How to be A Gap Year Mum.

48 hours... that's how long it is until our daughter, Mia, steps onto a plane and into the biggest adventure of her life. 
5 months of travelling the world.
5 months of no work, no studying and, best of all, no parents.

" How do you feel?" my friends ask, " You must be worried. Are you sad? This is it, isn't it?  She's leaving home. Does it feel like the end of an era?"
And I pause for a moment. 
I need time to think about it. 

Because I suppose I should be feeling all those things. 
I suppose I should be preparing myself for impending heartache. 

But the truth is, I'm not sure how I feel.

As a parent, I have spent much of my life full of the uncertainties that are inherent to a job that has no description, a role that has no rules, cares that have no end. 
I spend my days worrying about whether what I have said or done is right or wrong, whether what will happen next is going to be awful or incredible, whether what I believe to be true is actually a threadbare fabric of misconceptions.
Our daughter spreading her wings, floating freestyle through the world for a while, that's just another one of those things not to be sure about.  
Today, like every day since our children were born, I grasp at rags of emotion and wonder how they fit together.
Like every day since they were born, I feel many things a little bit and nothing quite completely.

On this grey, rainy morning, sitting in our little kitchen, in a tiny city, in small, unsettled England, it's easy to imagine taking flight. 
Who wouldn't rather be heading towards sunshine and dreams-come-true and days of carefree wandering? 

 And, of course, I can't help remembering how it felt to be that young.
To feel the breeze of the future ruffling my hair.
To dip my toe into the ocean of tomorrow and wonder which way the current will pull me. 
To feel the intensity of almost perfect moments in almost perfect places. 
I remember how that felt.

 It feels as though it was just yesterday...it feels as though it was so very long ago.

And now it is our daughter's turn.

I picture her walking through the departure gates and away from me.
Walking through the departure gates and into the next part of her life.
The painting we have been creating together is almost finished now, the last few strokes beginning to dry, the lines almost, but not quite yet, blurring into memories.

It's time for her to start creating a new canvas,  to be guided by a new map, with new co-ordinates.
Time for her to follow the beckoning path of the future she has been waiting for. 

And she is ready. 

I hope that I am.

I picture her walking through the arrivals gate into an airport full of light and noise and colourful confusion.
I picture her, hopes and dreams stuffed into her turquoise ruck sack, stepping out into a hot and steamy world that is too far away for me to touch.

And I hope that it will treat her well.

I hope she returns wearing the stories she lives and the stars she touches like invisible pearls around her heart.

I hope she has the time of her life.

"How do you feel?" my friends ask.
And I can't answer that.
Because in the end, that is not what matters.
What matters is what we share. 

And what we share, is, and always be, love. 

Go well my Mia. 

Big Dreams

We were sitting in the garden having one of those perfect days - friends, sunshine, flapjack, muffins and a huge pot of coffee.
We chatted and laughed, shared memories and dreams, talked politics and women's rights.
And then one of my friends said:
" The thing is, when I look back on my life, it feels as though I haven't really achieved anything."
I watched the shadow of sadness and failure flit across her face.
This friend of mine who is kind, thoughtful, generous, caring and fills every moment with " distance run."
She has brought up a daughter with Down's Syndrome who is so confident and so popular that walking through town with her is like accompanying a minor celebrity.
She has supported her son and her husband, chaired a local charity and through it all, she has never stopped working.
If those aren't achievements, what are?
What makes us believe that a popstar or TV presenter or famous author has achieved more than those of us who live ordinary lives, caring about ordinary things?
When did the sense of whether or not we have achieved something become inextricably linked with something outside of ourselves?
When did the measurement of achievement stop being something small and become something big?
When did it stop being something personal and become something public?
We tried to reassure my friend that she had achieved so much, that no one in her family would be where they were today without her, that the charity she chaired for all those years wouldn't be doing so well today if it hadn't been for her, of the difference she has made to her workplace.
She listened and nodded and I could tell she was trying to believe us.
" It's kind of you to say so," she said.
But we weren't being kind, we were being honest.
It was just that she didn't believe us.
Somehow, today, being good at your job, being the best parent you can be, creating a home, having lots of friends and a busy social life, isn't enough.
These days, a sense of achievement has to be fuelled by something greater than daily accomplishments and small successes.
And it makes me worry for our kids.
I worry that they are confusing unattainable dreams ( always good to have ) with attainable goals.
X Factor and Britain's Got Talent and the mind-blowingly rich celebrity lifestyles of football players and sports personalities make them believe that anyone can be anything and that all things are possible.

Ask teenagers today what they want to so when they grow up and they say "to be rich or famous." 
And why not? They see the " from rags to riches," stories all the time on television and social media.
With all the " Big Brother," style programmes they watch nobodies become somebodies overnight.
But the trouble is, while many of them believe it's very likely that it can happen to them, the truth is, that it's extremely unlikely.
Most of us will become neither very rich nor very famous. 
Most of us will just carry on living our every-day-lives in our every-day-worlds with our every-day achievements.
Dreams are good, false hope is dangerous.
Because when reality bites, it really hurts.
Studying, going to work, spending time with your friends, falling in love, creating a life for yourself, working out where you fit in this unpredictable world......all that means nothing.
What used to make us feel proud now makes us feel like failures.
We are beginning to forget that the smallest of things can often be the biggest of achievements.

Outside I  meet our next door neighbour, bent double, the result of a crumbling spine. 
He walks painfully slowly using two walking sticks.
With difficulty he lifts his head and smiles at me.
"I walked all the way to the end of the road today," he says,  " I couldn't do that last week." 
I watch him shuffle into his house, each step a success story, radiating a sense of achievement that is almost tangible.
And I think perhaps that's  how we should all of us measure our achievements -  one small, completed step at a time.

From the other side of our garden fence, a newer neighbour grins at me.
" I've been waiting to tell you Becky," she says, " I did it! "
" Did what?" I ask.
"The ultra-marathon," she says, " 50 miles up and down a mountain, non-stop." 
I remember how exhausted I feel when I  run to the corner shop.
" Did someone make you do it?" I ask.
She laughs.
" Of course not.  I wanted to."
" Did you?" I say "Why?"
She shrugs
" To see if I could."
I think of all the things I try doing, just to see if I can.
Going a whole day without eating any chocolate - maybe.
Going  a whole morning without shouting at the kids - sometimes.
Spend a whole day in my pyjamas - definitely.
But running an ultra-marathon - never.
I am full of incomprehension.
" So now you know you can do it," I say, "that's enough right? I mean, it's a once in a lifetime thing really isn't it? If that.."
But already I can see the glimmer in her eye.
" Well....." she says, " there's another one in September and it would have been better if 
I'd trained more....and it took me 22 hours.  I think I could do it faster."

And that's the thing about achievement - the sense of it is so often fleeting.
What we achieve today can often seem like nothing tomorrow.
Today's mountain is tomorrow's hill.
Today's end of the road is tomorrow's corner to turn.
But even if that's true, we haven't failed, we've still won.
Because for one day at least, we know that we did it.
The problem is that we often don't let ourselves bask in a sense of achievement. 
We feel that it's wrong to congratulate ourselves.
Instead we convince ourselves that what we've achieved isn't enough, that the goal we set ourselves wasn't hard enough, that we haven't dreamed big enough, that no one else has even noticed.
And often they haven't
But that shouldn't lessen our sense of achievements.
When our neighbour puts down his walking sticks and sinks into an armchair, all that matters is that he knows what he has achieved.
When an ultra-marathon runner wakes up the next day with aching knees, the victory is all theirs.
And that's all that matters.
The knowledge that you did it.
It's easy to have regrets in life, easy to remember all things we haven't done rather than to celebrate all the things we have.
It's easy to minimise our achievements and diminish their importance. 
Walking to the end of the road, running up a mountain, making your Down's Syndrome daughter believe she has the world at her fingertips - they are all greater, more personal and more long-lasting achievements than any transitory fame brought to you by one electronically enhanced pop song.
So forget winning X-Factor or Britain's Got Talent.
Forget making millions or writing a masterpiece.
Instead, start celebrating the every day achievements, however small or personal.
They are what keeps our ordinary worlds turning.
And I'm thinking....today's bar of chocolate will be tomorrow's delicious memory.

Empty nesting

Last week I visited Manchester University with our 17 year old daughter, MIa.
While Mia went to a " student-life," talk, I went to a " help for soon-to-be-bereft parents," lecture.
 After we had been told about applying for loans, setting up bank accounts, filling in forms, teaching our chilldren how to cook, turn on washing-machines and do-all-thosa-other-things-we-never-actually-make-them-do-at-home lessons, a picture of an empty bird's nest was flashed up on the screen in front of us.

Lowering her voice to one that was calming and soothing, rather  than chatty and informative, the speaker gave us  empathetically meaningful looks and said:
" Last of all,  I want to talk about, empty nest syndrome."
Around me parents shifted uncomfortably in their seats as though their secret had been discovered.
Next to me a mum turned and stared wistfully out of the grey-sky filled window.
And for the first time in the hypnotically tedious talk ( and mostly due to the words "last of all,") I woke up.
Empty nest syndrome is not something that  I"ve ever seriously considered.
I've dreamt of a day when our house is not scattered with teenage clutter - used make-up wipes, discarded clothes, half-drunk smoothies, unattached phone chargers, sweaty socks
I've imagined a house that is as tidy when I get home from work in the evening as it was when I left for work in the morning.
I've fantasised about not being constantly asked what's for dinner or why there is never anything good to eat in our house.
I've let my mind wander to a time when I can  go a whole day without someone demanding where their T-shirt, new jeans, PE kit, lip stainer,  homework or anything-else-that-belongs-to-them, is.
But I've never actually thought about how I will feel when the house is teenagerless and empty.t
For years, my husband Ninesh and I, have been making plans about what we will do when we are free.
How we will spend our time when our days are no longer shaped around parenthood,.
 What we would do with the days when the hours belong to us...
We are already thinking about which camper van we will buy.
Ninesh has already started pouring over maps, planning the route of our carefree future.
But as I sat in that university lecture room in Manchester, I began to worry.
Not so much at the sense of emptiness I would obviously soon be feeling, but at the thought that I might not feel empty enough.
From the moment our children take their first steps, they are walking away from us.
As a parent, it's hard  to watch them fall and even harder to watch them struggling to pull themselves up again.
With every bone in your body, you are aching to do it for them, to pick them up, give them a comforting hug and set them back on their feet,  heading in the right direction.
But deep down inside, we know we have to let them do it by themselves.
Being a parent is never easy.
You never stop feeling guilty, never stop believing you're doing it wrong, never stop wishing you had more  
patience, more time, more energy, more understanding of text speak.
The best gifts we can give our children are a sense of self-worth and self-belief and help them to become independent thinkers.
Washing and cleaning they can learn the hard way, knowing they can manage without you is not so easy.
Life is full of false-starts and obstacles that trip us up and holes that we fall down.
As a parent we can't make sure that the path to our children's future is completely smooth, we won' always be there to pick them up and it's not our job to make their decisions for them.
All we can do is be the safety net that is always there to catch them when they fall and give them the courage to keep on trying.
All we can do is be there when they need us and step back when they don't.

" It's strange," said one of my friends whose son is just finishing his second year at university, " I've only just realised that he has his own life now, that we are no longer the centre of his life, that when he plans his Summer, his holidays, his future, we are not what he thinks about.. It's odd not knowing what he' s doing. But when I think about it, once I left home, I never told my parents anything."
And I think, maybe, more than an empty nest,,a tidy house (in my dreams!), that's what I will find strange.
Up until now it's always felt like Ninesh and I are the roots and our children are the shoots.
It's hard to think of them growing completely separate from us with shoots of their own, hard to imagine completely disentangled lives.
Of course my kids don't tell me everything, probably they mostly tell me nothing, but I know where they are, how they  spend their time, what's important to them.
It's hard to think of them out in the world on their own with friends we've never met, with people who are more important to them than us,dreams we might not understand, living in worlds that are part of a different universe.
It's hard to imagine.
But it's life.
And we have to let them go.
Even if it's not quite far enough away for them.
Because even if they are inhabiting other universes, escape is almost impossible in this modern hyper-connected world.
There's  Facebook and Snapchat and Instant Messenger and Instagram and sos and lol and tybtw
Sometimes I feel almost sorry for today's teenagers. 
Where can they hide?

"Being Facebook "unfriended" by both your children: it's like the 21st century equivalent of empty nest syndrome."
wrote my friend Cath the other day.
And she's right. 
Empty cyber-space is beginning to feel more like an empty nest than an unused bedroom.

But truthfully, I don't think it's knowing that social media is making the world a smaller place or that mobile phones mean that our children are hardly ever out of contactable reach, that's is stopping me from feeling sad.
Life is a big adventure and  standing on it's very edge, our children are just beginning to spread their wings.
I'm excited and happy ( and just a little bit jealous) that they have it all before them.
And our job is not to clip their wings but to help them fly.
And whether they like it or not, a little piece of my heart will always be flying with them! 

So while our kids get ready to pack their bags and flee the nest,  Ninesh and I are off to look at camper vans because I can't help feeling that the future's just about to catch up with us ...and it's always best to be prepared.