue all of a sudden my heart is on the outside, and that is tough. I had a really BAD week last week and I wanrt tot hank you. Now I know what I will write about!
.-= Brittany at Mommy Words´s last blog ..Cinderella’s Rainbow Castle =-.
If I gave you inspiration for your own post, that is total awesomeness! And yes to courage being born from motherhood. And yes to your heart being on the outside, so easily bruised, yet also so easily swollen with love and goodness. It’s the push/pull of it all that I am constantly contemplating. The ups and downs, goods and bads of my days are exhausting. The only constant is change, and it’s courage just to accept THAT.
Oops for the twitter list I am mommywords. Wrong the first time!
.-= Brittany at Mommy Words´s last blog ..Cinderella’s Rainbow Castle =-.
Sarah I love this. When I had my first child 22 years ago it dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, my mother had felt this way about me. And it blew my mind. I hope my kids realize this one day, and I love the circumstances that brought about your revelation.
.-= Maureen@IslandRoar´s last blog ..Space Monkeys? =-.
Of all of the little moments that I have had these little revelations, this one was the most emotional for me. Perhaps because my father is gone now, and I wish more than anything he would have been here on the sidelines WITH me (not just FOR me) as I watched my kids play, succeed, and struggle through life. But perhaps, like you, it is because it really, truly blows my mind that I feel about my kids the way my parents must have felt about me. (And the way my mom still does, of course.) And that they really, truly always loved me as fiercely as I love my own children. It is humbling. And it is breathtaking. And that is the moment I was in as I cried on the sidelines two Saturdays alone. It was something I could not stop and I’m just glad I had the chance to write about it.
This post really resonates with me….and hit exactly why watching my son’s soccer games can be so hard. It is really hard to stay on the sidelines.
Isn’t it just so hard to want to jump in on the action and know that you can’t? Living is tough. Being a spectator is even tougher, I find.
What a perfect analogy. And it is so true. We can wash the uniform, suit them up, and take them to the field. But ultimately we can’t play the game for them. But we can encourage from the sidelines. Lovely reminder.
And, as much as I bitch about washing the uniform, it’s the easy part, isn’t it? Watching them take the field is both thrilling and nerve-wracking!
I really really love this post. And your loving from the sideline sounds so “right.” I played soccer too. It was my sport. All through college. My parents never understood like I did but they were always there.
Now my oldest Claire has told me, after 2 years of playing soccer, that she doesn’t want to play next year. And my heart sunk. Why? It is because I yearn for a connective circle to my past that you have described so beautifully? Is it because I want to understand and learn about myself by watching her on the field? Is it because I want to keep my past alive in some way? I’m not sure. Maybe all of those things.
Anyway – this post brought tears to my eyes….as I realized that I was loved so wholly from the sidelines by my parents.
P.S. I kinda want to join Five for Ten but I’m scared. :-)
Scared I won’t be able to commit to writing on the topics…should I take the leap? I’ll come back later to decide…..
:-)
.-= Lee of MWOB´s last blog ..Conversations with my Kid – The Mother’s Day Edition =-.
Don’t be scared – and don’t stress out over all the topics. Do the ones you can, and that will be enough. I, too, worry about participating. Worry that my words won’t be good enough, deep enough, profound enough. And I’ve chosen to write something silly, too, not just something serious, and I worry that no one else will be silly. So you’re not alone, and I, and I’m sure others, will be here to support you and love whatever you write.
Jump in – the water is fine! We can dog-paddle together!
.-= Cindy´s last blog ..Seven Layer Hell =-.
Cindy,
Silly is GOOD! Did you not see the bit about Chips and Dip? I am totally banking on the fact that someone makes me crack a smile with a mention of it somewhere along the way.
And you are right, there is nothing to stress over. This is just a bunch of people getting together to share thoughts and ideas. And it is a beautiful thing!
Lee,
First of all, BRILLIANT decision to take the leap. BRILLIANT, my dear. And second of all, I absolutely know what you mean about wanting to connect with your child over the same sport. Perhaps wanting a part of your youth back. Perhaps wanting a reason to dive deeper into yourself as you watch your child play. I understand all of it. For now, Jamis plays soccer, as I played soccer. But he also plays baseball, among other things… And I can tell you that the attitude I feel coming from him in regards to his sporting endeavors is not unlike my own when I was his age (and a bit older). And THEN I can tell you that as often as this makes me proud, it also makes me wince. It’s simply another instance of our kids bringing out the best, and the worst, in us. Showing us the best, and the worst, parts of ourselves. Always, always being the mirror.
How very true. My oldest played his first two baseball games of the season and we were there, as always, cheering him on and watching from the sidelines. Just like in all aspects of his life. He is twelve now, and every year (especially getting closer to the teen years), we have to step further away from the field and just keep on cheering, worrying, watching. As he gets more and more independent we just have to hope that he will do the right thing – not for us, but for himself. And when he makes a mistake or falls down, we will be there to pick him up and encourage him to keep on going.
Great post!
.-= ShannonL´s last blog ..Five for Ten: Supergirl =-.
Yes, Shannon! This is exactly it. With the emphasis, of course, being on your last line. That even when they fall or falter, we will be there to pick them up, guide them, and encourage them. I never really was too good at being a cheerleader. I am surprised by myself lately, as I see my inner Cheer Girl coming out, I see my optimism transforming into something wholly sustainable for our entire family.
Great post! I love the idea of a parent on the sidelines = love. It’s true…those sideline moments mean support, and caring, and courage from afar. And sometimes that’s even harder than being the one on the field!
.-= Amy at Never-True Tales´s last blog ..Two-O’Clock-in-the-Morning Courage =-.
Amy, I would absolutely have to agree…being on the sidelines is much more difficult than I ever thought it would be. And being the runner I am, I would prefer to just jump on the field and run around all day. Sun, heat, rain, breeze, sleet, no matter. (well, maybe sleet, not really a fan. who is?)
:)
A great post with which to kick off the series.
When I think of parenting and courage, I think of my mom who not only had to let me, her only child, go where my dreams took me, which was half a world away, but she took an active role in encouraging me to do so, knowing fully that if she was successful, she would only see me once a year or two. I don’t know how she did it because looking at my own child, I can’t imagine being away from her.
But I guess that’s what it means to be a parent isn’t it? To love is to be courageous, and to know the difference between being there for your kids and being there with them.
.-= Justine´s last blog ..It didn’t feel like courage =-.
From just these few details of your story I can tell say that your mom seems like the epitome of a brave and courageous mom who is loving from the sidelines. The difference between being there and being with? Yes yes and yes.
Another line I took out: something about buying the shoes for my boys and lacing them up, but not ever, ever, ever being able to walk in them for them!
I agree that being a mom is the toughest job in the world, right next to being a military wife.
There have been times in my life that I just didnt think I was going to make it to the next day, but I would never give up being a mother for anything in the world.
I know nothing of the military wife bit, and really cannot imagine. Kudos to you and your husband and your family.
But the bit about “there have been times…”? I could have written those very same words. And it is why I love this online life, and writing here, and Five for Ten. Because it is the connection to other women that gets me through those awful days, those points when I feel so low it’s like I’m at the core of Earth with no way to climb back up.
Loving fiercely, without apology, feels like the easy part…from the sidelines takes courage. Letting our children, live and learn, get hurt and heal, experience both joy and pain is the most couragous way to love, but it’s not always easy. Well written.
Angi,
Welcome!
Do you think the fact that I barely manage to inspect the scratches in my boy-filled home anymore will help that “hurt and heal” bit you speak of? I like to think so. If I’m being honest, a lot of my sidelines parenting is done by default these days. With three. And three boys, at that! But with my oldest already (only!) 7, I can see that default mode isn’t going to work for long.
Glad to have you here.
Sarah
This was an amazing post. My daughter is only 17 months old and already I feel like I’m on the sidelines with her because she is so independent. In some ways that’s a good thing but sometimes I just want to hug her and she’s all “Ummm I don’t think so Mom!” hehe As she gets older it will be more and more difficult to just let her be herself and not become a copter mom, but I think that’s the courage part that I’ll learn as I go along! : )
.-= Sara´s last blog ..Courage the Cowardly Hobbit =-.
Our daughters must have been made from the same stuff! (And I’m not referring the the sugar and spice part.)
.-= Amber´s last blog ..That Was Love =-.
OH the independent type. I know it well. TIMES THREE. My boys are up and off on their own, exploring and running amok. With my first I actually took great pride in this. It was clear to me that he was independent because he was confident and maybe he was confident because he knew he was loved. Yes, it was always easy for me to find a way to pat myself on the back as a new mom. It’s harder now. I question myself more, and there aren’t always answers.
As Jen always says, parenting is hard, yo. :)
Absolutely beautiful. I’ve lived many a day on the sidelines of life and yes, it takes courage. I am going to try to participate…interesting topics.
.-= Suzicate´s last blog ..Freaks, Geeks, And Squeaks =-.
Oh yes Miss Suzicate, you should definitely participate. We are just getting warmed up.
So much of the push and pull in my relationship with my mother is because of how she never learned this lesson. She wanted to be beside me at all times, steering and guiding and determining what and when and how my life would unfold. I hurt for her because I know her inability to love from the sidelines was because her own parents didn’t love well at all. But I hurt for me, too, because I can utter no word or take no action without first plotting out how to keep it as mine and not let her make it hers.
I was teaching myself this lesson slowly and without a role model. Now that you’ve laid it out so clearly, though, I see that I have role models all across this awesome stage called blogging. Thank you so much for that.
.-= Kelly´s last blog ..Good things =-.
You’ve touched a chord. Tell me more. This balancing act is difficult and it becomes so much more difficult as the kids get older. How do I step back? How do I let them fail? What can I learn not to do?
Oh lady. All I know is that we have to let them make mistakes and be there when they need a safe place to recover from those mistakes. Like how my younger sister is moving to Australia in three months and my mother has tried every way possible to make that trip impossible for her … because my mom thinks it’s a mistake and that my sister should do something different with her life. I wish my mom could learn to just love us for who we are and accept that we’re all people who will do what we’re going to do. It IS a balancing act and I can’t even begin to dole advice about the teen years. I will be mothering without a net during those years!!! Maybe we can all do it together.
Kelly,
This is a post in itself. And I know you have more to say about it, and hope that one day you will. We learn from our parents not only the ways we want to parent our own children, but the ways we don’t want to…the things we want to avoid being or doing or saying.
Knowing this, thinking about it, making strides to finding your own path, is the biggest, boldest move toward your own comfort as a parent. And also, as a daughter.
And yes, it is an amazing community. Blogging has brought me back to myself in so many ways. I am thankful for all of you, everyday.
Unfortunately, my mom is too defensive and fragile (having raised us on her own and not always made the best choices), so I will not be tackling this subject on my blog. Maybe it can be a Momalom guest post one day in the future!
Ooh, guest post. I like the idea!
This is a gorgeous post! I love it! The Sidelines, you are so right. My oldest has been drifting farther and farther away (he’s 19 now) and I’m slowly realizing that I’ve been at the sidelines all along. All I can do is hope that he heard me cheering and encouraging all those years.
I look at the other two and wonder if I’m still doing it right….if I did it right at all? I am always questioning that…sigh…
.-= Shawna Cevraini´s last blog ..The Opposite of Courage =-.
Oh the questioning, it’s exhausting, isn’t it? Absolutely, 100%, exhausting. I’m up, I’m down, I’m up, I’m down. Feeling confident or crappy on any given day, in any given minute.
“Parenting takes an inordinate amount of courage.” That line says it all. There is no handbook of instructions, no person who knows all the answers, and it is terrifying. Still, when we wake up and commit to be the best mom or dad that we can possibly be, we are taking a great leap into the unknown. We have our failures and our successes, and through it all we have our kid’s unyielding love. That is what fuels my courage.
.-= Amber´s last blog ..That Was Love =-.
Oh yes, Amber, their love. It fuels it all. Their kisses and their squishy cheeks. And, as they get older, the glance from the outfield to check if you are watching. The random insistence of a song sung at bedtime.
Love. I have it three-fold. Add my husband and then it’s four-fold. I know I am lucky and I feel even luckier to be able to share it all here in this place online.
So much truth here. Yes. From the sidelines. It’s terrifying and good at the same time to know that all we can do is instill the good things, teach the good things, do our best and then…let go. Not taking on guilt for their failings or too much pride in their success, but just allowing them to live their own story. It’s so hard and takes so much courage. Beautiful post, lady!
I am learning to let go every moment of my day. Let go of a bad mood, a bad memory, a good time I want to have back, but can’t. The letting go is so important, and while I think I am getting better at it in my own life, I am not so sure I am ready to let go of my kids any time soon. If you asked me a year ago or so, I would not have said the same thing. But something has changed with my oldest this year. He doesn’t want to grow up. I don’t want him to grow up either. We are sad for it and each other.
What a lovely post. We are certainly our children’s cheerleaders, sometimes loud, sometimes not. I remember my own parents comforting me and challenging me through various times of my life and the lessons I learned from those moments. I hope to pass some of that wisdom to my own daughter, hoping some of my words don’t just float, but actually have place to land in her head.
Thanks so much for Five for Ten. Truly inspiring to see the number of participants and what they are bringing to the party.
.-= Rudri´s last blog ..Diamond Courage =-.
And there are so many words coming out of our mouths, aren’t there? I feel like all of them float, and none of them land. Until, that is, I see one of my sons get through a tough moment, or come home feeling proud of themselves for something. Those are the sweetest moments, and something I know that I was a part of because of those very words I’ve called to them time and time again.
And yes, it TRULY is inspiring. I’m absolutely overwhelmed by today’s response. In every way. :)
“Parenting takes an inordinate amount of courage”: this is so validating, and so encouraging. Parenting isn’t just hard or exhausting or rewarding – it takes courage, and it feels like a huge relief to have read this. Like a little recharging.
.-= macondo mama´s last blog ..8 more random things you might not know about Argentina =-.
Ooh, I’m so GLAD that you can see it as a relief, as a bit of recharging. That right there is amazing validation for the words I struggled so hard to write. Thank you.
Sarah – You’re setting the bar high, aren’t you.
A lovely post indeed. Like many of your posts it makes me both crave and dread these moments of parenting. IEP will be 18 months next week, and is still too young for me to look at him and recall any particular moment of my own childhood. As always, your posts help prepare me for the moments of parenting that are still years out in front of me. And they make me wonder and daydream (with a healthy dose of fear) about how I will handle these moments which I know are coming, and yet still cannot predict.
I guess that right there, to me, is one of the scariest things about parenting. There are things we know will happen – they are as much a part of having children as changing diapers – but we have no idea how or when they will come about. Pardon me while I go summon my courage.
.-= Gale @ Ten Dollar Thoughts´s last blog ..Mass Mailing =-.
You know what your comment makes me think, Gale? That I wish I had known the blogging world way back when. For so many, many reasons. too. I wish I had started writing when Jamis was born and I was drifting through the early years of motherhood, soaking it all in. Then again, I think I might feel a bit scared, as you admit to being (and rightly so). Parenting is such a great unknown, and yet there are these things, these things we know we will confront because we see our friends confronting them, and we know our own parents were once there with us, and it’s all so very confusing and overwhelming. But courage is the exact thing we need to move through it all gracefully, if that can even be done!
Sarah, what a beautiful post. I have many moments throughout the day when, in teaching things to my son, I unthinkingly dictate how he should act, how he should feel, what he should say. It’s easy to forget that my son has a life completely separate from me and that one day, he will be making big life decisions whether or not I approve and perhaps even without the slightest input from me. I tell myself that everyday is a lesson in letting go and I keep hoping, seemingly to no avail, that I will learn to be an expert at sitting on the sidelines, feeling every protective/maternal instinct raging within me, tempering them with the sweetest of smiles and acceptance, while effectively communicating my unconditional love for him more clearly than anything else.
I think it is a balance between knowing what is the best thing to do for your child (let them take their own course from time to time) and wanting to drive that course for them. The protective and maternal instincts you feel for him will not subside, nor will they fight against what it is you ultimately deem your son needs. It’s not a war. It is like a push and pull. It is the very meaning of the term “heartstrings.” I truly believe that I am a mom fit for the sidelines, and am surprised, actually, by my recent tears over the playing field of my son’s life. I don’t wish to play the game for him, but I do cry because I know how difficult it can be. I don’t want to take that difficulty away really, I think I am just letting myself feel it all…finally…and in a good way.
Hope that makes sense. :)
Sports were not a part of my life growing up at all, so I am just now understanding the literal aspect of being loved from the sidelines, of cheering my kid on, of watching, of praying, of hoping he does well, that he enjoys himself, that he gives it his all. But the loving from the sidelines figuratively? I am learning more and more everyday that as much as you do, you really are, as a parent, just waiting in the wings, just there, sitting, watching, cheering, coaching, but the rest? It’s up to the player.
.-= Liz´s last blog ..For Mother’s Day…I got my kid back =-.
You know me, girl. It’s really all about the figurative, isn’t it? We are coaches with a special interest, aren’t we? We want to favor our children, give them a heads up in life, spend a little extra time teaching them things that will smooth the ride. But it’s just not always up to us. We won’t make their decisions or walk in their shoes. And honestly, I don’t particularly want to do it all again anyway. But what I find is that I am finally really letting myself feel the entire emotion of motherhood. Some parts of which I blocked out before. And this alone takes courage.
I’m new here. I followed from Corrine’s blog.
I enjoyed reading your post. I need more time to process it. I’ll probably come back with more comments. Just wanted to pop in and say hi.
.-= WackyMummy´s last blog ..Ducks and Stuff =-.
Hiya Wacky Mummy.
So glad you came by. Feel free to jump in and write up a post on Courage. Or maybe you already have? :)
I’m just jumping into my responses now. If you have any questions at all…I’m here. Or if you want to just read along, feel free. This is a wonderful, wonderful community.
What a beautiful, amazing and oh-so-true post. “From the sidelines.” I love the image this creates. And I will cherish it and try so hard to apply it when I want to just jump in there and fix things for my kids. Thank you for this poignant imagery.
.-= Jane´s last blog ..Surviving Divorce Is Not Courage. Saving Lives While Risking Your Own IS. =-.
I’m so thrilled you enjoyed it, Jane. It is a post I really struggled to put together. It didn’t seem to want to gel, no matter what I did to it. But I pulled it together in the Nick of Time!!!
I shed a few tears whilst reading your post. I’m proud to say that I make an effort to watch all my son’s games. Sometimes, I can barely see the field as many schools are simply not accessible for my wheelchair. But he knows that I am there and that is all that is important.
Thank you!
.-= Tracy Todd´s last blog ..A Mother’s Love =-.
I just read your mother’s day post. Wow. I want to hear your voice about courage. And your mothers. Your voice is strong and brave and beautiful. Filled with inspiration.
Yes, Tracy. That is truly all that is important. I know that it doesn’t come close to comparing, but I feel compelled to say that while I am AT the games, I am usually chasing too toddlers. There are very few plays I actually see. But my oldest son, while he knows his brothers are there, takes to heart only one thing: that I showed up to watch him, cheer for him, support him.
This is so lovely! I know that this is going to sound a little far fetched, but I had that similar sucked-back-in-time moment this year watching all of the children hunt for Easter eggs in the same yard that I hunted in for all of my childhood. Although my son is still under a year, I was standing there watching all of the children running around and I was so overcome with nostalgia and hope for the future, and exactly what you describe: such a connected feeling to my parent’s experience. Those moments of parenthood are the ones that surprise me the most…where we simultaneously have our minds straddling the past, present, and future with the result of an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for being a part of this crazy mix. I’m going to do a courage post this evening, this is such a great idea!
.-= Amelia´s last blog ..Mama. =-.
I went to visit my mother yesterday who is suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease. She mothered me so wonderfully. Tender and compassionate. With humor and understanding. If I do mother well, I owe it to my mother.
She mothered with courage. Me, not so much.
Amelia,
Welcome!
Straddling the past, present and future…YES! This is such a wonderful way of putting it. Because it is like we are all times at once, seeing our kid in ways that make the boundaries disappear. I’m so glad that this has inspired you to write your own post. Come back and link up with us!
Sarah
Such a great post to kick things off with!
I hope I can learn to love from the sidelines when baby girl gets here in August!
Oooh, congrats on baby girl. (totally going to FEIGN JEALOUSY over here. what? i really don’t want a baby girl. nope. no way. no how. okay, the lying is awful, i know.)
Good LUCK!
Beautifully written. How wonderful to wake up and read powerful words.
The hardest part, for me, the part that takes real courage is allowing my children to fail. I haven’t been so good at that.
Saturday was Prom for my eldest son. He drove across the Golden Gate Bridge at 12:30 at night and then to an after prom party. He was home by 3:00am. I wasn’t worried about his drinking or drugs. I was worried about the deer that would run in front of the car in the early morning hours or someone else out late, drinking and driving.
Courage.
I’m lots of things, but I’m not courageous.
I love your words–and your bravery.
Terry, if there is one thing I have learned from my mother is that this worrying does not stop. Not ever. No way. No how. She still wakes up in the middle of the night, tosses and turns with worry for her children and her grandchildren. I don’t think it’s actually the worry that’s the problem. The worry will always be there. I think it’s whether or not the worry gets in the way of allowing your kids the room they need to grow and achieve and experience. It seems that in the case of Saturday night, you did great! And so did your son!
And I have a gut instinct that you are (we all are) much braver than we give ourselves credit for.
wow, what an amazing first post! i loved so much about it…most of which has been repeated here many times.
loving from the sidelines. yes. powerful stuff.
i can’t wait to read more!
.-= kate´s last blog ..courage =-.
Thank you, Kate. I am gearing up for my Happiness post tomorrow. Happy to switch gears, actually. All of these courage posts have knocked me flat! There is no way to read them from the sidelines, you know? I feel like I front and center for so many of these amazing words.
As so many other people have said, this is a very beautiful post. I had never really thought of parenting this way, but it is really an excellent analogy. I haven’t literally cheered my sons on from the sidelines yet, but now that I think about it, I have done it in other ways. I’ve held my tongue when my older son introduces himself to other kids at the park, knowing that often all he’ll get is a strange look (usually if it’s a child older than him). I know he needs to be who he is, and learn how his individual personality fits in to the world around him. I’m here to support that little personality–from the sidelines–and watch how it grows.
Thanks for the great post, it’s really very beautiful.
.-= Jenn M´s last blog ..Without Fear =-.
Yes, I think we have all done this in little ways. Even when our children were infants. There have always been times we have had to muster the courage to sit and watch them figure things out on their own. It’s hard. So hard. But I have to believe it’s exactly what we should be doing a lot of the time.
A beautiful post. I was never into sports and I don’t know, or really care, if my kids are either, but I know this wasn’t about that exactly. It’s universal, applied daily, just giving our kids the distance to learn and grow by themselves. It’s harder than it sounds.
.-= C @ Kid Things´s last blog ..Courageous =-.
Oh yes, much harder than it sounds, right? I mean, our kids will go to school and be around other kids (even if they don’t play on a sports team), and in that alone comes and a whole new course of hanging back and watching them falter–even under the tutelage of the teachers.
There is so much we can’t do for them. It’s a hard process to learn how to sit on our hands from time to time. At least for me. And I consider myself and my kids incredibly independent!
Since I haven’t yet delivered my baby I can’t say for sure, but it seems to me that there is a slow process of “letting go” from the day your child is born. Am I right? Because that’s what it sounds like. It’s easy for me to sit back at that point and wax poetic about how independent I’m going to let my child be, but the first time they ride out of my field of view on a bicycle? Terrifying.
.-= Elizabeth @ Life in Pencil´s last blog ..Courageous Decisions, Courageous Parents =-.
Elizabeth,
This made me grin. Terrifying? Yup. All of it. Sometimes I wish I were in your shoes, finding myself pregnant for the first time and already such a part of this blogging world. It is a gift–both the pregnancy and this community, all at once.
I’m new, but already loving your blog! Thank you for reminding me of the courage it takes to watch your kids struggle. To encourage, but not always jump in to rescue.
.-= Kristen Truong´s last blog ..Hubby 2.0 =-.
Welcome, Kristen. And your welcome. Encouragement, support, guidance…lots and lots of cheering from the sidelines!
Wow, Sarah, wow. Could this be my favorite post of yours ever? I think so.
I think in my head I’ve conflated the word “sidelines” with the word “bystander.” Both of them have always felt passive to me. But your post today gives “sidelines” the animation of parenthood and now things are clicking for me. Staying on the sidelines doesn’t mean neglecting or even ignoring our kids (even during a certain blogging event that has this mom decidedly distracted already!); it’s all about bolstering and supporting, being that “invisible hand” that helps without pushing.
Thanks for kicking off Five for Ten with such a big bang!
.-= Kristen @ Motherese´s last blog ..Random Acts of Courage =-.
I’ve got tingly arms. When someone’s view is shifted just the tiniest bit by something I’ve said–in a GOOD way, of course–that is the greatest compliment. And I would just say no to sidelines = bystander. Totally different in my book.
I was stressed about this post. But I’m so glad I pushed and fought for it and that this was the result.
Amazing post, as always. And it touches on the same theme that will be in my courage post tomorrow. I love the image of standing on the sidelines. It’s something I do literally – 1 basketball player, 1 soccer player, 1 baseball/soccer player) and figuratively every single day. Thanks for starting us off with a bang – you definitely set the bar really really high!
.-= Cindy´s last blog ..Seven Layer Hell =-.
Cindy, 5 out of 7 days I am right there with you. And this is only ONE KID in the field so far. I’m exhausted just looking ahead a few more years. :)
Just wanted to say you have sucked me in. I am trying to do this thing. It just sounds kinda awesome.
Thanks.
Hi Lee,
It IS awesome! I was worried that I wouldn’t have time, my writing wouldn’t be good enough, I wouldn’t be able to connect with the topics… but I went for it, and I’m SO glad I did. I am finding some amazing blogs and loving the conversations that are happening already! Our blog names are quite similar (I’m Comments from a Non-Blogger) – I didn’t feel like I had the time to commit to blogging, but now I can’t help myself!
.-= ShannonL´s last blog ..Five for Ten: Supergirl =-.
It takes a strong and confident person to parent from the sideline. Letting our children go off and be who they are does take courage. I didn’t realize my parents did it either until I was in the parenting roll myself. Great post!
PS – I can’t get the linky thingy to work for me. I’ve tried twice. I think it’s the server at my office.
.-= Erica@PinesLakeRedhead´s last blog ..Do I have the courage? =-.
Erica,
Did you get linked up for courage? I’m sorry I’m just getting to this now. I don’t think I see your post on the list. Will go ahead and add it now. Sorry that it’s late. If it happens again shoot me an email right away and I’ll take care of it.
Sarah
Oh shoot. Sorry. I see it!
What a great way to describe parenting. It’s so true. We have to love them, but let them go to make their own decisions (good and bad) while trying to direct, encourage and coach them from the sidelines. Beautiful post.
.-= Allison @ Alli ‘n Son´s last blog ..Courage and Learning to Trust Myself =-.
Thank you, Allison. Parenting is hard, yo! hard hard hard
It would be so much easier if we could just run out there on the field and scoop them up and do all the hard parts for them, wouldn’t it? Sigh. Watching and loving from the sidelines so they can learn to do it themselves–and knowing when to step in, when they really do need us right there–that’s the hard part. But at least we get to cheer and coach and bring snacks (sustenance!) and document the whole process, right? There’s a lot to do over here on the sidelines. Thank goodness, or else we might end up running on the field much more than necessary.
Um, yes. On my grumpy days (today? every day?) my mind slips into the whole THERE IS TOOOOO MUCH TO DO ON THE SIDELINES I THINK IT WOULD BE EASIER TO TAKE THE FIELD mindset. And then I remember age 12 and 13. Age 15 and 18 and, um, no thanks. I’ll stick where I am. Providing sustenance. Lots and LOTS of it.
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