It’s darker now, when we get in bed together around 7:40 or so, after the nightly haranguing (and friendlyish haranguing): come upstairs, pajamas ON, did you go potty yet. It surprises me, this darkness, yet why should it. It is a full two months and some after June 20, that glorious day when the sun stretches its golden fingers well into the evening and you have to convince your children that it is indeed bed time. That long daylight holds such promise. Summer is just beginning!
We’re reading The Horse and His Boy, and the horse’s full name, of which I can’t remember well enough to do here, is very funny. (Breeny-brinny-hinny-hoohy-ha? Did I get it right?) It’s satisfying, as a reader, to have the roles reversed. Bree, the horse, is in charge, and Shasta, the human, is doing what he’s told. I’m preparing myself, subtlety, for the start of school. Just some inward conversation. Myself, talking to myself, all inside myself. “It’s okay, Bridget. You can do this. You’ve done it before.” But even so, were I to let my mind–or is it my heart–go (I don’t in a way I used to), I could get weepy and probably still will on their first days. It was just a really great summer. One of the best yet? I’m not sure. Maybe. Parker and I were just trying to come up with some of our favorite memories, and one of mine is the simplest day, in town together, the heat was unbearable but we were together. Anders hung on me while we watched a K-9 demonstration, and we rode bikes, and we were hot and sweaty, but we were hot and sweaty together. Nothing particularly memorable about it, though I can imagine the slides clicking through in my brain, little snapshots of a touch here, a hug there, a giggle, and be brought back to it. Similar to their childhood, I’d repeat the summer if given the option.
One thing I am looking forward to about fall is the cooking. I have the potential to love being in the kitchen (potential to), but it feels very secondary in the summer. When there could be a late afternoon bike ride, or an into the evening beach stay, who wants to say, oh, but dinner. So the routine that demands I pay a little closer to my iPhone calendar is the same routine that gives dinner a little more of its due diligence. Fall and the return of the routine… and dinner. I am committed to an around-the-table meal, and spending my time making it. Even excited.
I wrote this on Instagram the other day, but I wanted to expand on it here: i never ever would’ve believed you seven, eight years ago if you’d have told me that i’d be able to face a school year without being crushed. moreover that i’d actually find joy in not only his acceptance of the coming year but his excitement for it. so when the other day he told me, “mom, i’m actually kind of excited for school to start,” and i didn’t collapse under the thought of it, of another summer in the books, another long school year upon us, i quietly patted myself (and him) on the back for getting to this truly unexpected spot. he’s confident, he’s secure, he has his own little life. this is to be celebrated! it’s still bittersweet, this growing up, but i thought it would forever be 99% bitter and i was wrong. there’s a lot of sweet in there too. 
I remember looking at these babbling babes and having the very real thought, “How will I ever let you go?” Those thoughts’ capacity to make my throat feel tight and small and tears spring from my eyes astounded me then and astounds me now. I sometimes look at them sleeping in the wee morning hours, their sun-highlighted hair a mess and feet all a-tangle and wonder about those very feet dancing at their own weddings one day. How do we get there from here? But somehow, against all your heart’s reasoning, it happens. I just sat with a friend over lunch whose first child just left for college and we both cried. To describe it as heartbreak she’s experiencing feels appropriate. I think one of the mother’s bravest acts is letting her child grow up. Small (some large) moments of heartbreak dotted throughout their childhood, from the moment they leave your body, and here you are. But my point is that while your heart and mind cannot imagine a school day when they’re a baby, or their wedding when they’re a kindergartner, something happens along the way to steel us for the transition. Maybe it’s all the heartbreak along the way. It’s mended stronger, perhaps. It still isn’t easy or without tears, but it is possible in a way you simply couldn’t fathom. And it is also a compelling reminder to stay in the present moment. Stay in the present moment, Moms. There’s nowhere else you should be but there. It’s taken me years to learn this, and some more years to put it into practice, but I think I’m finally getting it.
pictures from a wonderful late summer trip to Woodstock, Vermont with friends that we’ve had since Parker was a newborn
This is so good – so very good. I remember a conversation I had with my grandmother when my daughter was small about how impossible the letting go would be – her response was so spot on…”you don’t let go of them all at once, it’s a little at a time over a lot of years.” That gave me comfort. It wasn’t ever easy for me to let go …. but I survived and they have all thrived and I’m proud of all of us for that.
there’s such wisdom in a conversation with a grandmother. even though what they’re telling us feels absolutely impossible.
beth, i’m proud of you too. i’m proud of all of us who are doing it day by day, little by little.
I’m definitely looking forward to more cosy nights in in fall as well… and cooking! Baking! Love the photos ❤️✨
Charmaine Ng | Architecture & Lifestyle Blog
http://charmainenyw.com
http://charmainenyw.c
This is so beautiful, Bridget! Thank you for sharing.
I can totally picture your family moving to Vermont, homeschooling with Rachel’s girls, and doing the more off-the-grid/travel life you dream of. Isn’t Steve bored with academia yet? Just the politics of it alone…ugh. I have no doubt you two could come up with something that would make your hearts sing as well as provide enough income to thrive!
I can imagine it too! He is over academia in so many ways (couldn’t even begin to tell you the politics of the last several years). What we are not over, however, is free tuition for our many kids!
Got me crying this time, big fat tears in the shape of C. and E.
ohhh i love you, friend. and so do they.
oh I read your instagram post the other day and thought, “YES, THIS!” I just sent my first baby off to kindergarten last week, and I feel the sentiment you mention so deeply. we’re settling into a new rhythm, and it’s been a rough transition for everyone. it feels like we’re crazed and fumbling in the mornings — our routine not yet gelled — and on the brink of exhausted tears in the afternoons. I’m mourning the loss of the slow mornings, of the snuggles before nap time, of the ability to pull him out of preschool if we wanted to go on an adventure. A whole chapter of his little life (and mine) closed as he starts this new one. Hoping it all feels a little easier once we settle into this new season. thanks for this sweet post. it hit home.
This is sublime. How perfectly timed and put. The pictures are icing.
Thank you for this, Bridget. You nailed it. I loved reading every part, the progression of your own journey and where you are now. The wisdom here is tremendous. And hard-won.
I’ve been struggling with time slipping by so quickly and making transitions as concerns my sweet sons (9 and 3), as I do at summer’s end most every year. But this year it’s been acute. These truths and words are precisely what I needed. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Mama.
Thinking of you, friend, and hoping that you can learn the invaluable wisdom in staying present. It’s something I need to constantly remind myself of — and routinely fail at. But feels like one of the best bits of advice I was ever given. Glad to pass it on. You can do this!
I’ve been following your blog since Parker was a baby. Your writing is amazing. Thought provoking, relatable, and honest. As I’ve cut back on reading other blogs, I still love when you post and always come to read. 💕
ellen, that is so nice of you to say. thank you so much. glad to have you here.
Bridget, that was so touching and brought the tears threatening to escape my sympathetic eyes. My husband and I have been trying for children for what seems like forever (not even a year yet, but the desire has been there for so long) yet there are so many others who have waited years and years. My own Mom 12 years before she had twins – my brother and I. She had us after she was told she would never be able to have children from ovarian and colon cancer, and only had 6 months to live. After much prayer, research into healthful living and diet, 12 years later she had two healthy babes.
There is so much hope.
It’s so remarkable, so beautiful, to see life’s stages and everyone is in their own stage of life. The beauty of life and how it ebbs and flows and changes. Oh how I long for the time that I have children of my own, to make those memories and fear them growing up too fast. I am not a mom yet, so I don’t understand completely the feelings you are trying to convey in this stage of your life, and yet, reading those words moves my heart and I feel all the things.
Thanks for being real and sharing deep thoughts. It has taken me a while but I hope that I am finally coming to appreciate the stage of life I am in with my husband, to be content with all the many blessings I have and to know that when it is time for the beautiful blessing of children to come into our lives, it will. There are so many lessons to learn on this journey, and I so enjoy reading about yours in your little corner of this big, yet so small, world. All the best to you and yours, enjoy all the moments and feel all the things!
oh Autumn, thank you for sharing your heart here. I’m glad to have you. And I am hoping your future is full of everything you deserve. xo
Thank you SO much times a million for thos post. You brought me joy