I’ll Always Have More To Tell You

My newly driving 15-year-old grabbed his book bag and yelled, “Bye Mom!” on his way out the door. I managed “Bye! I love you!” before I heard it slam shut behind him. Wait, I thought, I have more to tell you!

It rained the night before and there were bound to be puddles on the roads. “Don’t slam on brakes if you hit water or you could hydroplane.” The instructions I’d given him just days before came rushing back.

It seemed like yesterday I was reciting from memory, “Ouch, biting hurts!” on the way to daycare to remind him not to bite his friends. “I know, Mommy!” his little voice would say as I got him out of his car seat.

In elementary school I’d repeat how important it was to be nice and inclusive of everyone, and how bullying was never acceptable. “I know, Mama!” he’d say, getting out of his booster with help from the Bulldog Buddies.

In middle school, I told him over and over what my mom used to tell me: “You are who you hang out with,” as a reminder to be careful when choosing friends. “I know, Mom!” with a hint of exasperation as he rushed to catch up with everyone.

In less than three years, I’ll send him to college. How on earth am I going to jam everything that’s left into three short years? What’s more, how did we get from not biting friends to not riding with them if they’ve been drinking?

The older they get, the harder the lessons get. While your brain sees your 3-year-old looking up at you asking for another cookie, the reality is your teenager looking down at you asking for permission to stay out later.

I guess the key is knowing we can’t squish our years of hard-earned wisdom into a short block of time. We’ll do the best we can with the knowledge and time we’re given, and pray every day it’s enough.

We’ll chat with our friends, read each other’s articles and research real trucks instead of toy ones. We’ll watch the Life 360 dot on our phones waiting for them to be safe under our roof.

When they’re gone from our nest we’ll wait until the next chapter of their lives when they’ll need us again. Until then, every time they walk away from us, we’ll think to ourselves, “Wait, I have more to tell you!”

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Articles by Amy Martin

Amy Martin

I am a work-from-home mom and wife. I have one human child, a lapdog rottie named Moe, and four cats. I dabble on Facebook but my dream is to be a published writer.