the everyday

junior year

Hey Kid,

It’s kinda funny how bummed I was that school started today. After so many years of not getting summers with you kids, having the past two summers with you has been pretty amazing. The start of the school year is still hard for me because I still feel like I’ve missed so much. And the start of school for you today means I’m going to miss you being home with me.

Every time I’ve said “junior year” out loud with regards to you starting school, it makes me feel sick to my stomach. How are we already here? The start of your junior year means that I am no longer allowed to blink. I know all too well how much fast time flies from this point on. And I’m not ready. Again. Except…this is the plan. This is how it’s supposed to go. I’m even excited to see what you do and how you soar through life. But I’m still not ready to let go. It’s complicated. It always will be.

I keep joking that in my next life, I should raise unlikable children.

The problem is: I really like my likable children. They’re pretty great.

I know I said that the idea of your junior year makes me feel sick, but I’m still pretty excited for you. I’m excited for all that’s coming up. I feel like junior year is the start of different adventures. It’s learning more about yourself. It’s having so much fun with your friends while making new friends along the way. It’s small steps of independence and learning to let go. Or maybe that last part is for me.

Because here’s what I didn’t expect to write here about your school year: I don’t think I can tell you what these past two years have meant to me. Taking that huge leap of faith to quit my job is the best thing that ever happened to you and me and our family. Being home when you get home is a dream come true and a game changer. You were always and already a piece of my soul, but now you’ve taken that piece and permanently changed it for the better.

I love your heart. Have I told you that enough? I love how you love others. (And dogs.) (Holy smokes we are ridiculous about dogs.) I love how soft hearted you – even when you’d rather the world didn’t know it. You love well. You love to help others. You are so loved in return.

I pray that you always know how loved you are. I pray that you *never* forget that. Ever.

I’m so grateful that I get to be your mom. I love that I get to be a small part of God’s plan for you. Okay, a medium-sized part of God’s plan for you. (I couldn’t help myself. I love being your mom.) I love that your heart has so much room in it for others. I love how much you love God and I love watching your faith grow.

I hope I always remember this first day of your junior year. How the best part of the day was singing at the top of our lungs as we watched Mama Mia and Moana while we waited for your dad to get home. How we prayed over family who aren’t well. How you sent dancing Ron Swanson gifs to make us laugh when we were worried about members of our family. You are a light, kid. And I’m luckiest mom on the planet.

Love you,


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