Faith
I called this summer “the summer of fun.” Every day my kids were home, I planned an activity. Sometimes, that activity looked like a nature walk with magnifying glasses and pockets stuffed with wildflowers. Once, it was a family trip to the Dallas World Aquarium—the girls liked the king crab the most.
Throughout our summer of fun, we experienced firsts: Disney Land and Huntington Beach, new play places, and mouth-watering restaurants. Paul and I moved our business to a better location and we canoed the emerald waters of Banff together. The girls attended all sorts of camps and one very special wedding. Averi was a surprisingly focused flower girl. We had play dates and puppet shows and a lemonade stand.
I guess I thought I would be sad when this summer ended. With Audri leaving elementary school and Averi leaving her comfortable routine, it seemed like two doors of childhood simultaneously slamming shut on my heart. Really, it’s become two milestone moments bursting with opportunities for growth. You know I’m an optimist but I’m also tender to the core. I thought this transition would—not to be melodramatic here—destroy me. This is what happened instead.
The day before school started, I packed lunches and prepped backpacks, and I sobbed. I spent most of the night waking Paul, sporadically pointing at pictures of the girls and blurting out things like, “Are we EVER gonna build a fort again?!” Paul did his best to soothe my hysteria, lying there in his Zorro-looking night mask, whispering that everything would be alright. Then I cried myself to sleep.
The next morning arrived and I woke up happy for the girls—truly excited! We ate breakfast and prayed and I took their pictures.
I walked Averi to kindergarten, and I’ll keep that image in my mind forever. The entrance of the school made her look tiny, but she was so brave, waltzing inside with a pink backpack and a bouncing bunny stuffy. Paul drove Audri to a middle school that looked more like a community college, with pre-teens riding bikes everywhere and friends sitting under shade trees talking or texting. Before she left, we hugged and kissed … and we lived.
That’s the thing about life’s transitions: they are rarely what we expect. Hardly ever has anything in my life gone the way I envisioned it. I think that’s what creates true courage. We make decisions every day, even with the risk of a potentially terrible ending.
It’s been three weeks since school started, and the girls are thriving. Audri is most excited about math class and theater and her friends. Averi loves it all, she tells me. Outside of class, life remains a constant weaving and reweaving of old and new. We still have our routines and we still practically live at the soccer field, but new things are emerging. Averi’s dance class runs longer because they’re older and can handle that. Audri attends youth group at our church on Wednesday nights. I see them playing pickleball in the parking lot, and I hear the loud Christian rap music as I smile and drive away.
I’m acclimating to my new normal by working through all sorts of emotions at once. The house is quieter. I find myself cooking slower and enjoying the process, gathering herbs from the garden more than ever. I’m giving Zoey more one-on-one attention and a new bone every now and then. And I’ve been working on the business harder than ever, and I’ve been writing.
If you’re in a season of transition, imagine an embrace from me and a prayer. Your feelings are valid for a moment or two. And so is the reality of growth.
