Six more lunches. That is how I’m counting down to the end of the school year – only six more lunches to throw together as he eats breakfast at our kitchen table. Making lunches was the kids’ responsibility once they hit high school, but this year I reverted to old habits. My most hated mom-job was bearable once I only had a few more months to do it, and the teen is more likely to chat with me if I’m standing at the island assembling a sandwich than he would be if I were staring at him from across the table.
And now there are only six left. I have parented through two years of daycare, five years of preschool, and sixteen years of public school, and now my youngest child is about to graduate high school. His cap and gown are hanging in his bathroom, so the wrinkles can steam out of the flimsy polyester before the big day.
Five more lunches.
Yesterday didn’t count because he had an AP exam and went out to lunch with friends afterwards. I did not know that until he came home; since he started driving I’ve become accustomed to not knowing where he is at all times. It’s as it should be, I know, but it’s an odd feeling for to not know where my kids are. But I’ve handled it with my daughter; I can do it with my son.
I made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich this morning; it’s been the lunch of choice since kindergarten. I think about at what point PB&J becomes a treat. It’s a curious thing, the PB&J sandwich – ubiquitous during childhood and a rare pleasure of adulthood.
Making a lunch at 6:30 a.m. is one of the things I will not miss. I thought I would have a list of those things, but I don’t. In my current state of mind, I’m focused on the things I will miss.
- The kid walking in the door after school, and the scramble of eight paws frantic to greet him.
- Running into friends and acquaintances at school events or games.
- A reliable routine, the ebb and flow of the school year.
- Snow days.
Four more lunches.
The dogs will miss our morning routine; they each get a baby carrot when I throw some in the kid’s lunch. The carrots are one of a few food items I will never need to buy again because their sole purpose is to be consumed at school. No more strawberry fruit bars, no more snack bags of chips, no more trail mix. Please, no more trail mix. My stint buying the large bag instead of the individually packaged ones resulted in multiple visits to the snack drawer each day, and an extra pound around my hips.
He came home from school yesterday to report that he did no schoolwork and watched almost four episodes of Game of Thrones. Final exams begin today, so the GOT viewing will have to wait; it’s better to watch the battles episodes on a larger screen anyway.
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I’ve stretched the writing of this post over four days, perhaps in a semi-conscious attempt to avoid thinking about the inevitable. A friend loaned me a book about becoming an empty nester, and the unassuming paperback has been glaring at me from my nightstand for months. I know the world will march on, but I also need time to process this huge change in my life, my son’s life, and the life of our family of four. Have I mentioned that my daughter is almost finished her junior year of college? Two graduations, one year apart. I can do this, right?
Joining Finish the Sentence Friday with Kristi, because I miss joining in. The prompt is “I used to think,” and while I didn’t use it explicitly, this post is full of things that used-to-be.
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