Today was Taryn and John’s first day as sophomores.
I did not stay up until their bedtime (10:30) to make sure they went to sleep on time.
I did not double-check their alarms to make sure they had set them correctly.
I did not get up early and make them a special breakfast.
I did not take a picture of them before they left for school this morning.
I did not leave cute notes in their backpacks.
I did not change out of my pajamas to drive them to school.
I did not cry when they got out of the car.
There’s a good chance I might be over this whole parenting thing. I spent most of the day thinking about how Taryn and John only have three years left of school. Three years until they move out. It didn’t make me sad at all. Not even a little.
You know what does make me sad? Looking at Reese and Jackson, who will begin kindergarten next week, knowing I still have 13 years left on my sentence. Seriously. Thirteen more years of open houses. Thirteen more years of ridiculous school supply lists. (12 glues sticks? Are they eating them?) Thirteen more years of arguments about over-priced backpacks and shoes. Thirteen more years of conferences with teachers who, more often than not, are younger than I am. Thirteen more years of automated phone calls that always come twice because the system doesn’t understand the concept of twins.
By the time Reese and Jackson are sophomores they’ll probably have to raise themselves.