As I child, I had great aspirations of what my adult life would be like. I used to dream of how loving, kind, and generous I would be as a mother. Later, as Y2K fears materialized and took hold, I came to understand that the words my own mother had seemingly used against me were not threats. In fact, they were incredible threads of wisdom that had been woven into lessons large and small that my mother shares with me throughout my childhood and adult life. Let's fast forward a few more years, until the fear and turmoil surrounding Y2K became nothing more than distant memories, when my oldest child was about to begin her first day of Kindergarten.
By this point, I thought that I'd successfully navigated enough child-rearing experiences to consider myself a pretty well-rounded parent. Go ahead, laugh. It's okay! As I dropped her off at school, we both felt responsible enough to hold back our individual tears until she and I had successfully disappeared from each other's sight. A few minutes later, I made it back to the car, released the park brake and put it in drive, a profound sense of calm washed over me. I felt warmth and comfort reach my heart from an outside force, and I knew at that point that I had done everything within my power to thoroughly prepare my child for this new phase in her life.
That afternoon, I sat in my living room alone. The silence was piercing and painful. The stillness of my quiet home caused an ache deep within my heart that was utterly more than I could bear. Instead of dwelling on the pain, I decided to get up and start moving. Within a few short hours, I tidied up around the house, finished the dishes and laundry, and still had enough time to start preparing dinner for that evening. I had a wonderful sense of accomplishment and arrived in plenty of time to pick up my daughter before the bell rang to dismiss her from her first day of school.
