The Core Isn't Spinning Any More

A Step by Step Guide for Launching Your Child Into the World

Ominous Core Shift, Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

The earth has done something dramatic. The massive core of molten metal at its center has just kind of slowed. The scientists say that it is almost still. It might reverse directions. They assure that, “nothing cataclysmic is happening.” The earth just isn’t spinning anymore. It does this from time to time. We can go about our business.

I have four kids. It's messy, intense, and lovely. Rio, our ambitious leader, is in college now. Sol, my tousled-haired dreamer, was just accepted into some of his favorite schools. We are lucky, grateful, scared, excited. Both of them will be gone next year. Our family will be different with the middle two gone. Our core is shifting. It’s cool. Nothing cataclysmic.

The Cataclysm

Before my kids began to leave, I couldn’t really imagine what it would feel like. In my head, I calmly envisioned the lucky inevitability. They are smart, my babies, and somewhat motivated. We recognize the privilege we have; it has allowed us to establish a family culture in which this is a thing that happens — college. My husband and I both taught college at different moments, we lived in a college dorm as a young family, we know college. I have always been excited for my kids to feel the fabulousness of young community, of dorm food, of hectic class schedules and stressful late nights with just the right snacks and camaraderie.

But when the college moment approached and then actually arrived, when I sat down and considered that her shoes wouldn’t be there and her room would be strangely clean and we wouldn’t need to cook kale all the time and she wouldn’t be infusing that blend of adventure/anxiety/empathy/clever into our air, I became suddenly devastated. Everything would change. Our house would be four boys and me. Parenting as we had known it, would suddenly have an intensely different flavor. It was done.

I wasn’t sure what to mourn or how to mourn it. The world would stop spinning for a bit. I wondered if that still would impact our place in the universe, drop all of us into some pit of despair. It didn’t. Things just stayed still for a little bit, so that our child could hop off. And then the world started spinning again, maybe in a different direction but the motion felt familiar. You’ll be okay. It’s scary, I know, but you’ll be okay.

A Guide for the End

Having been through it once, and now going through it again, I post this advice as a reminder to myself and as a guide for you. Here are the essential steps for sending your baby away while holding on:

1. Worry that there’s something wrong with your child. They don’t seem right. They are way more intense and confusing than you remember them being. What psychological, biological thing is creating this brokenness that you feel?

2. Really look into it. Push them toward therapy that they refuse. Take the introductory video session yourself. If and when they seem open to therapy after you explain that EVERYone should get therapy and especially teenagers after a pandemic, recognize that good therapists in your area are nearly impossible to find and insurance rarely covers them. Move on. Wonder about their rashes and headaches. Consider genetic vs. environmental maladies. Consider relocating so that you don’t break your other children, if you haven’t already. Consider your own health history. Schedule your annual checkup. Find yourself therapy.

3. Start thinking about extra-long sheets. Research thread counts, dimensions, colors, patterns. Learn about mattress pads. There is so much to know about mattress pads. Their complexity is what makes them prohibitively expensive. Start hoarding Bed Bath & Beyond twenty-percent-off coupons. Make a run through Bed Bath & Beyond on your own, scouting it out. Your child won’t want to hear anything about this until two days before departure. When you finally make it to Bed Bath & Beyond, your child will break down in the pillow nook. Too many choices. You won’t buy a mattress pad. It’s okay. Consider T.J.Maxx.

4. Give lots of advice. You only have a little time left to teach them everything they need to know. When you think of little tips, text them in the middle of the school day. Enter their room wild-eyed. You might need to wake them up, lest you forget. But remind them first thing in the morning, because they might have been too sleepy to take in the details. They must understand how to be kind, how to stay healthy, how to work hard, how not to work too hard. You must teach them about managing their own money, their sleep, their food, their stress. Make lists. Send them lists. Repeat things with slight derivations in theme and content. Accent those derivations to assure they have it right.

5. Mark all of the lasts. Last cross country meet. Last concert. Last essay. Last sleety winter morning. Last stop at a coffee shop after annual six-month dentist appointment. Last time you buy them gum when they grocery shop with you. And then the last time again. Hold these moments to your heart and feel them, profoundly. It’s okay if you cry.

6. Make a communication contract. Consider that your child must make their own way. So they will surely need you. Quite often. And FaceTime. You can still see them. You can see where they walk and what they wear and who they know and how they eat. You can hear their voice and recognize it’s tremors and its pride. Text in between talks. They might want to know what the dog is doing.

7. Hook your foot out of the door and slow the world by dragging your leg against time. Let your child out. Tell them you love them. Run back and tell them you love them again. And once more. Then give a little push off with your foot to start the thing spinning again.

8. FaceTime.