Tag Archives: college

Transitional Parenting

In a fortnight’s time.

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joyWith the passing of 336 hours, the sounds and rhythm of my house will change. Delightfully so.

In 14 short days, my laundry load will increase by 25% and so will my grocery bill. I can’t wait.

Two weeks from today, sisters will be reunited and a daughter will return to her mother and father. Tears will spill and laughs will burst out.

In a fortnight’s time, with my daughter asleep in her own bed, I will sleep sounder than I have in months. And, peace will fill my heart.

Being a bit of a rebel, I haven’t and won’t be limiting my posts to the NaBloPoMo December theme, joy. However, this morning, I find I can’t contain my joy, so here I am, writing about joy.

This morning, as I waited for my coffee to brew, I glanced at the calendar and mentally inventoried my to-do list. Initially distracted, I missed the big red heart that appears directly 2 rows below today’s date on the 18th. My eyes caught just a glimpse of the red and my heart fluttered as my brain scrambled to decipher the message; 2 weeks from today, just 2 more weeks and she’s home!

Attending school 2 states away (almost 12 hours by car and, with campus close to 2 hours from the airport, a good half day of travel via bus and airplane), weekends home, including the Thanksgiving holiday, are not practical. In addition, due to scheduling conflicts and justified by the fact this is not her first year away, C’s dad and I didn’t attend family weekend in October. By the time she steps foot on Denver soil, she will have been gone almost 17 full weeks. 17 weeks since I’ve held her in my arms. 17 weeks since I stroked her hair or shared a quiet morning’s conversation. 17 weeks since I heard her squeal with excitement or heard the giggles shared between sisters. 17 weeks since I watched her and her dad head out the door for some dad-daughter time. 17 long weeks, more than 25% of a year, not long in the big scheme of things, but a lifetime when measured by a mother’s heart.

But today, rather than measuring the time by the days she’s been gone, I measured by the days until she comes home and my heart is filled with joy; joy for the return of all things familiar and all things family. In a fortnight’s time, my daughter will sleep in her bed once more and today, my heart bursts with joy in anticipation.

 

Transitional Parenting, Transitional Woman

Wasted Hours

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We worry about what a child will becomeThe other night, I sat at the table with papers spread about. In those papers were the details and road map of the last 14 years of my homeschooling journey with A. Of particular note, were her high school years as I set out to document her coursework for her transcripts.

My stomach knotted as I shuffled the papers. So many years passed far too quickly. Tucked within the pages of records, I found treasures more valuable than all the gold in the land. The scribbles of a 5-year-old. My fingers traced the crooked letters. A card written by my 3rd grader learning to write a proper “thank you note”. I smiled back at the simple heart next to her name. A poem written in 7th grade to memorize the countries of Africa and the doodle on a random page of Chemistry notes. All reflections of a journey that began when she was 4  with a box of crayons and a coloring book and will end this spring with a cap and gown.

As I recorded class names and grades, I thought about who she was then and who she is now. And I realized, at the core, she is who she was at the beginning; my animal lover with an indomitable spirit. She’s always had a strong sense of self and an even stronger sense of right and wrong. Rarely, does she see the “gray” in life’s conflicts, but she’s come to accept that gray is usually there. She is and always has been introverted, but she’s unfailingly faithful to those lucky enough to be let into her heart.

As the evening progressed, I moved the papers from one stack to the other. 9th grade, 10th grade, 11th grade all recorded and documented in advance of my meeting with the director of the school that will issue her official transcripts. A journey summarized on a page, but not reflected are the hours I worried about who and what she would become. Now, as we round the bend to the finish line, I realize the error of those wasted hours. She is who she’s always been, my wonderful, beautiful, amazing A.