I’m almost finished my last year as a parent of an
elementary school student. There was a time when I thought it would never end –
back when I was knee deep in book reports and dioramas. My days of remembering
to sign the planner, pack the lunch, or locate the library book are nearly over.
Sigh.
I’ve longed for this day, but now that it is upon me, I am
misty. Somehow the six years of elementary school crawl by, but the six years
of middle and high school are gone in a flash. I’m not sure what the science is
that makes time work this way, but I’ve heard it from other parents so I know
it is real.
I don’t have much say anymore in what they wear or what they
eat or even what they do. Mostly my job is to drive them where they want to go.
My words of encouragement or reminders are met with eye rolls and groans. I’ve
learned that these actions are rote responses and don’t carry the meaning I
supposed upon them initially when the teen years began. Now I know they simply
mean, “Got it, Mom.” I don’t take offense at their insensitivity. Much.
