“So…If he was a she last time I saw him…or her?… And I’m telling a story about that time….Do I call him her, or him?”

“I have no idea.”

We are sitting in the forest behind the house, leaning back against our favorite boulder, staring up at the blue sky through the branches and leaves.  Cicadas and crickets chorus around us. Ula has a cup of hot cocoa.  I’m drinking coffee.  The dogs are playing with sticks around us.  Occasionally one is shoved into my hand, and I throw it.  

I know how to throw a stick.  At least I know that much.

I used to know about parenting, too.  For example, amber necklaces really work with teething.  And I got to be an ace with aspirators and snot shots.

If you’re ever facing any behavior trouble with a little one, start with the diet.  If they’re still nursing, look at Mama’s diet.  

If little ones are waking up a lot at night, it may be they’re not getting enough connection time with parents during the day.  The solution is to slow down; ease the schedule.  Spend more time snuggling and playing.  

Soft boiled egg yolk with butter is a great first food.  You can also take a tiny bit of banana, fry it in a little bit of butter, and mix it with the egg.  They love that.  

Chicken liver pate, whipped into a mousse, then frozen into cubes is a fabulous nutrient-dense fast food  to take on the fly.

I have sixteen years’ experience as a parent, and none of that matters now.  

“My friend showed me a YouTube video that says, ‘if you think this one particular boy actor is cute, it’s scientifically proven that you’re a bisexual.’  I thought the boy actor was cute.  Am I bisexual?”

We look at the internet a lot these days.  They show me videos that their friends are sharing.  To my mind, the ideas, the bold proclamations about sexuality, and most especially, the rage, are too much for anyone at any age.  

I want to condemn their friends.  But they’re all good kids, going through angst and dramas that I never knew in my own childhood.  I want to install parental filters on the internet.  But I wouldn’t know where to begin setting the boundaries.  

I want to call every child’s parents.  Do you know what your children are watching on the internet?  Do you know what they are saying to each other?  Do you know what they are trying to do to each other?

Better still, I want to perch on a throne of my accomplished parenting and dispense the other advice:  about teething necklaces and banana egg yolks.  I want some younger parent to look at me in all my learned wisdom and say, “Wow. Your kids turned out great.  What’s the secret?”

I want to pat myself on the back, take pride in my daughters’ kindness and happiness, and check out in the mama department to focus on my own peri-menopausal independence.  Me time:  Time to knit.  Time to teach myself guitar.  Time to develop the business.  More yoga. Time with a good book.

But the words they whisper to me when they climb into my bed to snuggle at night warn against that.  This one’s selling drugs.  That one’s cutting.  This one is making sexual advances. They’re all just simple re-tellings of what they saw, what was said, what was done.  The stories are told to me as though it’s all nothing to worry about. 

But my eyes pop wide.

Banana egg yolks and potty training tricks don’t mean squat.  And the guitar doesn’t matter.  And the book gets kicked under the bed. The spiders can make a bed in the knitting.  Only this forest will do.

I don’t know anything about parenting.  And all the love and devotion I’ve bestowed on my children up ’til now won’t amount to anything if I can’t guide my daughters through the brutal challenges they face as open, sensitive and deeply compassionate people.  

And so Ula and I are here in the forest.  And I’m doing the only thing I can think to do.  Shut the hell up and listen. 

And in my mind, I seriously consider ways that I could close out the world that’s creeping in.  

I’m on the cusp of a major choice as a parent:  raise sheltered daughters, free from injury….or raise  strong ones.  

I can protect them, or I can keep listening, keep talking, keep planning with them to make the best decisions, and to recognize their own boundaries.  And then I can tell them that I love them no matter what, and that I completely trust them as they go back out to this wretchedly frightening world where they could get hurt.  And I have to keep reminding myself that I, too, learned to face a lot.  And every time I made a mistake, I grew stronger.  And every time I learned to set a boundary, I grew stronger.  And every time I faced a struggle that made me dig deep and understand who I am, I became more myself.  All the tough stuff helped me become a woman I am happy to be.  

There are two parenting lessons on offer for me in the woods this morning:  to listen, and to trust.  They’re a lot harder than potty training or learning to  pull snot from a nose.  

I want to be an all-knowing parent.  I want to make their decisions for them.  And it’s tearing me apart, not being able to do that.  They don’t know how many times these days I hide my tears, go to my own mother for love and support, or wait for a moment alone with Bob to talk, or just openly weep over my keyboard in the pre-dawn hours, fearful for the pain and suffering I have to let my daughters face as they grow. But I want them both to have a shot at the happiness and joy I have known, and the only way to do that is to allow them to face their own journeys…  And be here in the woods for them,  sitting still and listening, listening, listening…for all those things I’m not yet ready to hear.