This is my seventh year as a mom sending one or more kids to school. Big kid school, not preschool. Like school I am legally obligated to send my kids to. Because it’s the LAW. No, YOU MAY NOT take your first grader to Disney World or the LAW will send you a warning letter. How unfit of you to take your kids on a vacation that makes them miss three days of school. This is why your kid will NEVER GET INTO COLLEGE AND WILL BE IN JAIL INSTEAD. Damn Disney World for being so tempting.
Perhaps I’ve strayed from my point. Perhaps I never had a point. And perhaps I never will since I obviously make bad parenting decisions according to the state of Texas. Also? Bite me, Texas. My kids are doing quite well, thankyouverymuch.
I say all that to say this: time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’ into the fuuu-ture… Also it’s the beginning of the third week of school and I already have a sick kid at home. It’s possible I’m cracking under the pressure of an 8 year-old who needs to talk at me pretty much the whole time we are in the same room together. Yes, “at” me. She’s not asking me anything. She’s telling me about Descendants or Stuck in the Middle or Bunk’d or — I don’t know. I mean I listen, but it’s hard to keep track of it all. Again I blame Disney.
So I think the point here is this: I made it. I survived the summer without losing my mind or my temper (for the most part). As I stumble into yet another school year trying to guide my children — even though I have no idea what I am doing — I keep my head up. I take deep breaths. I enjoy the quiet moments but also liberally apply hugs and kisses to my stinky, sticky, chatty kids when they get home from school.
Not to be cliché, but time is flying; this summer was the shortest one yet.
Days. Months. Years. ALL elude me more often than I will admit. Time begins to feel either unreal or all too real when I lose track of it. I thought that was a cliché about getting older. I thought it was an exaggeration. I thought wrong.
Approximately 153% of my life is about being a mom (no time for math!) and that role changes a little every year/day/hour. The part that does not change, that has not changed since I became a mother, is the agreement that I am here. Literally right here, making myself available to take the kids to doctor appointments or piano lessons or whatever they need. Signing paperwork, paying fees, being home after school — this is my role in our family structure.
What feels like a permanent plan is really a temporary one; I will always be a mom, but my kids won’t always need me to be literally right here. When they no longer need me, where do I go?
Disney World. Obviously.