Last night at about 10p, after I’m all snuggled in bed and about to doze off, my phone rings. It’s one of my daughters from band camp! This is pretty exciting because the reception down there is spotty at best and communication is sporadic.

Only she’s calling because she’s crying. And sad. And misses home. And wants her mom.

Sigh.

Parenting is not for the faint of heart.

And I talked with her for a little while and tried to comfort her the best I could from hours away and a shoddy connection. There was no specific incident that triggered her—just all of it: being away from home, out of her comfort zone, little sleep, lots of physical work in the hot sun. Stuff that happens in life that grinds you down whether you’re 16 or 44. So I tried to offer comfort but my words felt hollow. Sometimes in life, we have to go through some pretty lonely, isolating stuff. It’s one thing when it’s happening to me: I can take it. I can take anything. Rather a different story when it comes to your kids.

Yet, I know that these moments, these so-hard-you-just-want-to-cry-and-curl-up-in-a-ball moments, are what will form her character. Failing a driver’s test. Doing poorly on an exam. Dealing with an unfair teacher. Being far from home, feeling alone. I gotta say, I’m glad I can be there for her. These moments drive home to me what I loss I had, losing my mom at 13. All this kind of stuff was negotiated solo (my dad was a good dad but an overwhelmed dad with a 4 year old and 2 year old at home besides me). I’m THRILLED to be there for them, thrilled that they WILL call me and talk to me about this stuff.

It’s such a balancing act: offer support but allow them to find their own ways through. Sometimes that means watching them stumble and struggle. That’s hard stuff. I often reflect on the fact that my childhood was wildly different than what my girls have had. It gives me pause and makes me a bit nervous. What kind of adults am I helping to create right now? Am I making the right choices? Doing the right things for them? Am I too hands-off in my parenting style? I’m MUCH more lax than my parents ever were. Am I doing them a disservice with that?

I grew up with a mom who, until she died, was there every single day when I got off the bus. She was there every single day in the summer (slave driving us to weed the garden, but still!). My dad was home every night. We ate dinner around a table every night. I lived in one home, one neighborhood, one school system. My girls have a dad who lives two hours away. They have a mom that works. They’ve grown up in several homes, only one of which ever had a kitchen table. They changed schools. They’ve eaten cereal for supper because payday is still four days away. They have been forced to be independent much earlier than I was forced to be independent. How will this play out as they grow into adults? What will I regret?

Going through with that divorce was excruciatingly difficult. I’ll be honest—my marriage was BAD and needed to end, but I don’t get “divorce parties”. When my divorce was finalized, I felt like a big fat failure. I felt like I was screwing my kids up royally. But it gave us something we wouldn’t have had, otherwise: each other in a different way. My girls watched me work and go to nursing school. They watched me buy a condo. They are about to watch me go back to become a psychiatric nurse practitioner. They have watched me do the hard, day-to-day responsibilities of daily life. They have watched me celebrate the good things and they have most definitely watched me cry when I’m stressed and overwhelmed. Is that okay? Should I be a rock for them? Should I not let them see me struggle? Does that create insecurity in them? I hope not. I cross my fingers and I hope not.

And so I joke that I’m thrilled that they’re away at band camp and hooray! I don’t have to cook this week! But secretly I miss the little beasties. Don’t tell them I said that.