There is a word in French la repousse that is sometimes — here in Quebec at least — used in reference to “our” children. In its true, dictionary meaning it is defined as being re-growth. It is a noun. It is as in “that which is new growth where once before there has been growth”. Like that seemingly vulnerable (fragile and not yet toughened) green part of plants that is so obviously the newest “stuff”. And, yes, like the new trees sprouting up through the ashes of a burnt-down forest.

I have heard various people sum up conversations about “our” children with “Ah la repousse…” and I have to admit that this often, wonderfully says it all.

New growth on top of old growth. Same material but different. Part of the same overall “thing” but at different stages with different inherent timing, rhythm, energy, effectiveness, activity and, so, “purpose” at a micro level.

And, if you look at the verb form of the word, repousser, it takes on an even richer meaning – for me anyway. To repousse besides meaning to grow again also means to push back. It is very specifically not to push forward but to push back. I imagine, as re-growth, this act of pushing back (while obviously moving forward) and I am pleased by this.

My 13-and-3/4 year-old son and my will-be-11-in-10-days-and-definitely-counting daughter are, without a doubt, pushing back. Outwards on the world and more “inwards” on me. This is perfect. As it ought to be. As repousse needs to do in order to be viable both as a distinct part and for the sake of the nature it is part of. I do feel the push on me, the repel. They are coming into their own. I see their push “back” on the world. They are making room for themselves “out there”. It is sometimes surprising, sometimes pleasant, sometimes not what I would choose. It is a reassuring and necessary vulnerabilty. It is. And we therefore are.

And as a repousse myself, I see and feel and live where I now am with respect to my parents. Too. They definitely are and will forever remain my base and we will continue to share some of the same fiber. And/but we too continue to push back on each other. Necessarily. Differently surprisingly, reassuringly and, yes, at times painfully. I can feel their nervousness about the vulnerability I am coming into and their continued push to support. And I can sense their push to wish to rest. And I know that they feel the strength of my own pushing, in all directions. To take some of the weight off. To hold up for another day.

Yes. I like the word, the concept of la repousse. I like seeing my children, me, my parents, their parents this way. It perhaps articulates to me — someone for whom it is somehow incredibly important to attempt to understand that which I know, while completely realizing that I will never “catch up” — how and what viscerally (including heart, head, soul and body) I live.

Same but different. Part of and part. Nature, including the human kind… pretty amazing.

La repousse. A new moon on its way to becoming full moon. The lilac buds of spring. I seem to be a variation on my own theme of late. Hmm… and well… so be it. :o)