by Cathy
Today is the last, official day of school for my kids and I'm freaking out.
I did not expect this. At all.
It blindsided me during the usual morning breakfast rush. We were running late as usual but there was a relaxed feel to the harriedness. Then my youngest, Ari, knowing we were going to be late, asked if I could walk her to her locker after getting the obligatory tardy slip in the main office. (I did this last week, one day with her, but only after she insisted that I do it because as usual, I was in my own crazed bubble, mentally running through lists of where I have to go and what I have to do for the day. But boy, once I did it, I was so glad I did. Small, inside peeks into your child's school day - her stuff, her routine, her interaction with friends and teachers - is something I never get to really see.)
"Mommy, can you walk me to my locker today?"
"Oh, honey, papi will be taking you today."
"Papi," she turned. "Can you walk me to my locker today?"
He looked at me quizzically. "Why? Is it something I need to do?"
"No," I said flatly. "But just take her. It's something you'll remember doing. It's her last day of first grade."
Boom! Something inside my heart exploded. My husband noticed it but kept quiet. He turned to Bella, my now TWELVE-year old.
"Do you want me to walk you to your locker, too?" he offered quietly.
And just as we suspected, she replied, "No, that's okay."
At that moment, we both knowingly felt that pang of harsh reality that one day, we will not get asked to walk our kids to our lockers. Or lay with them at bedtime. Or read them a story. Or hold their hand. Or want to sleep in our bed or crawl in there in the middle of the night. One day, they just stop asking.
I quickly ushered them out the door with a kiss while my husband hurried them into taking an end-of-the-year photo before they drove off. In the still quietness that just minutes ago, was my hurricane of a kitchen, I sat and cried. Where was this coming from? From the quietness of the house that will one day be forever this quiet once they both move on and live their lives? From seeing the remnants of their rushed breakfast still on the table and realizing that for all the bitching I do about getting up early, and packing them lunch and snacks and preparing breakfast that the school year is already over and done?
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Last night, as I was laying with Ari in bed (I don't refuse these invitations any more, I cherish them now) I saw she had posted some collages on her wall. Pictures of makeup, fashion, accessories that she put together.
"What are those?" I squinted in the dark.
"Oh, those are my pictures I cut out. I want to be a girl now."
"Noo!" I whispered loudly to her. "You are still little."
"Yeah, but mommy, I want to act like a big girl, but I'll still be little, okay?"
"But you're little, so you should act like a little girl."
"I'll still be little. I'm only six. But I just want to act like a big girl," she said, clutching her pillow and sheepy, clearly comforting my inability to accept this.
I guess it makes sense that for all the comforting we dish out to our kids during the course of their childhood, it would only be fitting if they do the same for us at some point. I just don't want it to be so soon. I just dont' want it over and done with so fast.
