And this is when I cry...

So, the kids go back to school on Monday and I'm so unbearably depressed.
(Don't go calling Charter, I'm a bit dramatic, but still...)

We went to their registration and orientation two weeks ago, got their schedules and IDs, and it hit me. I'm the parent of an upperclassman. How the heck did this happen? When did this happen??

As of this weekend, my firstborn (who is now 16) is 5'11" and a Junior in High School. My daughter is a Sophomore.

I always found it so cliche when people would tell me that "time flies" and "they grow like weeds", but now that I'm experiencing those sentiments firsthand, it makes me weep with how simplistically true it is.

I can remember like it was yesterday... living in my first apartment, pregnant with David, singing to my belly constantly. (We called him 'Bubba' in utero 'cuz I was sure I was giving birth to a huge biker dude by the way he kicked.) I remember buying our first house when he was six months old... and in that house I would later take cold baths when I was pregnant with Christina in the dead of a scorching Arizona summer.

Born 18 months apart, they have been best friends and worst enemies. I can remember David's temper tantrums and how he'd scream in octaves that would make any coloratura quit the opera in shame. Christina's displeasure could be measured in her silence and furrowed brow (usually accompanied at some point by crossed arms and an audible "harrumph".)

I can't put into words how proud I am of the young adults they are today.

I was cleaning out the office several months ago and found David's baby book. In it was a sealed envelope with David's name written on it in a curiously familiar hand. It took me a while before I remembered sobbing on my bed as I penned a letter to my two-day-old son titled, "To David on his 18th birthday." I left it sealed, secretly giddy that it has made it through so many moves. I remember writing it, but I don't remember what I wrote. I have less than two years before we'll find out.
He has come a long way from torturing the family cat and traumatizing his sister. Well, to be truthful, he still traumatizes his sister at every opportunity... but in rare moments of uncensored response, his sensitivity and protectiveness peeks through.

And this is when I cry again.

I don't know how I'm going to make it through Monday. You'd think it was the first day of Kindergarten. It may as well be. I was a basket case back then, too.

And to top it all off, in two weeks my daughter will turn fifteen. She has always been my precocious child. Wise beyond her years and studious to a fault. She tested into Kindergarten early and as such, will graduate at 17. (She could graduate at 16, but she's already freaked out about being the only 17 year old in college if they raise the driving age to 18.) Even being the 'young kid', she's in Honors and IB/AP courses and will attempt to tackle French this year. (Thank goodness I have a sister-in-law and two close friends who are fluent in case we need some emergency tutoring!)

Since our schedules are a bit whackaloon - I start rehearsals hard core on the 3rd and won't have Christina's actual birthday off, plus it's actually their dad's weekend to have them then - we decided we'd have to get creative about how and when we celebrate her special day this year.
Since her gift was one of practicality, we decided she should have it when school starts. We went in on a 'group gift' with my folks and got her the laptop she's been campaigning for ever since she started having school assignments over summer that include extensive notes and spreadsheets.

Well, the kid is too smart for me and I didn't think twice about it as I signed all four of our names to the card on her gift after wrapping it. She knew that if it took four of us, it had to be a big deal. Stupid smart kids. I chucked it at her and mumbled 'happy bratday'. I'm kidding.

All kidding aside, she was thrilled with it and has already set up her desktop with photos of her celebrity crushes... Superman, Batman and Spiderman. Not to be outdone, David gifted her a really cool leather wallet with the embossed Superman symbol on it. He picked it up at Hot Topic last time they all hung out at the mall. Sweet sneaky boy. :)
We'll have her 'party' with friends and such on the 31st, which will start with a heavy duty scavenger hunt and end in a sleepover with her two besties.

I want so badly to rewind time back to when there were no school schedules and required responsibilities, but rather just play dates and nap times. I still can't curb my urge to sneak into their beds at night and snuggle them close, burying my head in their hair. Only now the smell of baby powder and Cheerios has been replaced by deodorant and astringent.

I knew the nostalgia was hitting me hard when I returned from the grocery store last week with Ritz Crackers, Nilla Wafers and Goldfish. I also understand what a beast this biological clock thing can really be and why there is such a plethora of women returning to motherhood in their 40's as their firstborn begin to leave the nest.

I'm very thankful that my brothers have a gaggle of babies and toddlers to subtly remind me that while I love my babies (and their babies), I also love that my babies can make their own mac-n-cheese.

So, I guess there are some benefits to having kids that actually grow up.
But sometimes I wish they'd be 1 and 2 forever. Or 4 and 5. Or 9 and 10. I have so many great memories at each and every stage of their lives, it's impossible to pick one. And I suppose that's the long-term benefit of parenting... that through every milestone, every achievement, and every heartbreak... there have been new adventures, new discoveries, and new memories. And I wouldn't trade a single one of them, good or bad.

*sigh*

Dear God,
Please let me make it to Monday without bawling in the middle of some public place and forever compromising the tenuous social status of my beleaguered children. Amen.