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	teen voices

What's Next?
By Tina Zimmerman
Web Exclusive

Part One

In the seventeen years since I began to evolve into a stay-at-home mother, I have not had any consistent time to myself. I got fairly accomplished at stealing hours here and there or an occasional weekend escape. I have good friends. I do volunteer work. I teach Sunday school. But seventeen years has gone by, and I am one of the now rare ones who believes that my teen daughters need me as much now as they did when they were at the breast. My oldest is working on her college applications, my middle daughter just got her first part time job, and my thirteen-year-old is a cheerleader. A cheerleader, for heaven's sake!

Seventeen years ago, I swore that I would be back in graduate school by year's end. But every time I held my baby, I saw myself waving at that ship as it was leaving my heart's harbor. I looked into her radiant face and could imagine nothing more amazing then to watch her grow. Two babies, three babies...my life unfurled and my dedication to them took up most of the space. In those chaotic, beautiful moments that make up a lifetime, I allowed motherhood to wash over me, relinquishing the idea that I had to control it all. I was a mother.

I homeschooled them, something I never could have imagined could be so fulfilling. But I wondered if there would ever be a different life for me, because, as fulfilling as motherhood was, I still desired and missed something unnamable. One by one, they wanted to go to school, and they did. They were ready...it was time for them to go. And then, the unexpected happened. "Vasectomies fail. The body always longs to heal itself," the doctor said. And daughter number four arrived very late, and I had to begin the journey all over again. This time, I really had to wonder, "Was there a different life for me?"

This daughter took up much of my heart, but not enough of my mind. I had been used to mothering in bulk. But for this little one, there would be no younger siblings during the day to occupy her time and mine. There would be no multi-tasking between diapers and picture books, sleeping infants and toddlers climbing monkey bars. Parenting one child years after parenting several others is different. And the questions are different. Do I have the stamina to do extended nursing, the family bed, cloth diapers and homemade baby food?

Do I homeschool her, all alone? This one makes me cry. I love her as much as the others. I value her education as much. But the lonely days are long with only us two. The summer of her fifth year passes with my four daughters and me at home like the old days. I hold my breath, and await September's chill.

She gets on the afternoon kindergarten bus, waves goodbye to me from a seat she shares with her best friend. I wave back. I leave the bus stop, and wonder what life I will live today in these four hours until she is home.

Part Two

I wander the country roads where I live, sitting by the river and just watching the horizon for some clue. I scrub my farmhouse like it has never been cleaned. I listen to Neil Young. I catch up on all my bills, business, and open an e-mail account. I cook meals without tiny hands helping me. Most of all, I write. I search for my something previously unnamable, and await its arrival anxiously. Will it show itself like a proper house-guest, within my four hour a day window? Some days, I think I have it. My writing is going well...finding focus. Other days, I string endless words together, and pull them all apart. Mothering rarely felt this direction-less and choppy. Every day the questions are deeper and more personal. What will I be? Do I have anything to say? What is my worth in the world?

Today, my oldest daughter comes home from school on the bus. She is nervous about finishing her college applications. The essays are weighty in their significance. What will she be? Her independent, feminist sensibilities rub raw against a fledgling's fear of what is next. "What shall I put down as your occupation on this form, Mom?" The question itself is not the issue, and I know it. "Put down homemaker." She types away for a long time on her essay, emerging from the work thoughtful and dissatisfied.

My youngest had a good day at kindergarten, but wonders why they have to stand in line so much. Me, too. I want to tell them both that life will always be this way...and that life will never be this way again. I want to tell them both to enjoy what they see and hear and feel along the way, and that the questions are so much larger than, "What will I be? What's next?" and "Why do we have to wait so much?" It would not be the first time that I had to teach them something that I was only beginning to learn myself.

I am a mother. And I am something more. For the first time since I was twenty-two years old, I have to find my something more, and in a large way. I wonder if anything will ever feel as inspired, and as rock solid as motherhood does to me. I am watching and waiting and living a whole life in four hours a day.

Beginning fresh
every day
to raise them up,

She brushes golden hair
in long strokes through
earthy smelling bristles.
Dips into white water fountains
to smooth their tangles
Breathes in deep,
conjuring
the long-gone smell of
milky flannel.
She weaves her tapestry
with their sun spun hair
inserting beads of her
own soul;

a cloak of green and gold finery
in which to wrap them.

For one day, they will
walk the river's shores alone

panning for her soul

And finding that pebble
of living green,

They will become
one with the river.

Tina Zimmerman is a stay at home mom and maybe a writer. She lives in Manchester, Michigan with her husband, Gregg. They have four daughters, Katie, Bailey, Maggie and Hannah.