has anyone seen my kid?

Originally published in The Greenwich Sentinel

I have become “that” woman, the one who looks lovingly - and maybe a little creepily - at younger women holding and cherishing their very young children. I may even linger a little too long.

My aging memory prevents me from seeing beyond that visual, back to other moments; far more trying moments of screaming tantrums in crowded grocery stores or late night feedings, or the worst - undetected ear infections, which seemed to be a hallmark of the Frantz family. Now, all I see is the undisputed sweet dependence - mother to child, child to mother - and I miss it.

Because I am in this new parenting phase, similar to the phase in a diet called maintenance. The hard work of losing weight and restricting calories is done, and now I simply need to maintain - but it’s not as simple as it seems. If I go back to my old ways, the weight will return. If I continue to obsessively limit, I will lose too much weight - which might not be a bad thing – but I am left with figuring out how to preserve and sustain.

Similarly, with the work of raising our children almost completed, I am figuring out how to preserve and sustain relationships with our now-adult children, and it’s tricky.

The term alone, adult children, is confusing – and with no disrespect intended, which is it? A toddler dressed in a three-piece business suit, or a twenty-something sucking on a pacifier? And the oxymoron seems to sit perfectly with a few others that come to mind: a fine mess, seriously funny, sweet sorrow, and butt head - all perfect descriptions of this painfully beautiful stage in life.

Over the holidays, against all odds, we were able to vacation with our now-adult children. And although COVID tried to disrupt our time planned between Christmas and New Year’s, after a few harrowing Houdini-like maneuvers and contortions, a whole lot of paperwork, and six negative PCR tests, we persevered.

We were off. It was worth it. I was exhausted.

I felt blessed and thankful. I also felt stressed and anxious.

Parenting in this new phase - and vacationing with adult children - can be wonderful. It can also be hard. And in case I had forgotten the challenges of traveling with young children, the universe gifted me a seat on the plane next to a couple traveling with two under two. Now that is hard.

My new experience wasn’t physical like that - it was more emotional. I wanted our time away to be perfect. I wanted to be the model family: the one who loves unconditionally, covets every waking moment together, and looks fabulous doing it - Instagram worthy, really.

And why? Because I was fully aware that the vacation game had changed. Annually, our adult children get two weeks’ vacation, and I desperately wanted ownership of one. I felt like the runt in a litter of puppies - “choose me, pick me!” - and not just because the vacation is paid for, but because I am irresistible and cute and fun.

But to be irresistible, cute, and fun, I learned that I had to change the way I connect and relate with our now-adult children. Unsolicited advice and suggestions are not fun; judgement and criticism are not cute. And to be irresistible, I had to let go of the control that comes with parenting young children.

Our positions had changed too – I could no longer speak down to or at our now-adult children as I had when they were younger (literally, I couldn’t do it because I am now the shortest in the family and spend most of my time looking up).

Back when they were small, I had all of the answers. Now that they are big, I don’t. The world in which they are living and working is different from the world I experienced in my twenties. Actually, the whole world is different. And I recognized that if I listened rather than offered, I could learn a lot more than just how to use the smart tv remote control.

It took time to get used to the fact that our ideas and thoughts did not always align, our political beliefs were often at odds, and our habits unalike. In some ways it felt like those young children that we once held in our arms were now just out of our reach; transitioning from dependence to independence can feel that way.

And transitions are rough, but the hardest concept to accept about this new parenting phase is that I am no longer the center of their universe - and yet, they will always be mine.

When the tension rose at the end of the day, and sometimes it did, we retired to the backgammon board. It was over those hard-fought and hard-won games that some of my learning cemented.

There are some who believe that backgammon is all about luck, but I disagree. The objective of the game is to return all of your men to your home board and take them off before your opponent does, and after years of backgammon experience, I adhere to these simple strategies to do just that. Always protect and cover your vulnerable pieces; know when to sit back and play it safe and when to confront. Building a strong home board is key to a successful and happy finish. Leave no man left behind.

And it is that way with family.

Those moments at the backgammon board, combined with others, are the ones that will flood my aging memory. Watching our boys who once wrestled on the floor of the living room now interact and connect upright as adults with each other at the dinner table is pretty special. Observing our eldest care for a girlfriend in such a tender way warms my heart. Witnessing another work diligently at his job even while on vacation is impressive.

Where did those young, smelly, rambunctious boys go? They have become their own people, and as hard as that can be at times, that was the objective all along, wasn’t it?

And now I stand in awe of them towering over me. I just didn’t know it would be so bittersweet.