By Emily Burmeister 
The normal afternoon rush was in full force. Kids were home, snacks were eaten, shoes were strewn in the entryway, homework was being done. While passing the laundry room and heading into the garage to throw a box in there for my husband to deal with later (it’s our accepted role—I order all the things for the family, and he breaks down the boxes), I spotted a lone Nerf dart on the floor, and it stopped me in my tracks.
I felt a heavy weight set in. I am in the phase of parenthood where the light at the end of the tunnel of active parenting is within my line of sight. My oldest is a fresh and new 16-year-old, and my 14-year-old middle child is officially taller than me, ready to challenge his dad in a game of who has the deepest voice. My youngest is a few months shy of turning 13. They’re heading toward full-grown adults at a rapid pace.
This Nerf dart stopped me in my tracks because I realized the days of stepping over toys are long gone. The overflowing playroom mess at the end of the day is a relic of the past in our house. My boys are extremely active, and we still have sports equipment, basketballs, footballs, cleats, snowboards, and skateboards ready to trip us at any given moment. But, the days of small toys, piles of picture books, even the elementary age of LEGO is no more. This one Nerf dart sent me spiraling into yearning for the days of tiny little ones, pretend games, playing kitchen, and eating the yummiest invisible soup you ever did eat. It’s all so fresh and real to me, but years have gone into my past already.
I fall backward into thoughts of fairy wings, capes worn to the grocery store, and rain boots worn on sunny days . . . just because. The obsession with certain characters and my child insisting on only wearing that character, down to underwear and toothbrush. Little shrieks of excitement when I broke out the clothes pins to create a dream fort with sheets and twinkle lights.
When did this time pass? I’m certain at one point on the worst days of demanding toddlerhood and sleepless baby nights, I actually wished for it to go quicker. How naive I was. I had it made with my little ones safe with me, protected from any of the hurt the world can throw at them. The drama from their peers, the pressures of the ACT test, trying out for a team and not making the cut, broken friendships, romantic heartbreak—it all gets big and out of my control.
The problems of the tiny child years were all fixable and admittedly in hindsight, very small. That Nerf dart on the ground reminded me of this little piece of childhood. Even this phase of my boys and their friends chasing each other around the house and having Nerf fights is temporary. It’s possibly the last little hint of childhood I have in my home.
Their rooms have been cleared of toys and are filled with books, medals from sports competitions, extremely expensive sneakers, make-up, pictures of their friends, too much dirty laundry piled in the corner, but no toys in sight.
In remembering the days of toys, pretend play, toddler cuddles, stroller walks, and frantically running to the nearest ATM because yet another tooth fairy visit was upon us (always right before bed), I realized that in those moments, it all felt forever. Somewhere in the parenting journey, this only being a phase hit me. Yes, I will always be their mom and carry that with such pride. However, the active, daily grind of parenting these three will one day come to an end.
I find myself staring at this Nerf dart and feel sad. I’m not ready for this next phase, I need more time. This next phase of parenting is preparing to say goodbye. I’ll always be here, we’ll always be a family. However, one day the goal is that they won’t need me. The best moments for them—their adult life—are still ahead of them. My husband and I are just supporting characters in the next part. I’m still there for big or small things, always ready to drop everything because they are my absolute favorite people, but if we do this job right, they won’t need us; hopefully, they’ll want us.
All within less than two minutes I had this existential crisis, mourning for what I will never get back: time. The finality of my kids growing up hit me. I’m their mom, that title and my love for them hopefully earns me a place as a pretty big deal in their adult life, but their life will be theirs alone. Big portions of it, without me.
I like this phase, I want to keep being this. The mom who keeps our little world spinning, stays on them about homework, gives them advice on their crush, cheers them on the sidelines of games, sees their smiles daily, have them lean on me spontaneously with a much-needed random hug as we pass in the kitchen.
When I’m old, gray, and tired, I’ll be looking back on my life, and this phase will be my favorite. The Nerf dart was just the reminder I needed to add the parenting teenagers phase into the mix of my favorites. It’s so cliche, but enjoy the mess. Enjoy the chaos, appreciate the lone Nerf dart. I solved nothing with my deep thoughts, and I walked away feeling nostalgia for my little ones, a little dread for my kids continuing to grow up, and also some pride in how far we all have come.
I threw the box into the garage (not my problem) and found the first kid I could and demanded them to pick up the Nerf dart because I’m the mom around here.
by Sara Frank 
by Mikala Albertson 
