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If I've learned one thing in motherhood, it's this: Bringing kids into the world is a whole lot easier than letting them go. Several months of mild discomfort, some hours of physical pain (including a few minutes when your body shrieks, "You crazy idiot ... you're actually going through this ON PURPOSE?"), and bringing them into the world is finished.

But the letting go ... that's tougher. I tried to keep in mind a motto I'd read somewhere: "You have to let them go if you want them to come back," but occasionally it slipped from my grasp. Not only is letting go hard, but it happens more than once.

Sending your child off to school is usually the first letting go. There are mixed feelings in this one. You think greedily of the extra uninterrupted time you're going to have now, but you also wave good-bye to those years that have been a warm experience. From now on, the road leads away from you. And unfortunately, the road is usually lined with people your child thinks are much smarter than Mom.

The day a teenager gets his driver's license is a definite letting go. He still eats and sleeps at home, and home is where his clothes get laundered, but his heart is on the road.

Seeing your kids off to college or the first job is
big-time letting go. You hope that everything you've tried to teach your child hasn't just gone in one ear and out the other, but there are serious doubts.

Then comes the all-time letting go: marriage or off into the big world on their own. After our oldest child's wedding, I sank into a blue funk that lasted until one of the younger ones said, "You know, Mom, you've still got three kids left here!"

Our younger son had been on his own for quite a few years when he married, and I guess that in my mind, I'd already let him go. What I felt that time was gratitude that we were getting such a sweet daughter-in-law. When I learned she had a sewing machine and I'd never have to patch the knees of Shawn's jeans again, I was overjoyed.

Part of letting go involves a lot of biting your tongue to keep quiet. It's hard to learn not to give advice unless it's requested. Questions like "Can you really afford that?" and "How can you take a vacation when you've worked there less than a year?" don't build a good relationship with an adult child. A skilled let'er-goer swallows the out-of-bounds questions. One not-so-skilled chokes on them, they slip out and result in ticked-off young adults. But even the not-so-skilled ones eventually learn their lesson.

Then grandchildren come along, and the letting go has a relapse. I mean, really! The baby's mother is woefully inexperienced, and you have all this stored-up knowledge that you're eager to share, and the mother's not too eager to hear. You have to back up and let go all over again, hoping basic instinct and mother-love can take the place of experience. Surprisingly, it does.

I wish I'd been able to time-travel ahead and observe our daughter with her children, and learn about the right way to let go before I had to do it myself. Now that we're sharing a home, I've had the opportunity to see that she's got it down right. I could have used her expertise.

I admire her firmness, but sometimes afterward I can't help expressing a doubt or two. "Yes, it's probably a bad decision," she'll tell me, "but at some point a kid has to be responsible for a choice. It's the only way to learn." When it's really necessary, she'll gently insert a suggestion in such a way that the grown child doesn't feel belittled. It seems to come naturally to her. Why was it so hard for me?

Sometimes the only way I managed to keep my lip zipped was to remember how annoyed I was as a middle-aged woman when my mother reminded me to put on a coat; it was cold outside. Or, when visiting, she'd sometimes tell me, "Now, don't stay up so late tonight. You have to go to work tomorrow, you know." Then I'd respond, with clenched teeth, "Mom, I'm 52 years old!"

Once the letting go is completed, there are benefits. When families go on a trip together, the mother no longer has to feel responsible for everybody's happiness. If somebody gets bored, tough. If siblings snipe at each other, even in a grownup way ... double tough. Not your problem.

Then, relaxing in all that peace of mind, you can tell yourself it wasn't that bad, after all, the letting go. Easier than bringing them into the world in the first place. Is it still lying if the person you're telling the little white lie to is yourself?

* Donna Scofield is a freelance writer whose articles, columns and short fiction stories have appeared in numerous national and regional magazines. The longtime Yakima resident is retired after working as a secretary and office manager in Yakima School District elementary schools. She has raised two sons and two daughters.