Carl and I have been finding ourselves saying a certain phrase lately.
“This might be our last (fill in the blank) with Madison.”
We said it as we got in the car last week to go and look at Christmas lights as a family with hot chocolate warming our hands. We said it when we were putting the gifts under the tree. We said it last night when we sat around the candlelit dinner table eating ham with butter-ladened mashed potatoes.
Madison was quick to respond that even though she may no longer be living at home, she would still come and visit us for Christmas or Thanksgiving.
We hope that is true, but there is more than likely a change coming all too soon. I don’t know what that will be necessarily (only God knows), but we are making plans for her to possibly move go off to school next fall.
We were reminded of it especially when we put her new 4 piece luggage set under the Christmas tree. We assured her our gift was not a “get out of here” gift, but a “you are going to need this” gift.
Our job to give her roots is waning, and our job to give her wings is in full swing.
- Wisdom teeth extraction is scheduled.
- Meningitis shot has been given.
- Lecture about the dangers of taking open drinks from guys has been given.
- AAA phone call has been practiced after locking her keys in her car in 10 degree weather a few weeks ago.
- Car maintenance lessons have been given.
- Self-defense class needs to be scheduled.
Every life experience causes me to try to figure out what she knows, and what she needs to know. What do we need to teach her?
I am a little sad for myself, but totally excited for her. I remember being let loose to go live in the dorm for the first time. The fear of independence coupled with the thrill of freedom were enough to make me want to vomit and giggle all at the same time.
There are still great things to come, but it sure has gone by fast!
Oh, cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
But children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby. Babies don’t keep.
from Song for a Fifth Child (Babies Don’t Keep) by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton