Time Marches On

It started during the second day of our vacation.  I did a little math in my head and the realization hit me with the intensity of the 1 ton weight that always seemed to fall on Wile E. Coyote’s head.  I looked at Chad hoping my calculations were wrong. . .  next week is our last week of summer break? 

It is, he informed me. 
That’s when the lump made its home in that familiar place in my throat.  The lump vied for my attention for a week and a half and I’ve fought hard to swallow it back.  (I didn’t always win the fight.)

But tonight?  Tonight, I’m giving the lump full access.  We just put the kids to bed and Chad left the house for a bit.  It’s silent except for the sound of Ingrid Michaelson singing quietly from my Pandora station.   It’s 8:30 and almost completely dark outside.  The season change is inescapable. 

School begins tomorrow.

The very logical side of me understands that the anticipation of this is far worse the reality.  That part of me understands that with each transition, they grow in freedom and so do I.  That part of me understands that there is nothing better than to see them grow in knowledge, experience, and independence.  That part of me understands that this is all a part of the beautiful cycle of life. 

But the other part of me?  The emotional part?  The part that I seem to have no control over?  That part of me grieves this change and digs my heels in deep and wishes it away.  But I know there is no stopping it.  Tomorrow will be another new beginning. . .

Kindergarten and Second Grade. . .

. . . here they come.

What is it about the start of a new school year that transports me back to the sterile hospital room where their squishy pink bodies were first placed in my arms?  Why is it that right now I remember the feel of their little kicks pushing me from the inside out?  What is it about this time of year that sends me back to the days of middle of the night feedings that I thought would never end?

I’m not sure, because now?  Now all I can think is that those days ended far too soon.  I look at them now and wonder, how did the time pass so quickly? 

I’ve heard from several Mama’s this week.  Mama’s who are shedding tears with me.  Mama’s who feel anxiety and the bitter-sweet taste of change.  Mama’s who love fiercely and feel deeply and do that thing that all Mama’s have to do. . .

. . . Mama’s who are letting go.

And this is what they don’t tell you in the hospital as you are inhaling the beautiful scents of newborn skin–as quickly as you are holding on, the process of letting go begins. . .

. . . and it’s painfully, beautiful.

So, I do the only thing I know to do.  I feel it.  I feel it in every part of me.  I experience it deeply and allow the feelings to wash over me.  I look at Charlie, Chanelle, and Meadow and I let my eyes linger on their sweet faces that have grown seemingly overnight.  I listen to their words and watch the way their eyes sparkle as they talk about their Lego’s or their ponies and I do everything I can to memorize the details. 

I listen closely to the way they laugh together, the way they look out for each other, the way they ask to play and their constant banter back and forth.  And their hands?  Oh, their hands. . .

I slow down to feel the weight of their hands as they are tucked into mine.  I feel the way their fingers gently wrap around my own.  I feel all of it because I know that these moments are so fleeting. 

And you want to know something else?  I know that this is good for them.  I know that as they step away from me they grow even more in confidence.  I anticipate new tasks accomplished.  I can’t wait until Chanelle picks up a book and reads on her own.  I look forward to the excitement of discovery that comes with new experiences.  I will let go because I know it is what is good for them. . .

So, tomorrow we will do what so many others are doing, have done and will do. . .

. . . we will go in separate directions and discover a new normal. 

Charlie and Chanelle?  They will be just fine.  I realize that heartache is mine and not theirs.  They’ve got wings and I know they will soar. 

In the meantime, Meadow and I will discover each other more thoroughly and intimately.  I have a feeling that she will keep me on my toes and life entertaining. . .

. . . and in the end everything will be okay–because really. . . most things turn out just fine.

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Sending my love out to all those who are/are anticipating sending little ones off.  Strength in numbers, right?

. . . and if someone could give me some hope that this gets easier as the years move forward, that would be great.(Someone? Please?)

Have a lovely Monday, Friends.