And was there ever a doubt that it wouldn't?This morning I dropped my daughter off for her first day of 7th grade. SEVENTH GRADE. I have to repeat it to myself as if it will lessen the huge lump I've had in my throat all morning.
I would like to say it started at 6:15 this morning, but it started the day I watched Lainie walk into Desert Hills Elementary for the first day of Kindergarten. She wore a blue dress with black shoes. Her pale blonde hair was below her shoulders, and her innocent blue eyes were fixed on Room 5, where she would be a student in Mrs. Hand's class. I bent down to hug and kiss her and quickly cupped my hands over my sunglasses, making sure they were on and they were hiding the tears that were about to spill down my cheeks.
That was seven years ago.
This morning at 6:15 I craned my head from my bathroom doorway and peeked down the hall, making sure Lainie was up and was getting dressed. To my surprise, ther was someone else in her bathroom. It was not Lainie; it couldn't be her - this girl was much older than my daughter. She was standing in front of the mirror fixing her hair and tugging at her new clothes. No, this was not my little girl; it was a tall, beautiful young lady with pink glossy lips and long, blackened eyelashes. She had on a white t-shirt that said "Famous" across the front with Hollister jeans and black and white plaid tennis shoes. She leaned forward towards the mirror again and checked her braces for remnants of breakfast. Satisfied, she flipped the lightswitch off and started towards my room.
"Mom, hurry, I told my friends I would meet them in front of the gym."
Good Lord, this is my daughter.
But where did all the time go? Where was my little girl in the blue dress? Tomorrow she'll likely be someone else again, wearing a cap and gown. Or worse - a wedding dress. Did it all go this fast for my parents? Am I the only Mom who feels like her babies are growing up in fast-forward mode? When can I push the "pause" button?
We drove to school listening to the music of Lainie's choice, as we do every school day. She stopped on a station we rarely listen to when Lainie is in the car. I'd heard this song so many times before, but today it hit me like a train:
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to. Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small, you never need to carry more than you can hold. And while you're out there getting where you're getting to, I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too. Yeah this... is my wish.
I turned into the school, just as my mother did 24 years ago at the same school. It was the first day of 7th grade, 1984. Unlike my daughter, I was terrified to get out of the car and tackle this new day, this uncertain path ahead of me where there were new schedules, new teachers, new friends and new enemies.
My daughter doesn't have time for my sentimental heart, or my memories. I tell her I love her and ask if she's too cool to kiss her mom. She softens. "No, Mom," she grins. "It's because I'm so cool that I'll still kiss you goodbye." She pecks her pink glossy lips against mine and hops out of the car. Walking towards the gym, she slings her backpack over her shoulder, flips her long blonde hair behind her and catches up with her friends. I cup my hands over my sunglasses, make sure they're on and let the tears flow down my cheeks.
I guess there's nothing you can do to keep history from repeating itself. Over and over again.
