Once we were married, we took trips to the lake, watching all of our kids swim and play in the sand, making a mess of themselves. We would pack up a cooler of favorite foods and stay all day until the sun started to disappear. We also went camping a lot. We spent time making s’mores and reading good books while eating lovely things cooked over an open fire. The stars would shine so bright on those nights, and the raindrops would occasionally cool us during the day. The kids would run and play and just be kids. It was always a good time for all of us.

Those days are long past- our kids are well on their way to being adults, two of them already married and settled into their lives. I like to think we taught them something, during those nights spent under the big sky, or huddled in a tent hiding from a storm. I like to believe there is an ounce of Jesus hanging around somewhere for them to be comforted by in the coming months. I pray we did a good job.

But I sometimes wonder what moment would tip the scale for me being a parent failure to a parent success story.

Was it the countless Sunday mornings, dragging everyone out of bed to go to church?

Was it the moments we spent in the car, driving from place to place, singing and laughing?

Were the minutes we sat on the couch in exhaustion,  popping in an animated feature enough?

Was it connecting with family and friends at weddings, birthday parties and funerals?

Was it laying in a tent while the rain poured all around us, waiting for dawn because the night was already too scary without the lightning?

I think the answer is ….

YES

To all of the above, yes. I think all of the little things we have done as parents have prepared our kids for their own lives. The hours of hard work, allowing them to make their own decisions paid off. The self-sufficiency they learned while spending time in the great outdoors has really impacted them. The waiting for a fire to cook a meal, the setting up camp before going swimming or riding bikes, the packing their own bag- all things that required them to be independent.

I have been beating myself up lately, as a lot of parents do. I keep finding my mind wandering if I did enough, if I was enough, if I am enough. My children matter to me now just like when they were small.  Each time another one graduates and we enter the unknown area of what they will do next, I start asking myself these crazy questions. When the last one graduated, I cried for nineteen days in a row. Every single morning he left for work, I sobbed. It’s a good thing I was on summer break.

The very last kid in our house is approaching his senior year of high school. We are seeing the finish line for this chapter of our lives, and it is approaching so quickly I cannot breathe. I want him to understand how difficult this will be for me, but I won’t add the pressure to his already insane schedule. I just want to know some things. More than anything, as a mom, I want to have answers. I want answers to these three questions:

Did I do enough?

Was I enough?

Am I still enough?

I sit and wonder about these questions and so much more. I want my sons to know I love them, no matter how ridiculous some of their antics are. I want my daughter to know she can depend on me when she needs a shoulder or shopping partner. Even though these kids aren’t babies anymore, they still have so much to learn, and I am still here for them, as always.