I’ll miss you
If you were to take a peek at the double stroller parked in our garage right now, you might come to the conclusion that this family is both crazy and messy.
You’d be right - on our best day we’d fall under the category of totally bonkers and messy doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.
At this stage in parenthood, I’ve been thoroughly conditioned to the forever evolving chaos of our everyday life. So much so, that I don’t truly appreciate the complexity of it all until I spend some time away from the kids.
I did that a week and a half ago - and, it was nice. But, I felt myself become so relaxed by the lack of complication that I felt lazier than I’ve allowed myself to be in years. Naps by the pool had me feeling lethargic and anxious rather than re-energized. I’d wake up thinking, “Did Adelaide take her vitamins?” “Did I forget to add this to their schedule?” “I wonder if Preston has had any accidents today?”
The realization had me spinning.
From Monday on, Adelaide and Preston’s schedule will be full from 8:45 in the morning until 3:30 in the afternoon. There are certain parts of the weekly agenda that will still require my specific involvement, like family therapy in ABA, but for the most part it seems like the curtain is being lowered on my short career as full time mom.
When I look at that worn out double stroller sitting in our garage, I see something more.
Beyond the giant holes in the fabric of the seats & the wheels that have been forced to labor beyond their limit - there are memories. The four of us together in the orange glow of the early morning sun, walking the streets of our neighborhood. Two blonde bedheads eating cheerios out of plastic baggies, dropping one “O” every few feet as a trail for the birds. Smiles and pit stops at the fairy garden to see if there is anything new. Mom, do you believe in fairies?
The only, and I mean THE ONLY THING holding this incredibly tired stroller together is black electrical tape. I purchased it at Lowe’s a few months back after scaring a store associate into showing me where the “strongest tape you’ve got” is. You see - I’m not buying another stroller, there isn’t one to buy that works for our two kids. This is the last one and we’re gonna rock it til the wheels fall off.
On one hand, I sort of want it to last forever. Let’s go on walks with mom and dad for the rest of our lives, guys! Sounds lovely, right?
On the other hand, I’ve already moved way past it. Combined Adelaide and Preston are already a solid 25 pounds over the weight capacity & when we come to a hill on one of our dreamy sunlit walks, I tend to hand the reigns over to Jason.
Are my kids just heavy or are we approaching the end of an era? I’m not sure yet.
Last week we went to a kindergarten get together at our neighborhood pool. Adelaide was in her element and I felt comfortable letting her flitter around with her future classmates.
Throughout the party, I was caught somewhere between watching and chasing Preston around the small splash pad area. Every minute or two he’d stop in his tracks and shut his eyes, carefully feeling the flow of the water shooting out of a canon. Holding his little hands directly against the spray, the water went every which way making him stim with excitement. There is nothing more pure in this world to me than a happy Preston. And where there is water, Preston is at his absolute happiest.
Close to us there were were two boys shooting water guns back and forth, they must have been 8-9 years old. They were laughing and yelling at one another when I saw one indicate to my son and say, “This kid creeps me out”. I felt the verbal bullet go straight through me and exit. I looked to Preston who was playing blissfully unaware to what had been said, so I did nothing.
Moments later one of the boys looked to the other and said, “let’s shoot at him.” I watched in slow motion as the boys both aimed their water guns at my sweet son and pegged him with water.
It took a second for words to form but they did.
“Hi, HELLO. That’s my son. You’re going to stop doing that right now.”
The boy closest to me whipped around, he hadn’t even noticed me standing there watching my child.
He didn’t frown or speak. He only smirked as I kept talking.
I indicated to Preston. “He is autistic. Please stop doing that.”
They stopped and luckily Preston ran away.
I always wonder what to do in these situations. They tend to happen from time to time, each instance toughening my skin and cracking my heart simultaneously. People say that God only brings what you can handle and that everything happens for a reason.
I felt nothing was gained in that shattering moment - so, what can be learned from it?
I searched my heart and realized something both amazing and nerve-racking.
No matter the circumstances - for better or for worse, motherhood is truly forever.
My watch will never fully end. My children will grow, become adults, have great days, vote, have terrible days, create new families, stay away or move into the house next door. Fingers crossed. All that aside, I will always be their mother. I will advocate for them and love them until I’m in the ground. In that, I have found the comfort I need to accept this newest phase.
Adelaide started kindergarten this morning. I’ve shocked myself over the last week with how shook up I’ve been over the whole thing.
Upon drop off this morning, she discovered that one of her dearest friends sat directly behind her. She concluded that she could just turn around and hug her if she got upset. What more could I want for her? She had the perfect day and loves her teacher.
The only thing I really wanted Adelaide to know before she walked into that classroom this morning was how I felt about her and this chapter ending in our life. I needed it likely more than she did. But all the same, I’m glad I told her.
Yesterday afternoon I gave her a manicure and a pedicure on the tile floor of our master bathroom. After I finished, I read this to her.
For the first year of your life, I left you only to feel the hot water of the shower. You smelled so good and smiled so easily, I didn’t want to ever let you go. I’d always wanted a daughter, and the only thing you ever have to do to fulfill that dream is exist - you already do that so much better than anyone else I know, so keep it up.
I remember when I carried you around on my tummy in your little kangaroo pouch. You faced me for a long time until one day you decided that you wanted to see the world. So you did just that and you haven’t stopped wanting it since then.
I’m sorry I yelled at you when you put on my really red lipstick. You look better in it than I do.
I’m sorry you had to grow up so fast.
I’m sorry we did family therapy with Preston more often than playdates.
I’m not sorry that you’re my best friend.
Just know that when the other people disappear and it’s the three of us at home - you, your brother, and I - you’re my constant entertainer. And, I get why you try so hard to get me to look at you sometimes - mom has always had one eye on Preston. You were born into a unique situation where you’re forced to compete for attention at times.
Adelaide, You always think mommy isn’t watching, but I am here to tell you that - I AM and, you are the bees knees. A real life superstar. Your mom considers herself the luckiest human alive to have had a front row seat to all that is you these last 5 years.
You don’t know it yet, or maybe you do - but, you truly don't need me like you used to. With that being said, I hope you always want your mom around.
When you walk into that class tomorrow, I know things will change and that’s okay. I just want you to know that the “you” sitting here this very moment, I’ll miss her so very much. To the “you” that you will soon become, I can’t wait to get to know her. I love you, Adelaide. - Mom
These photographs were taken last week. For the most part, we were lazy homebodies and I realized the changes that lay on the horizon. I love capturing these two at home doing what most would call “absolutely nothing” - it’s these moments I will cherish and revisit until I’m old.