They're sleeping now

In five days, I put my children on a plane and off they go, all by themselves, to meet-up with their father in Vienna. If that's not free-range, I don't know what is.

Instilling a sense of resiliency and can-do spirit, and inspiring these children to believe in themselves, has become the sole focus of my parenting these days. In the past, we've done so much for them that we've quite undone ourselves, burdening our son Henry with an entitlement so awful that he didn't even know where the garbage was ... someone else always took care of that for him. It's a slow slog and a persistent pushing to get them from there to here, but every step was worth it because they're walking onto that plane alone, just the Threestroms.

But they're sleeping now, and I have five days left.

My son, John, soccer phenom at 11, joined in on an experiential learning opportunity just before school ended, when his 5th grade class walked the (pretend) Oregon Trail. He wrote of his journey in the voice of his character, "My mates and I set-off heartily on our journey, not sure of our adventure, only that we seek it." Hopefully, he remembers the spirit of that adventure from a point-of-view he's adopted. And, frankly, I hope he writes of this new journey, because if ever a writer was born, it's my son John.



His brother, Henry, is likewise a born writer: Huge ago, great talent, and an interior life. The culminating project of his eight years at school so far was a portfolio to showcase the arc of his life as a student and mensch, a piece that he didn't spend much time on (which was worrisome) because it took him next to nothing to produce it (which was surprising). "For me, the most important and useful aspect of this piece is seeing, on paper, all of the things that could help me. I see that becoming a lawyer is a manageable goal, which I previously did not believe possible, because of the obstacles in the way: If you want to practice law, you're legally required to go through many trials I once believed I wasn't ready for." Um ... hullo. Where did this kid grow up? Or rather, when?

But they're sleeping now, and five days is not enough time.

Last night, my John dropped a jar of pickles on the (stupid) marble floor of our kitchen, where it shattered into pieces and lacerated his right foot. At the sight of blood gushing from his foot, the kid began to panic; when I rushed over to help, I felt the rising panic, too. And as our Lina, all of 9 years old, inched closer and peeked around the corner, I could see the panic on her face as well. And then the most remarkable thing happened: She drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and asked, "Mom, how can I help?" Now, c'mon! This is the girl we're raising. Brave, strong, loving, and so totally rocking her name.

While my kids are Vienna-bound, this Clevelandette is homeward bound. Three weeks of the west side, and the east side, and the lakeside, and the righting of my years of upside-down. They leave in five days, I leave in seven.

But they're sleeping now, and I have five days left of bedtime reading, and daytime loving. Thank God for those five days.