You probably don’t want to read a post about my kids. And I doubt you’re interested in a mom’s melancholy mood while reminiscing about days gone by.

But this is my blog. And I’m having a moment. So read it, dang it.

At the tippy top of the enormous pile of dreams I’ve concocted over the years, the first and grandest of them all stands by itself:

To be a mom.

Though the realization of this dream came about in a messy sort of fashion, it came true. I am a mom. To three incredible boys. For years people have asked me if I wished I had a girl, and every time I’d answer before they had a chance to close their yapper: “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t trade this for the world!”

And I wouldn’t. Which brings me to the reason for this post:

Today my youngest graduates from elementary school.

I know, I know. It’s the end of 6th grade. Not graduation from highschool. That would be my oldest, next year. Still, you should realize the end of elementary school for me means the end of:

  • Field trips to the zoo and Museum of Science and Nature.
  • Surprise lunches when I bring McDonalds to the cafeteria.
  • Field Day, where I take more pictures than any child should have to endure.
  • Volunteering in the classroom.
  • Silly science projects made of toothpicks, play dough and gumdrops.
  • And (my personal favorite) walking him to and from the corner every morning and afternoon, five days a week.

The minute my youngest child walks into 7th grade in August, he’ll morph into an unrecognizable “I’m-not-quite-a-man-but-don’t-baby-me-for-Pete’s-sake-Mom” preteen. And once again, the two hands that have been wrapped around my role as a mom will have to loosen and let go a little bit more.

I know half of you are rolling your sorry little eyes by now. But I don’t care. Being a mom has been the BEST THING IN MY LIFE aside from the day God rescued me and gave me a reason to live again. So, YES, I’m a little moody and teary and carrying around a truckload of melancholy this week.

I thought you should know in case I run into you at the store and bite your head off or start crying and wipe my snotty nose on your sleeve.

(Congratulations, Jacob. We’re so very proud of you.)

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