Entry #2 ~ Tick Tock...

Five weeks...

A little less than five weeks, actually.

I don't know whether to celebrate or begin the mourning process.

My house is beginning to look like a war zone: There are banker boxes in my home office; rubbermaid containers litter the downstairs hallway; the living room couch is covered in garbage bags filled with clothes deemed too small, too out-of-date, too 'uncool' to wear, and are destined for the local Value Village.

I've given up trying to keep the house dusted, cleaned, and organized. I figure I can put on my Domestic Goddess hat after September 1st when I am looking for things to do to fill the time and the 'missing her' begins in earnest. I don't know about you, but my house is never cleaner than when I am upset, angry, lonely or a mixture of all three. I have a feeling that by the beginning of October, my house will be in a state of readiness for a Good Housekeeping photo shoot.

The first-born instincts to research, make lists, and execute a plan that have lain dormant inside of me for quite a while are kicking into high gear again. My mothering genes are bubbling over. There's so much to do and I want to make sure that nothing falls through the cracks.

Tuition and residence fees paid? Check!
Course selections reviewed and breadth requirements met? Check!
WATcard photo sent and books for the first semester arranged for?  Check!

And those are just the things she knows about...

Inside those banker boxes in my office? The results of small, yet carefully planned, weekly excursions to the local Walmart.
Week one was what I called 'the medicine cabinet' spree. From Tylenol to toiletries... hairspray to a heating pad... This kid is practically going to have a small pharmacy in her room.
Week two was school supplies. Little things like the index cards she likes to use when she is studying for a test and sticky notes and a desk calendar. Although the alphabet poster was tempting, I left it behind in the store. Left behind, yes. Out of mind? No. I don't care how old your kids are, September can bring out the latent primary school teacher in all of us. You're going to hate me for this, but one of my favourite commercials of all time was the one that Staples did years ago for their Back to School campaign. Yep, that one. You can curse me for reminding you of that song -- the Christmas tune that shall remain nameless in the off-chance that it might become the song that never ends in your brain today -- that still gets me smiling whenever I hear it.

Ooops.... did I post that??  *innocent look*

There's new sets of sheets (twin beds in the residence, dont'cha know), new pillows, new slippers. 

There's old pictures, old books, old memories.

There's 'little pieces of me' thrown into the boxes for good measure as well. 

I decided against the full-size poster of a picture taken of me on one of my better hair days, and went for the small framed photo of the two of us together at a football game. 

Tucked between flip-flops for the shower and some packages of red licorice, there's a little stuffed moose that I sprayed with the scent that I always wear. 

And what 'Don't Forget About Me' just-a-little-bit Emotional First Year University Parent Kit would be complete without a package of note cards, nice pen and a book of stamps? I know it's not a very subtle hint, but hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do...  :)

All in all, the countdown is moving forward far too quickly and at a snail's pace all at once.

I am excited with her, for her, because of her.

I am melancholy with her, for her, because of her.

Like sand through the hourglass, so will be the next five weeks of our lives....

Entry #1 -- And So It Begins....

“We are respecting our parents' wishes....They didn't want to shelter us from the world's treacheries. They wanted us to survive them.”   Lemony Snicket, The End

She’s been grumbling about it all week.

Well, not really grumbling; more like under-the-breath muttering and wishing that her graduation ceremony was at this time of year instead of in the fall.

“Yeah, and there’s no graduation parties. And no graduation presents either. This sucks.”

I’ve been nodding my head in empathy and making comments like, “I know how you feel,” and “Well, at least you have something to look forward to…”

It doesn’t seem to be making a difference.

I didn’t really think it would, but I was hoping that it might. Even just a little.

I’m trying to approach the whole ‘her high school days are over’ topic with as little fanfare as possible. It’s not that I don’t think it’s worthy of celebrating.

It’s not that I’m not proud of her accomplishments and how hard she has worked, especially over the past year.

It’s just that I really don’t see this as an ‘ending’ as much as I view it as the end of a new beginning for her.

She’s so excited about all of the changes that are on the horizon! Between receiving notification that she is now ‘officially’ listed as living in residence in September to choosing her university courses and declaring her major, her life has been a series of questions, decisions and challenges over the past several months.

She goes about the business of talking about how many hours she is going to be working this summer and I have started making plans for what I am going to do with the spare room in the house and both of us avoid the topic of ‘moving day’.

It’s a diversion for both of us.

I know it.

She knows it.

We both ignore it.

At least, I try to ignore it.

It’s not really working.

There’s so much I want to say to her; I have been rehearsing that speech for a quite a long time.

It’s the questions that I long to ask her that have become a surprise to me.

As parents, we love. Some of us do it unconditionally, quietly, or reservedly. Some of us do it passionately, out loud, and full of colour. But there are always ‘conditions’; not with the love we send out into the universe, but more inward in nature, and based on our own needs, our own insecurities, and our own desires to be heard, loved and understood.

It’s a hard thing to do: Letting go.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a teenager spreading their wings and leaving the nest, or an adult child surrendering to life’s process and saying goodbye to a parent who is being lifted on eagle’s wings.

Brazilian lyricist and novelist, Paulo Coelho, once said: “Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, that children understand; their stories and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the water of their lives.”

From this U of W first-year parent's perspective, there will always be questions that we will struggle to to ask our children. A few of the brave parents do and will. For most of the rest of us, we will look for answers and try to find a way to find our way.

Oh, sweet child-of-mine! There are so many things I want to tell you! So many ways in which I have already started the process of letting you go! From watching you from a distance as you crossed the street by yourself to helping you pick out your prom dress, I have been letting you go with every step you have taken.

In The Road Home, author Michael Thomas Ford writes: “There’s nothing more complicated – or fragile – than the relationship between parents and their children. It’s like no other relationship there is. And no one tells you how to make it work. Either you find your way or you don’t.”

I think we’re both helping each other find our way.

Sometimes I catch you watching me and your eyes are full of questions you are hesitant to ask. Let me answer them for you: Yes, I think you can do it; Yes, you make me proud; Yes, I love you with all my heart.