Today My Daughter Graduates

The HG graduates from her university today, with, astoundingly enough given the trials, tribulations, and distractions of this last term, a 4.0 GPA for this semester, a 3.75 overall. It's a good time for one of those 'how time flies,' and 'enjoy them while they are little' posts, but I am not sure I can quite muster it up.

There are definitely moments when there is a pang in my heart and a lump in my throat because we're 'losing' her- she'll be spending a few days next week with Strider's family, and in all likelihood the happy couple will be living in a studio apartment on his family's property, and it's silly and selfish to be jealous, but still, sometimes I am. And it's hard for me to change direction sometimes, and this all happened rather quickly, and I had so been looking forward to some down time with her this summer, after the most stressful term of her University career, and now that time will be spent with wedding plans and watching her and Strider make googly eyes at one another (they try not to do it, but they can't help it).

A decade ago a woman on a parenting list I was on asked those of us who had children what it was like to be a parent. I was expecting our seventh child at the time. This was the gist of my reply:

I was totally unprepared for the physical impact of mothering; for me it has
been an overwhelmingly sensual experience. I don't mean sensual in an erotic
way. I mean that all my senses are involved, affected, enjoyed in a brand new
way. Nothing on earth smells like one's own new baby, affects my sense of
touch like the feel of my baby's little head, sounds like an infants totally
captivating giggle, tastes so sweet when one kisses him/her, or is so
enchantingly engaging that one can just sit and gaze at the new little one for
hours.

It continues for me as they grow older. I love listening to my 14 year old
discuss life, sing as she goes about her chores, and play the piano. I love
tangling my fingers in my 12 year old's curls, listening to her read aloud to
her younger sisters. I enjoy the feel of pat-a-cake with my mentally
handicapped ten year old, the sound of her funny little voice singing her odd
little songs. I have dropped laundry on the floor to lean against the bathroom
door and listen to my eight year old sing songs in the shower about her day-
"Oh, my mom wasn't very nice to me. She won't let me play in the hail. When I
grow up I'll go get a new mom who will let me outside whenever I want, but that
will make my old mama sad so maybe I wooon't"- all sung as dramatic opera. It
catches at my heart to watch the seven and eight year olds skip along, holding
hands and chanting nursery rhymes, to have my nearly two-year old come running
up with concern on her face when I cough to ask, "Drink? Mommy want drink?" I
can hardly keep my heart from bursting when I watch one of them learn something
new, proudly read a first book, figure out how to measure area, learn to ride a
bike. Their own faces are so full of light and joy...

That was, as I said, a decade ago. the experiences and ages change, but the joy has not diminished. Tonight I sat in my corner of the living room couch- the corner from which I can watch children doing dishes, and I watched and listened to my now 18 year old singing along to the soundtrack from Wicked as she worked. She didn't know (until now) that this is what makes this corner of the couch my favorite. I love listening to my 20 year old sing as she works about the house, practices her violin, and I love the smell of the good things she bakes. Tonight the 13 year old came to kiss me goodnight, deliberately tickling me with the long, thick hair that hangs to her waist and telling me she'd decided not to cut it until after the wedding. I listened to the hammering of my ten year old son working on his new treehouse this morning, and it simply brought such an 'all is right with the world' sense of deep satisfaction to my soul I cannot even describe it. The Equuschick comes to visit us every day, and I love watching how the baby she is carrying is growing (The EC looks as though she's swallowed a volley-ball), and the feel of the Cherub's thick, blond hair beneath my fingers is another pleasure I cannot explain.

So many times in my mothering walk I have wanted to grab time with both hands
and make it stop forever at this or that perfect moment, but time keep rushing on, dragging me breathless along with it to other perfect moments. Had I gotten my wish, and held time back, keeping us forever in the moments I thought were perfect- what joys I would have missed! There are PEOPLE we would not know- and some of them are my children.


There are those moments of teary eyed nostalgia and attempts to hold time firm in both my hands- and I am sure to Strider and the HG those moments seem more plentiful than they do to me. But the other night I we looked at baby pictures together, and while they were fun and sweet, I did not think, "Oh, I wish they were little again." Little is fun, there's no doubt. But if they had all stayed little, how much joy we would have all missed. There would be no Shasta directing traffic for his pregnant wife, herding her on hikes like a mother hen with one little chick, and building a treehouse with the Boy. There would be no bonfires and singings with the ringing, goose bump inducing, shivery tenors of these two men soaring over the rest of our voices. There would not be the joy and deep gratitude I feel as I watch Strider show his love for our precious HG in ways small and sweet as well as large and beautiful. It is an unbelievably wonderful thing to see my daughters loved and cherished by men whom we trust, respect, and love in their own right. I cannot imagine exchanging this stage of life for the joy of keeping my children young and at home with us. How barren and hollow that would be.

And then there is my own marriage, grown mellow and rich as a finely aged wine, deeper, more meaningful, just..... more.

No, do not desire to have their baby years back. Do not wish you could hold time still. Live in those moments, appreciate and celebrate them, but never forget they are the ethereal gift of time, a gift of growth, a gift that only comes when we appreciate the moments that make up all the beads of the strand of pearls that is mothering, that is life.

Appreciate each moment. Look at it with all your attention and imprint it on your heart and mind. And then move on with joy. The best is yet to come.

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