On Growing Up & Leaning In

Some thoughts on parenting teens

Hi, Friend.

I’m so jet lagged I should have a lock on my laptop right now. Writing exhausted and with my internal clock set to no discernible time zone at all is probably not advisable. And yet, here we are! Bear with me.

I spent the last week in Greece at Rosemary’s House, mentoring a cohort of writers—poets, memoirists, essayists, and fiction writers—and eating more feta than one human should ingest in an eight-day period. I highly recommend both. Working with writers across genres is a joy and a privilege no matter where I am, but doing that work in such a beautiful place, with such a supportive group? I kept turning to my friend Megan Stielstra and saying, “This is work,” to remind myself.

It was work, and it was pleasure, and I hope to be back.

After a harrowing journey home, more than 24 hours of flights and layovers and missed connections, I turned the key in my front door at 2:00 am Monday morning. I’d been up and traveling since 11:00 pm Saturday night, from Thessaloniki to Munich to Chicago to Columbus. My Monday was a blur, and last night I was so jet lagged that I went to bed around 8:00 pm (that’s 3:00 am Greece time). I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

Before bed I hugged both kids, and my son Rhett said he was going to take a shower, then maybe pack his lunch for school today. The thing is, I pack Rhett’s lunch every day. Every morning, I wake him up by knocking softly on his door and calling his name in a little, sing-song morning voice. I read him the forecast from my phone through his closed bedroom door, so he knows what to wear, and then I go downstairs to take care of the dog, make my coffee, and pack his lunch. (Violet has been packing her own lunch since her first year of high school.)

Each morning, Rhett comes downstairs dressed, gets his breakfast, and eats it snuggled up on the couch with the dog (yes, we’re a family that eats on the couch a lot). I stay in the kitchen to pack his lunch before joining him. At some point, Violet comes down and we all sit together in the living room for a little while before they walk to school. So last night I said, “I’ll pack your lunch, honey! You don’t need to do that tonight.” And he said, “Yeah, but if I pack it tonight, you can come sit with me for longer.”

More snuggles. He wanted to take on the task last night so he could have more time with me this morning before school. Just a few minutes more.

I was so tired and discombobulated last night, that what he said didn’t strike me until this morning. I woke up and thought about how he’s turning thirteen next week. We might think of our teenagers as growing up and away from us, but I’m seeing something else. Growing up and leaning in. My daughter texted me every morning when I was in Greece, often with “Good morning Mommy.” My son called. They sent a selfie of them having iced lattes together. (As I’ve written about before, I love and support the idea of sibling dates.)

They even walked to the grocery store, bought a pumpkin together, then carved it on our back patio. Seeing the photos they sent made me miss them even more. That jack-o’-lantern was smiling at me when I lugged my carryon up the front porch steps early Monday morning.

Parenting teens can be tricky. They’re more mature than they were even a couple of years ago: They can go places alone, make themselves something to eat, do their homework without supervision. They can go on coffee dates! They can buy and carve pumpkins! But they still want what we all want: To be held. Literally and figuratively.

I got up a little earlier than usual this morning. My body clock is so confused, but my mind feels very clear. I know what my job is. I was ready for couch snuggles the moment Rhett came downstairs.

May we listen more and notice more. May we understand how much we’re needed.

Big day ahead, jet lag be damned! I hope you have a good one.

Take care,
Maggie