I told myself I'd quit writing sappy stuff.  But I just turned forty.  And my son is participating in one of his last High School extracurricular events right now and I'm not there.  My oldest daughter is in her last year of Junior High.  And the youngest won't quit getting taller.  I'll have been married to the sweetest guy for twenty years in June. So just let it go this once, will you?  And then again next week if I regress.

My hair used to be longer.  It was wavy and brown and my firstborn couldn't go to sleep without having his chubby little fingers wrapped around a lock of it. Finding the right lock of hair wasn't easy either.
As soon as I would start the nightly bedtime routine in the creaky old wooden rocking chair that we'd restored, he'd grab for my hair. He would take a chunk.  First, he would pull it. He might decide that hair didn't feel right. So he'd let go and grab again in another spot and then he'd pull again waiting for the right feel.

The second step consisted of his little fingers winding about until there was no more winding to be done and my hair was safely locked inside his small fist. Often times after a minute had passed he would decide that lock of hair just wasn't right either and so he would grab again, and then pull and then wind another bunch of hair around his fingers once again. This was a nightly occurrence.

- a small beautiful misery.

I rocked dutifully while he pulled my hair and looked around the room making sure not to miss a thing even in the dark.  And then he would fall asleep, safe and sound.

The only respite from the nightly hair-pulling came when he noticed a silver charm which  hung on a long necklace that lay close to my heart. My mom had bought me a silver baby shoe charm for my first Christmas as a mom. And so at times, he would instead clutch that.
When Hayden turned nine months old he was ready to stand. He knew there was exploring to be done; flower pots to turn over and cats to toddle after. His first standing moments were with the support of a couch and a little push toy passed down from a cousin. Other times he would stand after having leaned back against the front of my legs while holding my index fingers.  I'd let go and then slowly back away leaving him standing on his own.
I remember distinctly knowing he was ready to walk. I enlisted the aid of my silver necklace to entice him. Standing behind him, I dangled the charm in front of him knowing he would grab after it. And he did.
I pulled the charm up just a little and then moved it just a little farther where he'd have to take one step to grab at it again.  I wanted him to reach for it. Whether or not he knew (I think he did), I was right there behind him even when he could stand unsupported.

That little shoe and I?

We taught him how to walk.

Though part of me wanted to hold his small frame in my arms forever, I allowed him to go and do the thing he was ready to do.

 That's what moms do.

I watched Hayden last week as he filled out a college application.  We talked about signing up for a dorm room just a few days ago.  His leaving is seven months away.   I also got a letter just the other day reminding me that Hallie needs to make her schedule for High School next year. I've asked her for makeup tips several times lately.  And our youngest is flying through chapter books now unassisted. Wish I could take those chapter books and put them on her head and make it all stop.

Not really.  This is what we hope for our children.  We hoped that it would happen slower maybe.

To my kids:

It wasn't so long ago that I held you in my arms. But in the blink of an eye you were ready to walk.  I won't deny it made me a little sad, but oh so proud.  You may not have known it but I was proud even those times I watched you fall; especially when I watched you get back up.  I'll always be behind you rooting you on. And you may not hear me saying it, but I'll be whispering "Reach for it"

Shoes are made for walking.