This morning was the first day of school for my son Eli and my daughter Kailee. She is a senior and he is a freshman. I got them up and they got ready for their first big day. When it was time for them to leave they hopped in the car together and off they went.
I had bragged all summer that there would be no more driving the kids to school for this mom; that now that Eli was in high school his big sister could take him. A few days ago I asked him “well how is it going to feel that your mom doesn’t have to take you to school?” He replies [I think in an attempt to make me feel better] that I can still take him if I want. At this point however, I am thinking that I was glad to have reached that point in my life that I can finally have that much deserved and earned extra 15 minutes of sleep time on school mornings and it seemed to sound pretty good to me; so I replied with “it’s okay son – don’t want to embarrass you.”
But something unexpected happened this morning. In the midst of relishing those few extra times of hitting the snooze button it dawned on me that for the last 18 years my job has always been to cart 1, 2, 3 or more kids to school. In fact, at one time in an effort to help out a friend I was picking up two extra kids and delivering 5 of them to 3 different schools. It has been 18 years of hurrying in the morning trying to get everyone delivered on time, rushing around like a chicken with my head cut off and breathing a sigh of relief when I got them all to their perspective places in record time – feeling accomplished like I had just scored a position in what should be an Olympic event designed for only parents.
Suddenly in my revelation of the end of an era I just wanted to cry. It seems like only a few weeks ago that I was walking them into Kindergarten, holding their hand and wiping tears from my eyes as they were finding their place in the world of independence as they walked in like a big girl or boy and found their seat. In those few moments of curling back underneath my blankets this morning I was overwhelmed with flashbacks of the past school years. I thought about the pictures that they would bring home to hang on the fridge, the funny things they would write in their journals, and the stories of what exciting things happened on the playground. Suddenly my kids growing up and being independent didn’t seem so glamorous - in fact it was rather depressing. That thought of not feeling needed anymore seemed to replace the joy of me not having to experience the hustle and bustle of school day mornings.
I moped around the house, dragged my feet getting ready and tried to find anything to think about other than how life with my kids has passed by so fast. I tried to think about school years past and the days when they depended on me to get them to school; the times when I got to slip another “I love you – have a good day” in as they got out of the car. I tried to convince myself that I still have more school functions to go to, more parent/teacher conferences, and more ballgames. Feeling rather unsuccessful in accomplishing my goal of still feeling needed my phone chimes with a text. It’s from Kailee - “I forgot my volleyball bag”. Ah, that sweet kind of text that reminds a mom that she is still needed. I smiled and shrugged off that feeling sorry for myself attitude and realized that no matter how old they get they still are going to need me – even if it’s just for a volleyball bag.
