Sunday, August 17, 2014

oh dear

It hit me last night that this chapter has closed.
The years without structure and days solely belonging to me are gone.

Even for Beckham, as everything now revolves around a bell-- always a come and a go with a place to be-- the world as we have known it for the last 6 years is behind us.

As much as I have claimed that I was ready for Maddox to fly, that he is ready to soar, that we were excited for this new transition in our lives--
I was wrong.

In exactly one week, we are sending our first born child into a completely new world with rules and substance and structure that he has never known.  We are handing him to critics and non-believers and people who don't own a pedestal to put him on.  For the first time in his life, he will no longer be the smartest, funniest, silliest, most precious 6 year old in the room... He will be one of many. 

I was scrolling through Pinterest as I snuggled up next to him in my bed last night and I read this:

I wont always cry mommy, when you leave the room
and my supermarket tantrums will end too soon.
I won't always wake daddy for cuddles through the night
and one day you'll miss having a chocolate face to wipe
You wont always wake to find my foot is kicking you out of bed
or find me sideways on your pillow where you want to lay your head.
You wont always have to carry me in asleep from the car
or piggyback me down the road when my little legs can't walk that far
So cherish every cuddle and remember them all
because one day Mommy, I won' be this small.

And like a pipe under pressure, I broke.  Exploded actually.
Sobbing and pleading and apologizing and overwhelmed-- floods of tears.

I was swallowed in guilt for days that I can not change.
I was wishing I hadn't swept my kitchen three times a day or felt the need to clean before any other activity.
I was begging for minutes back that I was on the phone and not playing with them.
I was overwhelmed with the times that they rode my nerves and made my days long, and I yelled or said things that I can't take back.
I was mad and sad and overwhelmed and lonely.
I was homesick.
I would have sold my soul to reverse the clock to be back in the hospital room with that little 8lb 9oz baby, yelping out in prayer to a room full of strangers-- begging for his lifeless blue body to come back to me.  And he did.
I would have started at that wild day that he welcomed me to this crazy roller coaster of endless love that they call motherhood, and played every minute from that day forward in slow-mo, so that I could tattoo his every expression and thought and milestone and breath into my brain-- instead of doing life, I guess. 

If you know Maddox, you know how this went over with him as well.
Like two teenage girls going through our first breakup together, we held each other and sobbed-- while he pleaded with me that I am the best mommy in the world.  --And I apologized for not being perfect.

Today we went on like we weren't out of control last night...
And then tonight when we prayed, we both cried again.
And again, and again... both feeding off the other, scared for new beginnings-- and holding on to one another like it would be our last embrace.

This has to get easier...
At some point my chest has to quit hurting.
He will love school.

I hate change.
I hate feeling out of control.
I can not believe this door has closed.
And furthermore, I am appalled at how fast these years have flown.

So tonight, all alone, I guess my prayer for kindergarten goes something like this:

Lord please let them love him like I do.  Even though I know that is a lot to ask.
Please let them understand that I am trusting them with my greatest prize... one so special and bright and irreplaceable. 
Please let Maddox feel confident, and excited, and happy, and included. 
...and give him an open heart to help a kid more scared than him.
Please give him a teacher who gushes with hugs and praises with kindness.
And please surround him with friends who are happy and sweet.
Finally, give me peace for this transition-- and let Lance not be the only dad who cries when we drop him off that first day.
Lord, I have no idea how you gave your son to die on a cross-- since I can barely send mine to Kindergarten, but it is the end and the beginning, all in one.
And you know I do not do well with change.
Thank you for this boy of mine-- and my husband who has helped me raise him to fly.
And for his little brother too, who we all couldn't adore more.
Finally, let me soak in these last 7 days, and not take a minute for granted.

oh my, oh dear--
Kindergarten is near.


  1. Loved. This. Thank you for such heartbreaking words that serve as a warning to me. I have just one year left and I will be in your shoes. I feel like I might handle it well- but I know that is a lie that will fade away with each day that goes by! -Jenna


  2. Holly, I just got up and I'm sitting here crying like a baby. I wish I had the words to make this easier for you but I don't. Just know that it will get easier and in about 3 years you will be having these same feelings again. Life is a series of lessons we learn too late.
    When we are born we have to learn to sit up, roll over, crawl, walk and talk. Then start school, then leave school, then become wives or husbands, then moms or dads, and the lessons start all over again. We have to learn how to teach a wee one the same things. One day you will have to learn how to be the mother to an adult and, if you are real lucky, learn how to be a grand mother.
    The circle of life continues whether we're ready for it or not.
    I was wrong, it doesn't get easier! I now am trying to learn how to be an old woman!
    Some people, 'live and learn'...I just live.

    Love you <----------------------this much-------------------->to the moon and back