We can do hard things: like go to the bank.

I have a confession to make.  Sometimes adulting makes me nervous.  Maybe I’m alone in that, but somehow, I doubt it.  It’s not that I’m new to the whole concept, because my birthday that’s fast approaching next month reminds me that I’m not.  And I mean, I’ve managed to give birth to and semi-raise three children.  I’ve signed legal documents, bought a house and made important medical decisions for other people that I dearly love.  So, definitely not a newbie at this thing called life.  And yet, knowing that I have to do things of the adulting nature is sure fire way to be sure that I’m going to feel queasy that day.  

Today was no exception.  I had to talk to people and take care of things and tie up loose ends on things that Matt was just unable to be there for—you see, Matt, he’s my security blanket.  He is an A+ adulter.  My computer tried to change that to adulterer.  Wouldn’t that have been a fun little mix up.  No, he is a terrific and faithful man.  He makes snap decisions with ease.  He handles money well and never second guesses himself.  He is the one you’d want by your side if you had to take care of business.  

And then, there’s me; the waffler.  I hem.  I haw.  I doubt.  But, that’s okay.  I’m a work in progress.  And today was a day that I knew things had to get done.  So, armed with my five year old by my side, we did just that.  Hey, even  Batman got a Robin. 

And as we were crossing the street from our last order of business, I grabbed her hand and said, We did it, Char.  We did all the hard things.  And that sweet little girl, who somehow thinks that I’m the one in charge, grabbed my hand back and gave it a little squeeze, “Of course we did.” I had to smile.  The faith of a child. Of course we did.  

Maybe that’s what you need today.  And I’m here to remind you, we CAN do hard things.  We can do adult things.  Even if they make us nervous.  Especially if they make us nervous. We can advocate and celebrate and speak up.  We can self promote and self deliver and we can just plain show up. And if you’re like me, you may need someone to hold your hand to get through it.  But, that’s okay.  You can be the very best you that you are meant to me.  Because, of course you can. 

My baggage. Her journey.

It’s that time of year. Spring is springing (supposedly), flowers are blooming (somewhere) and the days are stretching (boy, are they).  We are on the wind down of the school year as we coast into spring break.  I feel it.  The kids feel it.  And whispers of Kindergarten are on the lips of all of my friends who are faced with the same dilemma that I am; an upcoming empty nest.  Our last baby will start Kindergarten this Fall.  And it’s going to be wonderful.  And I’m likely going to have to be sedated.  I just can’t believe we’re here.  It’s probably no great coincidence that we’ve had our children five years apart.  About the time we’d get to this stage in the game, I couldn’t be too sad, because there was a new baby on the horizon.  But, this time, that’s not the case.  We are sending our swan song to the biggest performance of her life.  And I am sad. 

Today, I found myself talking about it again today.  And when we got home, Charlotte sat down beside me and said, “Mama.  Why does Kindergarten make you sad?”  And there we have it.  The moment when the rug is pulled out from under your feet and you realize that all those times you were joking with friends about a Xanax prescription and a boo-hoo brunch, someone else was listening.  The most important person was listening.  What had I done? 

So, I had to pull up a square of carpet next to her and admit that I was wrong.  I wasn’t sad about Kindergarten.  Truth be told, I’m excited for Kindergarten.  I am sad for ME.  And friends, guess what?  This isn’t about me.  This is her journey.  And, by God, I will not make this sweet baby carry MY baggage on HER journey. She has the most promising road ahead.  She is going to make friends and make memories and keep learning all of the things that make life great. I will not rob her of that. Selfish sadness is okay for a while, but it’s not okay forever. 

So, as of today, I’m done being sad.  I’ve decided that Kindergarten is going to be the most amazing adventure that anyone has ever taken. (At least that will be my public story.  Fake it till you make it, right?) And while I suspect that the first day of school will find me hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses, as long as she sees a smile on my face, that future will remain pretty darn bright. 

Sail on, silver girl.  Thank you for always showing me the way.