This musing was originally published on my former blog, Life and Other Stories, on March 2, 2022.

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My kids had their Midwinter Break last week. It was an overly busy nine-day stretch of time off school that I’m still recovering from.

And I’ve officially accepted that kids do grow up too fast.

I didn’t mean to schedule everything on their week off, but that’s just how things aligned: home projects, all the kids' dental appointments, Autism appointments, shockwave therapy on my foot, doctor follow-ups—the list goes on.

All of it fell on last week.

A photo I captured while parked in Carnation, Washington (U.S.) last week for an appointment.

While I spent most of my time engaged in meetings and appointments, my husband worked and our kids were on screens basically the entire week.

All the plans I’d made for us fell through due to a surprise cold front that brought a dusting of snow along with it. 

(We’re ex-Floridians: we’re wimps when it comes to cold.)

I tell myself that all these missed opportunities are a season, and it will pass, but as a new acquaintance with grown children pointed out: my oldest [was] 12 and is in the place where she hardly wants to do anything anymore, let alone do it with her family. Pulling no punches, in regard to her ever wanting to do things with the family anymore, the acquaintance said, “That ship has sailed.”

Last week was especially difficult for me to process. 

I ran myself ragged, but I also feel like I let my kids down. I know this time while they’re still “little” is slipping away, and the pandemic instilled a more settled attitude in them. In all of us, really.

They’re content to just stay home, not wanting to explore like they used to.

Having a better understanding of neurodivergence makes this reality a bit easier to accept, but I’m still in a pre-programmed mindset that, as a family, you have to take your kids places — they have to get out and experience the world outside our walls. But what if the world is "too much"? Too bright, too loud, too overwhelming?

The lockdown transformed our lives of constant motion into stagnation. Stillness.

It was 2020, then 2021, and now 2022 and it all still feels like 2020-extended.

But I put the figurative oxygen mask on myself every day, breathe deeply, and make sure my family’s masks are all snug in place. But they want to grab theirs on their own now. They don’t want me to do it for them anymore, but they need me to love them enough to double-check.

And, for certain, that’s one thing I can say I’ll never stop doing: trying.

My kids enjoyed their week off from school the way they wanted to.

They socialized with their online acquaintances and with old friends from Florida where the only place they want to connect anymore is online.

Sometimes it’s hard to accept that my role in my children’s lives is changing. I’m less and less relied upon as the Fixer of Everything, and have become more a side-character who’s called upon for support only under major moments of stress or despair.

They’re still so young to me, but they’re different people than I was at their ages.

I fell in line. I kept my head down and my mouth shut. I obeyed without question (except for at church, apparently). I cried and screamed into a pillow in my bedroom instead of standing up for myself or asking to opt out of things I didn't want to do.

But we're raising our children to know that their voices and opinions and say-so in their own lives matter. At least two of them are strong-willed and talk back and challenge authority often.

Sure, there are moments where I just want to explode over the occasional defiance, but I like who they are. I like that they sometimes won’t take “no” as a sufficient answer, even if the liking part doesn't come until later.

The pandemic may have derailed some of my ideas of what the last three years could have looked like, stealing time from us, but it simultaneously changed our lives for the better.

We learned how to slow down, to connect more deeply as we discovered more about ourselves and about each other along the way.

Seeing what so many other people and families have gone through, I’m grateful for what we have and even for what we lost during this pandemic time.

We’re stronger for it, and recognize how fortunate we truly are.

We’ll reclaim this time. We have our lives still, and that buys us a lot outright.

My best,

Sara

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Here are three more things:

Over the past couple weeks I read In Fact: The Best of Creative Nonfiction (the catalog), edited by the incredible Lee Gutkind. It's on my "to re-read" list.

I’m a book collector (e.g., a book hoarder), but this story is a fascinating read: about the power of one 16-year-old’s perseverance to protect himself from the worst potential of Covid-19 through vaccination while his parents refused to allow it; partnered with the library where he learned his rights and what actions he could take that inevitably protected him while his unvaccinated family contracted Covid. (On NPR)

“Motherhood: the days are long but the years are short.” —Gretchen Rubin

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P.S. I predominantly write from my personal experience as an Autistic person with ADHD, chronic illness, Anxiety, and more. Each of these factors can influence my individual experience overall, as well as my experience of each condition.

Self-identification of Autism (what many call “self-diagnosis”) is perfectly valid. If a personal Autistic experience I write about resonates deeply with you, consider these resources on Embrace Autism (starting with the Autism Quotient Test) as a first step. If professional assessment is important to you or your life has been impeded enough that you may need to qualify for Disability, you can print your results to bring to a diagnostician. (Having all those tests completed in advance saved me a lot of money!) Although there are many more diagnosticians available, here is a comprehensive list to get you started.

Lastly, some of my opinions may have changed since I first wrote the piece that lead you here.

Email me/Reply with any questions, and I’ll respond as soon as I can.