So, how's she doing? How are you doing?

I think I hear those questions about once a week. 

Back in August, we drove our oldest two states away, unpacked all of her essential needs for life, set up her room, hugged her hard, and then we drove away. 

 

"How's she doing?"

She's doing fine. We get random text messages during the week: "How do you clean up Tide that has leaked overnight?" Has been my favorite so far. 

If she's been homesick, she hides it well. I think she's probably too busy to be homesick: Her program of study is pretty intense, and she's in the marching band. She barely sleeps. 

"How are you doing?"

I'm fine. I think some parents have some sort of big existential crisis after they send a kid to college. 

That has not been me. 

She was so busy with school, band and work her senior year, we barely saw her. In many ways, that year gave us time and space to be used to her upcoming departure. 

That's not to say I didn't cry as we drove away. (I did.) It was strange not having her walk through the door at 10 p.m. each night with angst about her food service job. 

I still ask for a table for five at restaurants, which exasperates my husband, and cracks the other two kids up. 

But ultimately, she's fine. I'm fine. 

That's how it should be. You raise them to leave the nest. That's your job. 

Then you push them out, let them go, and watch them fly. 

Trust me

Last night, my son and I were locked in battle.

He wanted to bail on the softball photography session that his sister was in and head around to the other side of the complex to play on the playground.

I would not let him go.

"Why not?" he said. "Don't you trust me?"

Good question.

It got me thinking: Why didn't I let him go?

I told him it is because he's had multiple broken bones this past year, including a broken wrist obtained on those very same monkey bars. I did not want to be so far away, just in case. There were two buildings between us and the playground. I had no line of sight.

But that wasn't the only reason.

I trust him, to a point. However, he is a boy, a pre-teen boy, and that age group isn't known for its stellar decision-making skills. Yes, I might have let his older sister go at the same age, but she was (and is) a mature kid for her age. Is he? Sometimes, but not always. Am I being reverse-sexist? Maybe.

There is a bigger issue: I don't trust society at large. Not alone with my kids.

I know there are other parents over there, many of whom I know and who would bring him to me if he were hurt. I still can't let him out of my sight.

I'm too scared to let him go.

Several years ago, the son of a person whom I know was abducted in broad daylight while walking home from his bus stop. It was my hometown. The stop is on my old bus route home. I could picture the exact area when the story hit the news.

It is an incredibly rural area. Everyone knows everyone.

If kidnapping can happen there, it can happen anywhere.

That story ended as well as it could have, thanks to a sharp-eyed teen and excellent police work.

But....

It has made me forever over-cautious with my children. I need to see them if I am with them. It is a completely irrational thing. The chances of stranger abduction are slim. My kids know the rules of what to do.

And yet.

I don't trust. I can't. Not yet.

I'm going to have to learn to let go, because I can't watch them forever. So maybe next time I'll let him go to the playground. And I'll try to trust. A bit.