My baby is graduating from high school, so we've had a lot
of “lasts” this year: her last first day of school, her last Halloween costume
(that I have to do anything about) her last dance costumes, permission slips,
field trips and automated phone calls from the school. She took her last AP
exam, so no more AP classes! The battery in her calculator died in the middle
of her AP Calc exam. She didn't have a spare, and I didn't freak out. I guess she’ll be taking calculus again in
college. I must have finally overcome the helicoptering mom syndrome. Better
late than never.
She brought home her yearbook last week. Last time I have to
shell out eighty dollars for one of those! Her friends from another school were
looking at it and said that it had so much editorializing in it that it looked
more like a textbook than a yearbook. I had totally forgotten that I paid for a
Senior Tribute, until Chelsea asked me if I’d seen it. The high school has run
out of opportunities to hit me up for ads and tributes. I’m not crying about
that one.
Alan’s car was in the shop a few days ago, so he drove mine
to work. On the way to pick him up from the shop I realized that I’d forgotten
to grab the spare keys to her car. He was going to drop me off at the school so
that I could get her car, but I decided to just work in the yard until she got
home. It would probably have been the “last” time I picked her up after school.
The “last time” was some un-momentous, already forgotten afternoon that’s
already past. Okay by me.
Her last dance concert was a few weeks ago. She drove
herself to CVS to get false eyelashes, and to all the rehearsals. She even took
care of buying her own costume pieces. I remembered to buy her flowers, and, this
time, I forced myself to NOT photograph her entire dances. I watched. I
enjoyed. And I realized that most of the dances look a lot alike. Except that
only a few of them feature my
daughter, with the beautifully arched feet, graceful hands, and really high
kicks. I’ll never miss sitting in the bleachers for three hours in a gym that
feels like a sauna. And I won’t have to miss Chelsea dancing, because she does
it quite regularly in my kitchen while I’m making dinner. Well, I won’t miss it
until September.
She’s had her last prom, last group project, and last
birthday party. We still have the Senior Showcase (in which she’ll be singing),
Senior Awards, and of course graduation and grad night. Then she’ll have her
last day of work, because her boss has already replaced her (with a full-time,
college graduate!), last summer vacation (unemployed, most likely) and, at some
point, her last night in this house. The only place she’s ever lived.
Then, Alan and I will make the long drive to drop her off,
kiss her goodbye, and make the even longer drive home. To our … not empty nest. Brandon will be here for
at least two more years while he finishes college locally.
Why do I seem okay with all of this? Maybe it’s because she “school-choiced”
to another high school. All those people I spent so much time with throughout
my kids early years, the one’s I thought we were close to, that we’d keep in
touch with…. I only see by accident at the grocery store. I haven’t seen many
familiar faces in four years, and won’t see many at her graduation. There isn't
anyone from her high school that I’ll miss. She might, but the friends she made
as a teen were not her Brownie or soccer buddies. We never carpooled, I've
never even met most of their parents. So I won’t be saying fond goodbye’s that
night.
The only one I’ll be missing is my baby. But one has gone before her, and I know that I can call,
text, email, Facebook and Skype. Multiple times a day. And as long as I’m
paying her cell phone bill I can also have “Find My Friends”. Just a warning, honey-bunny.
