We’d driven to Timbucktoo for her senior yearbook photos, and I was honestly kind of annoyed by the time we arrived. It was raining during rush hour, and I had no idea why the school would have us drive forty-five minutes to another town for a photography studio, all because someone had a fallout with the old photography studio. From my perspective, it always comes down to a zoning issue, which is already a festering irritation for me. Our oldest was rezoned four times in five years, but it made for a great college essay. Since I loathe being party to a bad plan, whoever was in charge assumed we all lived in the same place and had the time to make this haul. Ergo, I essentially spent half a day on yearbook photos because of someone else’s bad call. And by the time we arrived, despite two brushes with death, and avoiding the rain with her fresh blowout, because I was on a mission to get us there safely on time… I’d spent way too much time and energy being preoccupied with the task at hand, irritated, albeit slightly dramatic. 

But then she put on that velvet drape. And the same pearls I wore for my senior photos. And I was suddenly blinking back tears. Have you ever been so focused on something else that you suddenly switched gears, and your emotions took you by surprise? Because I was so focused on accomplishing our goal of getting these photos without ruining her blowout… Emerson quickly told me not to cry because if I cried, she’d cry. So suddenly, we were two jokers standing in the middle of a photography studio trying not to ruin her senior photos with puffy eyes. 

The summer felt like that; we decided to keep it scaled back since work had been a lot. Always grateful, but endless lists have consisted of a lot of work and an ever-growing pile of things to do, which I’ve probably been a little too focused on. And it’s always a bit more poignant in the summer… trying to strike that work/life balance. In between, we’ve tried to enjoy every little moment possible. It all came down to the simple things. But suddenly, there it is again. That persistent feeling that these magical summer hours are slipping through our fingers, along with the rest of time. It gives me a heartache. 

Last week, we celebrated Malone’s 16th birthday as a family. At 12:08, I set an alarm and announced his official transition into the age of legal driving. I was fine. It honestly hadn’t even occurred to me to be emotional. I was proud of myself for finding a YE song to post as his birthday tribute, given how much we tease him about his musical affinities. Again, I went into list mode. Lunch. Check. Balloons. Check. Dessert and family time. Check… Later that night, I happened upon this horrendous video that incites us all to be vegans as it showcased baby cows being separated from their mothers in the name of milk.

I’d been fine. All day long. Fine all summer, really, besides a few tears with the velvet drape and the vintage pearls. I hadn’t cried in weeks. And I absolutely crashed out over a cow video. The moms were chasing after the babies, who were being hauled off in a cart. When the kids asked me what was wrong, I tried to talk about it, but I was beyond words while they all side-eyed me until the oldest broke out his phone to document {because this is the good stuff when mom is finally cracking, amirite?}. Then I was laughing in pure hysteria. Cheese is OUT. My life is OVER. I realized immediately, of course, while the cow vid was sad… I am cow. Cow is me. My babies are being hauled off in a cart. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Even if it is, maybe, in the human world, for the best. 

There’s something about having all three babies sleep under one roof, and I know that even this time is fleeting. I get a little sentimental this time every year, as we celebrate two birthdays, an anniversary, and the general passing of time marked by fresh starts in school. My problem comes down to this: I have three children spaced a year apart, each. I won’t even get into our two elderly dogs (Rigby is fighting for her life) because everything is changing. We’re all growing older. Weren’t they all just pups?

Right after getting off the first white-knuckled rollercoaster, which was almost the death of me, I’m starting another, seemingly more intense one. Like I’m leveling up in the world of empty nesters, with one out of the house and prepping another. I can’t tell if my acid reflux is getting worse with each one, or if I gain a little more bravery each time… or if it’s an unfortunate combination of both as I experience the reverberating second click click click up that journey-to-college hill. Because now I’m {trying really hard to be} distracted by work and a huge project I’m working on, along with checking off the lists for college and senior overalls… But we’re still going up the freaking hill, ready or not. I’d rather be distracted by bath mats for our oldest, the special backpack she wants, and the football gear arriving for our youngest.

Activities, projects, denial, and the gym with friends are my drug of choice, so I’m sure it could be worse. 

I’m begging for time to stop. But that ride is leaving with or without me.

I believe it was Whitney Fleming who said, “Parenting teenagers feels like starting the last chapter of a book you love. You want to see how the story turns out, but you don’t want it to end either.” This is everything I’ve been feeling these last few years.

I’m also reminded that I have the absolute honor and privilege of seeing what the next book brings. 

So, if you’re here, other parents who may be reading this, I’m with you. Here’s to accepting what is. Change, and all it’s glory… for the better things ahead. And embracing every single moment in the final days of summer.