This morning I cried. Big, fat, ugly, tears. I cried because my children didn't like the smoothie I made for them for breakfast. Seriously???
The smoothie incident was a bummer for sure. All the ingredients--frozen strawberries, pineapple, milk, and protein powder (ahhh, there's the kicker--if only I hadn't tried to infuse their breakfast with muscle building, nourishing, energy giving nutrients) down the drain. They looked at me with their sad eyes, pleading with me not to have to drink it. And I responded with, "Drink half," the two words dripping with anger, anger unfairly directed toward their inability to try new things, covering the real emotions bubbling underneath, sadness...apprehension...worry...sorrow.
Some people deal with the end of things by expressing their emotions--being joyful, reflecting on all the good times. Some people get teary-eyed or cry. Some people respond physically--I had a friend who got sick to her stomach the day she dropped her son off for his first day of Kindergarten. And some people, like me it seems, hold it all in until we can't contain the feelings for one more fraction of a second, and they burst at the seams over something like...a smoothie.
Camden's last preschool program was May 22, his last day ever of preschool was on the 24th. Carson will have his final day of fifth grade and graduate from elementary school on June 8th, and Jonah will complete his second year of middle school--only one more to go until high school) the same day. All these lasts and finals have me grasping at the strings of their childhood, knuckles white, heart yearning for the simpler days.
And then the guilt seeps in. Guilt that I spent the few minutes before sending them off to take their Math EOGS angry. Guilt that I am sometimes so immersed in texting a friend or tending to the budget that I don't look up from my phone or computer to engage with them. Guilt that the days, hours, minutes, and seconds are ticking away like sand blowing in the wind and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
I stood in the hallway last week as the Porter Ridge Seniors breezed down the halls, in their purple glory, giving high fives to the elementary kids. The air was thick with emotion--from the elation of the seniors who have their whole lives ahead of them to the excitement of the children, who stared in awe at the shiny caps and gowns as they descended in a purple blur. The teachers on the other hand, and many of us parents withheld tears as we grappled with this end of an era. No longer children, living under constant parental guidance, these seniors would be beginning their adult lives, whether that be by going off to college or beginning a career.
What I think all of this has got me thinking about is that I need to rejoice in the ordinary. To be happy that I have many, many more mornings to make smoothies my kids think are gross. To take heart in the fact that I have this summer to teach my boys how to do the laundry. To celebrate these two weeks that I have my preschooler home with me before his brothers get out of school. To not miss the moments when they want to talk. Because, nothing, NOTHING is more important or sweeter to me than their little voices.
It also has me thinking about letting myself be sad, before I cry over spilt milk.