The missing leaf

When David and I mixed our families, it wasn't just a matter of finding bedrooms for everyone (which was quite a task, incidentally). We also had to combine two house's worth of stuff. A lot of it was duplicates, but there was the occasional singleton.

One of the singletons was David's oak dining table. I love it, for a number of reasons: it's gorgeous, it reminds me of my Nana's dining room table, and with both leaves in it's large enough to seat 8 easily, and CAN seat more if we get creative. As a family of 7, who've been known to have over 20 people in the house for holidays, that was pretty critical.

Even with the two older girls off in college, we always kept both leaves in. 5 people, after all, is not a small amount, and it gave us space between for the food dishes, etc. Also, as the three younger kids grew, they took up more space at the table, or brought over friends, or whatever.

But this August, we took the first of the leaves out. Geoffrey, David's youngest, is now a freshman at State. And four people sitting around a table that can seat eight is just a little weird. Also, it makes passing plates difficult!

Here's the thing about parenting.  It's a bit like riding a roller coaster. Except, of course, I hate roller coasters, and being a parent is absolutely the best thing I've ever done in my life.

But think about it. You're waiting for a roller coaster, and the line seems to stretch forever. You move forward slowly, speculating about what the ride will be like, maybe talking to the others around you in line if they've ridden it before, maybe even thinking about your past rides. And as you creep towards the ride, it seems HUGE; surely it will be a really, really long ride.

And then you're strapped in, you creep up that first hill, and you react with a mix: exhilaration; laughter; screaming; terror, perhaps...

And then it's over. Done. That ride that looked so long from the line is over in a flash.

And that's parenting. You go through a pregnancy and think you'll never get there. And, honestly, there are times (diapers, terrible twos, worse-than-terrible threes, teen drivers) when you think it'll never end.

And then suddenly one day you're moving them into their dorm and taking a leaf out of the table because you just don't need the space anymore. At least not till winter break.

This has hit me harder with Geoff than with his sisters for a number of reasons. They were 14 and 17 when I met them; already young adults, or nearly so. Either thinking about college or just around the corner from thinking about it. Geoffrey was 10. He wasn't a little boy any more, but he was definitely still a child.

And, honestly, because if parenting is like a roller coaster, step-parenting is that same coaster, but you only get half the ride.

Here's the thing about step-parenting, in my experience, anyway. You meet your step-kids first through their parent's eyes. One of the two people on earth who have known and loved them longest and best. You see them first through their parent's love, pride, worries, and dreams. By the time you meet them in person, you've already formed an emotional tie to them, on your end at least (whereas they're probably wondering who this odd person is at the dinner table, and how polite do they need to be to them). So, you've got a head-start on creating a relationship with them, and on loving them. But you never, never, have enough time with them, because you're starting halfway through the ride.

But I think the main reason this is striking me with Geoff is because, while our five kids cover a 10 year age-span (youngest is nearly 15, oldest is nearly 25), the three youngest are clumped together in only three years. Geoff's the one that caused the first leaf to be taken out. And in a year, Peter will go to college, and we'll take the second leaf out. And then in three years, when Grace goes, who knows. We'll be out of leaves, but maybe David and I will start to eat at the kitchen table. I don't know what our dinners will look like over the next 3 years, but I know that they will get progressively quieter, and less silly, and less wonderfully chaotic as our numbers diminish.

The thing of it is, none of this is bad; I certainly want the kids to grow, to become independent adults. I'm ecstatic that Geoffrey is at a college he loves, and is enjoying his classes, is involved, and is growing into a fantastic young man. David and I have never had a relationship without one or more kid living with us; I'm kinda looking forward to that empty nest.

But all the pride and excitement and expectation doesn't quite take the place of those missing leaves.