Monday, September 1, 2014

“You're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting,
So... get on your way!” 

They whined and pleaded, "Can't we just ride the bus?" on this, their first day of kindergarten.  "NO."  I hmphed, crossing my arms and pouting.  I did not want to share and found myself having my own little Kindergarten temper tantrum to illustrate this.  I wanted those last few moments with them all to myself; those final moments to hold hands and pray quietly with them before they opened the doors, stepped out of the car, and ventured into the echoing gymnasium, loudly reverberating with the excitement of a new school year.

I think these little twins who were busy rallying against me would be just a little more understanding if they realized what I really wanted wasn't just to drive them, but to disguise myself and follow them around their new school from a safe distance, guarding them from the bad kids, drug pushers, and playground pedophiles.  But once at school, the knowing principal kindly ushered the left-over lingering parents out of the gymnasium as the students made their way, wide-eyed to their classrooms.  Standing in line with their classmates, my children broke form and ran across the gym to give me one last kiss, then ran back to their places and the line trickled out of my sight.

To be fair, I'm not usually such a helicopter parent.  I mean, I check in every few days to make sure their teeth have been brushed.  And I do ask plenty of questions about their bowel movements, just because it makes me feel like an attentive mom and a little doctor-y all in one.  I really do see the value in their strides towards becoming independent little people.  So, I was a little surprised to feel my eyes burning with tears as I was sure they would most definitely not do when this day eventually arrived.  But, I was quick to realize that they weren't just sentimental first day of school tears.  They were tears for the end of this season, the season of the three of us.   It's hard to explain, this feeling that I've held for the past few years.  A feeling of exhaustion and anxiety, yes- but also a very deep regard for the sacredness of this time.   I've held very close this awareness that however difficult these past years may have been at times, they were not to be rushed.   Five brief years to quietly lay the foundation before the world stepped in and bombarded them with all that it wants to teach them-both good and bad.  Through the challenges and the chaos of the past five years, a quiet intensity has tied us together and now I have to prepare myself for its slow unraveling as they venture out slowly on their own.   Good thing they allow for room moms.