a space of their own

I try to let my house reflect who I am. I was a pro designer, now I've been relegated to amateur-land (my own house, mostly), but I think I'm sufficiently good at arranging spaces to accomodate at least my own family. Everyone needs their own private spaces. For the kids, it's been their bedrooms.

A writer (me) needs her own space, definitely. I spend what amounts to a part-time job (20-30 hrs) working. When my baby was a toddler, I wrote at my kitchen table. Gradually, I moved into my study. For years, my daughter's art table has been in my study as well. It kept her close. She's a consummate artist, flinging bits of paper and clay and paint with a driven madness that alternately saddens me (ech, my daugher the failed artist--can't wait to tell the bridge group in my fifties) and excites me (some of my greatest joy derives from making art).

The other day, in honor of school starting (my baby is going to Kindergarten) and company coming and my putting off actual cleaning, we rearranged some things in the house. First to shift: the art table went into the front room. I have a pretty front living room which has been taken over by kids: washable fabrics and a tv and plastic toys; you get the picture. She spends more and more time in there, playing with friends and toys.

This move was huge, HUGE to my daughter. I had to wonder why she was so excited. A change of scenery is always nice, but she was jumping up and down and hugging me, "Thank you thank you thank you, Mommy!" Mommy. She hasn't called me Mommy since she was two.

I finally realized that to her, moving the table that kept her in proximity to me is a sign of my confidence in her maturity. I was letting go a bit without even realizing it. At 5 1/2, she no longer needs me to hover. She can get water at the sink, carry it without spilling to her table, and paint all by herself. She's old enough to post her own art on her own bulleton board. She was old enough to move out, on a mininscule level, and I gave her that freedom without saying a word.

I think, as parents, we tend to ignore these opportunities. It's easy to tell your kids you're proud of them. But expecting him to make his own bed or giving her the time to learn to buckle her own carseat makes gestures a thousand kind words can't replace. Her excitement reminded me that my job as a parent is to prepare her to move on, away from me, even if it's just to another room.