The SMD: Another One Rides The Bus

"Don't worry...we have more crying parents on the first day than we do kids." Dr. White says breezily, as she walks past me and out into the thick August heat outside. For Logan's soon-to-be principal to have the same confidence in my offspring (who she met for a few minutes only), does my heart good. I toss a lighthearted "I'll bet!" in her direction and smile to myself. This past Monday I sat on an impossibly rigid wooden bench they still insist on putting in school offices, and registered the youngster for Kindergarten. Lots of change this way comes, all positive for both of us. I have no doubt what the good Dr. says is true, even if it won't be that way for me. Letting a child loose in the social/academic wild, signifies they're growing up and out of the daily close reach one grows accustomed to. Setting sail for greener playground-y pastures and testing out all the wisdom you've imparted to guide them on their voyage, without you beside them to assure it all goes smoothly. The cord shall be cut on September the 8th, and if I had more of a wallflower than a kamikaze fighter pilot for a kid, it might be scarier.



If I've learned anything through this stay-at-home business, it's that the kid sets the pace. When you fight it, that's where the rub begins. Some days you wield sand paper in hand however, no matter who's counting on you for a cup of hot cocoa in the morning. We fought to the burger many rounds, but we managed to figure it out as we went, and we're both better for it. A huge sigh of relief that she's moving forward. I've taught her all I can, now she has to realize what I've said is truth and for her benefit...by bumbling through. And so it begins.



It's been the most arduous, glorious, harrowing, awe-inspiring five years, getting to know/mutually growing with my daughter. In small sporadic doses, I've had the bittersweet reckoning of all that which has passed by, and all that which is yet to come. I really am thankful every day, despite any soul smothering by-products. My whole universe has revolved around this bright, curly haired cherub, everyday for half a decade. So much love and strength and intelligence was born of her birth, she continues to carry it on and wear it better with each day. If I weren't so mind numbingly knackered from all these fantastic follies, I probably would weepier about the forthcoming separation, mostly out of excitement for her broadened horizons, and in turn the ability to resume broadening some myself. Or that it flashed by so quick, never to return. As it stands, I'm just plain stoked.



Being the pint sized evil-genius she is, we've discussed most aspects of what is to come, at length. Her highlights so far are the "chocolate milkshakes" (Carnation Instant Breakfast to the layperson), the bus rides to and from school ("Just like the Berenstain Bears!!!" she says), and the chance to make a real, true friend. All that learning and junk, that too, she'd say for my benefit, probably.

I'm proud of who she is, and that she's the challenging opposite of me so often. This will kick her into the next gear in that respect, help her hone her Logan-ness, as it helped me hone my Lola-ness (what seems like eons ago), if in no other way, realizing a true original is a damn fine thing to be.

There will be occasion a few weeks/a month from now that I'll long for the absent blaring of Johnny Test, Spongebob and Yo Gabba Gabba reverberating off the walls of our apartment. At some point I'll wistfully recall the numerous chagrined stumblings over Logan's latest architectural design in the middle of any/all walkways, comprised of stuffed animals, bits of her uneaten breakfast and dining room furniture. I'll be out running errands (with welcome recaptured ease), and something silly will happen. I'll turn to the back seat and a sadness will slap that I can't share an inside joke with her about it later, not in the same way as if she'd been there. The day she comes home with a friend and a play date, and I will no longer be her lovingly beleaguered wing man for such. I think then Dr. White's words will mean what she meant.



Until then, I'll stand waving joyously at Logan's joyous waving from the bus window.


And we'll both have much to learn of each other upon return.

Love Letter

From the first time I experienced you, knew you, partook of you, I was changed. We started slow and easy, you understood that I had many years ahead to stumble, falter, pick myself up. As I did, you were there to hold my hand, to stand by my side. Hours of tender truths and wise council you've given, and will forever more, of that I'm sure. You speak to me in an ancient, romantic language, one that I hear with every fiber of my being.

We delight in our flings, that sweaty dance, that repetitive romp. I've changed the way I ravenously relish you from second to second, and you've changed with me, step for step. You conjure fresh technique whenever I require, and you give it to me good. Hard and fast or soft and slow...your administrations are emblazoned on my mind, body and soul. Over and over, again and again.

No one else is with me whenever I need for however long, asking nothing in return but more of the same, like you are. I marvel at the daily symphony we share, how complete and simple. Just when I think I know all there is to know of you, another dimension slides along my senses, and I am alive again in a different way. And all the better for it.

You are my sentinel, my guardian. My most intimate friend. You see me through. You are my touch stone of connectedness to myself and to the world, and for that I am truly thankful and wholly addicted. In your absence, I am adrift in boredom and commonplace, afloat in defeat. The world is a card board facade of silent sadness. Together we've cried, laughed, learned. Together, the darkest hours and brightest moments.

You are my sanity, are all I have and all I want, so often.




Music...how I love you so.