Separation Anxiety

As if social anxiety wasn’t enough, I’m realizing I also have quite a bit of separation anxiety when it comes to my kids. Maybe it’s just an extension, rather than something separate. I seriously feel like a kindergarten mom these days. My kids are in 6th grade!

Of course, it’s a completely new experience to not be in the school building with them on a daily basis and I’ve struggled with finding ways to keep myself busy. But not only does my change in jobs have me separating from them more than I’d like, but there’s also the fact that they are now being invited to church’s Youth Fellowship activities. Yesterday there was a pool party in a backyard. The idea of dropping them off at a house with people I barely knew, including a bunch of high school kids (even if they are church kids) had me terrified. The list of anxieties about leaving them was long.

• What if one of the attendees had covid?
• What if someone was mean to either of my kids?
• What if my daughter (who has a hard time making friends) has no one to talk to?
• What if my son is mean to his sister to look “cool” to his friends?
• What if they eat tons of junk and get sick?
• What if…

It went on and on. I wanted so much to tell them they couldn’t go. But I knew that letting my anxiety keep them from doing things would do them more harm than good. So I let them go. I dropped them off, then got in my car and took deep breaths. And as I pulled away from the curb, my cd changed to one of my favorite songs, Our God Reins Here. The first line is “Spirit of fear, you have no place here. I command you to leave in Jesus’ name.” I decided God was trying to send me a message loud and clear and came home. But it didn’t stop me from being sad that they were away from me and growing up.

My husband suggested watching a movie to keep me distracted instead of watching the clock until it was time to pick them up. About an hour after I’d dropped them off, my phone rang. It was the kids’ phone. My heart stopped. The only reason they would be calling was if something was wrong. I answered, but heard nothing in reply. Which scared me even more. Finally I heard my daughter say “Mom, L wants to go home.” This shocked me. I half expected my daughter to want to leave early. I never expected my son to want to leave. I tried asking why, but she couldn’t hear me and didn’t answer. I told her I’d be there in 5 minutes and hoped she heard.

Thankfully, the party was not far from our house. I got there quickly and the door opened as I got to it. The parents of the house said “It’s not that bad. He’s okay.” At which, my heart jumped into my throat and I followed my daughter to the backyard where her brother sat at a table with his arm stretched out as straight as possible. The friend sitting next to him said “It’s my fault. I pushed him.” Eventually I got the whole story pieced together from all of the different voices.

It seems all of the boys were having fun horsing around and pushing each other into the pool. Unfortunately, L got pushed too close to the diving board and his arm caught on the way down. I can’t really picture how he got hurt in quite the way he did, but it’s clear that he was very lucky it wasn’t much worse.

So of course, I immediately started down the path of “I knew I shouldn’t have let them go. See what happens?” But a friend made a very good point today. She pointed out how well the kids handled the situation and called me to come get them. Thank goodness we have the flip phone, even if they hate that it’s not a “real phone” (what my son says when he wants a smart phone). Besides, me being there may not have changed what happened.

We came home and my husband took a look and let me know what to pick up from CVS to dress the wound. But when I got there I couldn’t figure out exactly what he needed and I kept sending him pictures to let him help me decide. And when I got back home he said he thought the wrap I got was something different, but this would “do.” After taking care of his arm, my son wanted to watch some Duck Tales to distract himself from the pain. I gave him ibuprofen and melatonin to help him sleep and he went to bed.

This morning he wanted me to change the dressing, which hurt a lot. Unfortunately, it made us run a little later than usual (not actual late, just late for me), so I didn’t think to give him ibuprofen before we left. And when we got to the school it dawned on me that I didn’t know how ibuprofen worked at school, since I’d always been there to give some to my kids if they needed it instead of going through the nurse. So I told him that if it hurt too badly he could go to the nurse. Then when I got home I immediately called the school to ask the nurse if I needed to bring some up to the school. We decided that she could just call me to bring some if he came to her, but it is just another example of how different things are now. Thankfully, he made it through the day without visiting the nurse and even took off the bandage halfway through the day.

I’ve never thought of myself as a helicopter mom. I’ve never been one to be super protective, or so I thought. But I realized yesterday that I’ve never really been far from them unless they are with family or friends I consider family. And I’ve always known all of their friends really well because I was their librarian. There were no kids in the school that I did not know. I’m not sure I’m ready for this. But I guess I didn’t have any choice.