tomorrow Maya starts the 7th grade. the next day is Eva’s first day of sophomore
year. and, on Monday, my first born love
will take her first college class.
they don’t hold my hand walking in the big, scary doors
of the schools anymore (or anywhere else).
they don’t come running out at the end of their first days eagerly
leaping into my arms, thankful that i showed up and didn’t forget them while we
were apart. i’m not even there when they
throw their backpacks on the floor and rummage for snacks to spoil their
dinners.
we used to be a team, these three little people and me. every morning we sat in the kitchen together
slamming breakfast and excitedly deciding what the day would hold for each of
us. ok, that’s not true. three of us
were excited. one of us knew exactly
what each day would hold because it was always the same. after i dropped each of them at school and
brought the baby home, i cleaned and parented and cooked and baked and fidgeted
until it was time to retrieve the rest of my heart at the end of the day – and on
Thursdays we ran to target. every
day. exactly the same. except Mondays when i did laundry. and Tuesdays when i deep cleaned while maya
napped. but, definitely every day was
the same.
and HOLY SHIT was it boring. and hard.
and monotonous. and
exhausting. and regimented. but mostly, boring.
now, other than picking out first day of school outfits
and going into debt buying notebooks and flash drives, there is no build up to
the first day of school. today is summer
break and tomorrow we start the 9 month parade of “i don’t want to go, i hate
school.” “i took that yesterday for lunch” “i forgot to tell you that i need *insert expensive/labor
intense/baked items* in exactly 8 hours” “so-and-so doesn’t like me anymore” “don’t
forget that thing you definitely forgot i didn’t tell you last week”. and then i’ll blink and it’ll be summer
again. over and over again for eternity.
only not. it’s not
forever. it’s for 6 more years. that’s it.
in six years, maya will be a senior in high school. and this exhausting, monotonous, boring,
expensive parade will come to an abrupt end.
AND THEY DON’T EVEN THROW CANDY OR BEADS AT THIS PARADE.
i don’t miss them throwing 3 year old tantrums or crying
in the grocery store. i don’t miss peeling
boogers off of walls or wrangling pigtails into the baby-fine hair of a child
who just CANNOT hold tf still so we can get out the door to go to the thing
none of us really wants to go to anyway but if i HAVE to, than so do they. i absolutely do not miss the hysteria of a mob
of tiny girls all screaming at the same time that each was DEFINITELY not the
one who stole that cookie and the crumbs at the side of their mouth DEFINITELY
do not tell the tale of a lie.
but they used to cling to me like a lifeline. every day at 3:05, a set of big brown eyes
met mine across a see of little people and reset the day. a fluffy cheek used to press against my neck
when so-and-so (that little bitch) wouldn’t play at the playground with my girl
and we would discuss all the ways that we could enjoy a slide without a care in
the world. and every day EVERY SINGLE
DAY began and ended the same. my team
and me. ready to take on the world…
maybe tomorrow. unless it was Sunday, because
we didn’t have laundry done yet.
i don’t miss the things that were hard, but i’m so very
thankful to have had the parts that were sweet.