The last day of the month is fast approaching.  As I submit those items that have end of the month deadlines, I think about all sorts of “lasts.”  Raising kids has a lot of lasts.  I pondered this yesterday as I thought about the older kids’ Senior years in high school.  Right now, somewhere some mother is mourning Senior Night at a Basketball game.  Her son’s LAST high school basketball game.  Her daughter’s LAST prom dress shopping trip.  Lots of Lasts.  However, as we think of and even mourn some of these lasts, I think of the other lasts that don’t pull on your heart strings as much, but should be acknowledged or remembered.  These are the lasts that you can’t write down on the calendar.  You really can’t celebrate them because you can’t really be certain it is the last.  I remember the last time I did a cartwheel…it was my LAST cartwheel.  I remember the last time I water skied, it was also a last for me.  I couldn’t predict that on that day, it would be but after keeping ice on my back for hours afterward, I have decided it was.  Can parents remember the last time their crying baby kept them up all night? Did they know to celebrate it? Can they remember the last time their kids wet their pants?  The last time they cleaned up a bowl of spilled Cheerios?  When is the last time you stepped on a Lego?  There was a time in my life when I did all of those things daily & without thought.  I struggled to do them again, over and over.  Will I always be finding crayons in pockets headed for the washing machine?  Will they ever remember to take their plate to the sink?  As a matter of fact, they will and then you won’t remember the last time you did some of those things.  It’s okay.  You won’t really be sad, but you will sit back and think about them.  Today I am celebrating some things that I will never do again.  Think with me and celebrate some of your own.

The last time I tucked a certain child in.  The last time I had to drive that kid to the orthodontist.  The last time I had to register a child for Kindergarten.  The last time I brushed her hair.  The last time she asked me for help with her homework.  The last time she used my address as her own.  The last time I had to have THAT boy over for a play date!  The last time I had to watch Blue Clues.  The last time I had to read that story before bed.  The last time I had to dress a Barbie or look for her shoe.

Now having children ages 8-25 means that I extend a lot of my lasts a little longer, but I know some of them are coming and quite honestly it’s bitter sweet.  As long as my lasts come on schedule with as much warning as possible, I’ll be okay.


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Filed under Big Kids, family, Life, Little Kids, Parenting

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