True confession:  I used to fear parenting teens.  I was never scared of the early childhood years (although perhaps I should have been) as I felt prepared and comfortable around small children.  Teenagers, however, are an intimidating bunch, and I did not know how I would fare as a mother of three of them.

Fortunately, the teen years snuck up on me and I hardly realized they had arrived until, ka-BAM!! – here I am smack dab in the middle of them.  My children are now 16, 14 and 12 and I’m happy to report: they are still the same humans who smothered me with their physical personhoods not so long ago.

Sometimes, when my daughter gives me a long, heartfelt hug, I rest my chin on the top of her head as I breathe in the essence of her hair remembering what it felt like to have her strapped into the front carrier – her body seemingly permanently attached to mine.  I think of how it seemed those days would never end, and now, those same children look me straight in the eye when I talk to them, and I know that it won’t be long before I’ll have to look up to maintain eye contact.

They are the same, and yet, they are different. They are emerging as interesting eloquent people with ideas and humor and I enjoy spending time with them.  I still catch glimpses of the cheeky little grins I recognize from toddler days, and I appreciate observing their talents and curiosities develop over time.  I celebrate their evolving independence while maintaining appropriate boundaries and safety nets.  I marvel at the intricate organization of papers, tests and notes my sophomore daughter shows me as she studies for her finals but take no credit for her perseverance and ingenuity in keeping such careful track of the reams of papers dispensed throughout her year of Algebra II.  And yet I carry a sense of shame and feelings of failure when I realize that my 8th grader is missing key concepts in her understanding of Algebra I on the eve of her final exam as she has trouble finding even the most resent homework assignment she completed.  Why would I not dream of taking credit for one while blaming myself for the other?   Learning to let go is hard.

“They are good kids,” my husband and I tell ourselves most days, while at other times I find myself near tears when my son answers back to me with a “Whatever, Mom.  I don’t really care.”  Occasionally they behave and speak with such maturity that it would be easy to think of them as friends and peers.  As parents we rejoice in our children’s wise choices and their interests, goals and aspirations, when suddenly our hopes are dashed as they disappoint us with their slip-ups and irresponsibility.  Once again we are reminded that our work is not finished.  Their brains are not yet completely developed and we cannot evaluate our parenting or our children’s outcomes quite yet.

I admit, the stereotypical conflicts I dreaded have reared their ugly heads.  We argue about time management, messy rooms and hygiene concerns.  I sometimes despair over poor attitudes and rude behavior.  And yet, honestly, these incidents seem to occur perhaps 10 minutes a week, and the rest of the time, I truly appreciate the teen years.  They are different.  I not longer feel physically drained from my responsibilities.  Most days I have the luxury of having a few uninterrupted hours to focus on my work, but they are sandwiched between early mornings and late evenings of chauffeuring, intense conversations, emotional support, feeding and supportive care taking.

My teenagers are still children who enjoy playing, pretending and dressing up – continually trying on new personas and figuring out who they are.  They tell silly jokes and stories, sing their hearts out in the shower and dance until they fall into exhausted heaps on the floor when Dad plays his loud music after dinner.

They hold strong opinions about right and wrong and indignantly rail against perceived injustice and hypocrisy, both in their worlds and in the greater world at large.  They fear nothing, and yet fear everything.

And I’m relieved to know it’s not over.  They are still children: learning, growing, developing and discovering themselves and their place in the world.  They are growing increasingly independent,  yet my heart warms to hear them call me  “Mommy” and lean in for a hug.

I have a mantra I keep repeating that continues to hold true throughout all these years:

“We are ALL STILL learning!”

Here’s to many more years of still learning – for us all!