Parenting gets harder when they are in college…

It does. It really does.

The past couple of months have been a growing experience for me.  Connor is gone.  I have no idea what time he goes to bed, eats dinner, how is his day is going, (unless he posts to Facebook!) and the every day stuff that I loved hearing about when I would get home to my kids.

It’s gotten worse than that.  In the past two months, the local media has published stories about CSU students in a riot at New West Fest, a drug related shooting on campus (at a dorm parking lot close to Connor), and last night two students with meningitis. One girl died. Those stories never used to bring a pang of fear to my heart.  Obviously they do now. (eyeroll)

So naturally with every story, I want to race to the phone.  But I restrain myself. I do.  Sean informs me that he e-mailed Connor about the meningitis, and told him not to share drinks etc with people.  I know that we got him vaccinated in July for this.   So it would be overkill for me to send my email to him.

Somehow, in the back of my brain, I assumed it would be easier to parent when your children were not in your home.  It’s worse. You can’t restrain your fears because you are not there to protect them.  You can’t walk by, and casually sweep a hand over their head while checking on a fever.  I’m the worst person about worrying. I know this about myself.  I can fret and obsess about an issue forever.  And I have to watch that.  I have to take a deep breath and turn to God and place it all in his lap.  AND then I have to consciously work on NOT worrying about it.  When you do everything that you humanly can, then the only thing to do, is to turn it back to Him.   Today, I will instead pray that he has a good day and that he is safe.

So just for today, I will not wonder if I should call Connor and make sure that he’s feeling okay, no headache or flu-like symptoms, that his mid-terms went okay, that work is fine.  I have to trust that I did the best possible job that  I could in raising him with  common sense enough to take good care of himself.  But even when I look at his senior pictures, I see my little boy looking back at me with his impossibly blue green eyes.   And sadly, I miss the little boy, even though I marvel at the man he is becoming.

Motherhood is definitely not for the wimps of this world


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