Yakima Mom

All Things Mom

Archive for the tag “Growing up”

I Know it’s No Excuse, but…

Dear WordPress,

I am sorry, but I’ve been avoiding you.

It’s nothing personal, really. It’s completely about me; you’ve been terrific.

It’s just that I’ve been so … fragile, lately.

I can blame it on my temporary employment position… which cam as a result of a LAY-OFF, which is certainly capable of making one feel, um, less-than-great. But it’s not that.

Not really.

It’s that this time, this Spring/Summer, is so momentous for me.

I’m going from “mothering” one of my babies… his arrival being one of the most magnificent, glorious, wonderful things that ever happened TO ME…  to–well, whatever it is you become when your kid grows up and flies away from the nest.

And all I feel like posting is how huge this is, and how proud i am, and how scared i am, and how READY he is…

and I feel a little bad for my other two babies, who don’t seem to make the headlines so often.

And so I’ve just not posted. I’ve not told you he’s going to the University of Washington, which he considered his “fallback” school. I’ve not told you how hard it really is to get in there, and that I’m trying to convince him that getting accepted is an accomplishment.

He had his hopes set on Dartmouth. Or maybe Boston College.

It was a really tough year to get in.

He’s coming around. He wants to join a fraternity. I think he’s realizing it’s the beginning of a big adventure.

It’s the beginning of HIS life.

And it feels like the end of mine.

And so, this is why I’ve been neglectful of you, dear WordPress. And to you, my few faithful followers.

I’ve already told you how hard this is. You probably don’t want to hear it again.

I know I will survive this.

I’m just not sure how.

Untitled

There is no title for this post. It is too scattered, too random.

The neighbor “Boy” is playing his guitar in his garage. He’s 17. He thinks his future career is in music.

The chords-especially the long low ones- vibrate through my windows, nearly an acre away.

I don’t mind.

He is 17. His gorgeous blonde hair is dyed black. He has big dreams.

I have pictures of him when he is three or four, digging in the dirt with our boys. Cherry juice smeared across their faces.

Our oldest son is in New Orleans. He’s gone on an “Immersion;” a school-based service trip.

He’ll be gone all week. He leaves for University in just a few, short months.

Our daughter is on the couch, doing homework. She’s disappointed because I won’t take her driving right now.

She’s 15. She already drove 45 minutes today. I say I’m done for the day, I am relaxing now.

She says I can relax while she drives.

Ha.

I am feeling like I have missed something… that I’m not quite the parent that I believed I was.

I am not as good as I thought I was.

I’m sorry. I DID say this was pretty random.

This letting go is so hard.

A Rolling Stone

Can someone please tell me

When did this

become this?

And when did this little cutie

Turn into this beautiful creature?

And this one

Become a man?

The journey of mothering is a rolling stone on a hill,
Continually gathering speed.
The clumps of grass, the tree trunks, and hillocks
Only serve to pause the journey for the shortest of moments–
Perhaps just long enough to snap a photo
and freeze the instant in time.
And then the stone races on,
closer and closer…

To what?

The end of mothering,
as the fledglings fly.

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