Waiting for the bus

It was a typical Friday morning.

I pulled out of my driveway a little later than usual -- as usual -- and headed up the street toward my still sorta new job as a middle school English teacher.

It was a lovely day. No rain, no fog, no trains blocking my path. So why did I nearly lose it in a heap of tears just two blocks down?

Because I'm a mom, that's why. And I'm the mom of a kid who is about to graduate from high school. And I never really know what's going to set me off. Last week it was the last back-to-school night. Ever.

On this day, it was all the kids -- and their parents -- waiting for the bus.

They were in front of just about every other house, waiting for the big yellow school bus to stop. And, somewhere in the background, there was a parent  -- a mom in pajamas or a dad in shorts, cup of coffee in hand.

And yes it made me cry.

You see, it wasn't that long ago that I was that parent who had just dragged herself out of bed and thrown on the first clothes I could find to go stand out by the side of the road to wait for the school bus with my kid.

It was 10, 15 or sometimes 45 of the most special of our moments together. Uninterrupted.  Even the mother-in-law, when she lived with us, knew that she could not have my attention until after the bus came. This was our time.

While we waited for the ever-punctual Miss Mamie and the not-so-reliable other driver, Lora and I got in some quality time. We talked about school, her friends, her teachers, how our days would be. Sometimes we shivered in the cold and the rain. Sometimes we hid in the fog. Once or twice we got to crack thin sheets of ice in the driveway puddles and watched our breath float in the air.  We often used the morning sun and our shadows to make funny shapes.



Usually, this was the time when she remembered that she needed 13 things for a science project. Or it was my day to bring treats for the whole class. Or that she had to have her permission slip signed TODAY. Or that her throat REALLY hurt.

A couple of times we forgot it was a late take-in day.

We always made the most out of our time together, though.   

We would sing, dance, play games. I made up silly songs for her:

"Waitin' for the bus,
Just the two of us.
She's gonna get inside,
And then she'll take a ride.
Miss Mamie's gonna stop
and on the bus she'll hop.
And then she'll get to school
And it's gonna be cool."

OK. I'm no rapper but I can entertain a first grader.

There were a couple of times I didn't want to put her on that bus. I just wanted to grab her and squeeze her and make her spend the day with me. The day after Sandy Hook, was one.

One day as the bus came, she ran back to give me one more hug and kiss.

But then one day she rolled her eyes and said, "STOP IT!" Then crossed her arms and stormed off.

Then one day she said, "You can stay on the porch, mom."

Then one day she said, "You don't have to get up."

Then she started riding with her dad to high school.

And now, she drives herself.

So, yeah. I wanted to pull over that morning to pull those moms and dads aside to tell them to cherish these moments with their babies. Have fun. Play games. Tell stories. Sing songs.

Because one day before you know it, she's going to tell you to wait on the porch and the bus is going to pass you right by.

                                                               

Sixteen

As much a fuss as my mama made over all of my birthdays growing up, I have to say she let me down on my 16th.

I wanted a party. A big, fancy Sweet 16 party with lots of people, friends, balloons and a big ass cake.

I didn't get that.

I did get a cake, and a couple of friends and I went to the big hangout at the time -- Shakey's Pizza Parlor. I had invited a bunch of friends from school, but not many of them came. I ended up offering my cake to other diners and their kids.

When my stepdaughter, Courtney, turned 16, she got the big fancy party. She and some of her girlfriends who were having March birthdays got together for a big party with lots of people, friends, balloons and a big ass cake. They wore long dresses and got to dance with their dads. It was sweet.

Just a few days ago, my little baby girl turned Sweet 16. 

Knowing her the way I do, I gave her the option: Do you want a big party or a trip somewhere fun?

She wanted a trip.

OK. Where to? The beach? New York? Somewhere historic?

Disneyworld. 

And she wanted to spend her day in Epcot.

OK.

So, after consulting with a cousin-in-law who used to be a sports writer but now is a Disney travel specialist (smart guy), we booked ourselves a 3-day trip to Orlando.

Oh, this wasn't our first Disney rodeo. We took her when she was 4, then again when she was 9 and 11. Keep in mind, my stepdaughter worked as a Photopass photographer for a few years, so believe me when I say we've done Disney. I also went with my mom and my niece way before I met any of current family members.

So I've stayed at the Grand Floridian, All Star Movies, All Star Music and the Caribbean  Beach Resort. I wanted my budding little artist to have a turn at the Art of Imagination Resort, but they were booked. We had to settle on Pop Century, right across the lake.

She still was excited. She started packing on Sunday, bringing out pairs of outfits for the Coach and me to choose between. (They all looked the same to me). We also had to go to Bed Bath and Beyond so she could buy travel sized items of all the things she couldn't live without.

And I went to Amazon.com and ordered her a beautiful tiara, complete with a rhinestone 16 in the center. If you're going to go to princess land,  you must dress the part. Right?

On a Wednesday afternoon after school, we set out from New Orleans to Florida, stopping for orange juice at the official welcome center. We even let our newly licensed driver have a (very brief) turn on the highway -- not realizing that particular stretch would turn out to be completely under construction with absolutely no shoulder. It also was my first time as a passenger with her behind the wheel.

Oh she did great.... And I survived.

After about six hours on the road, we stopped for the night at a little hotel in Lake City, Florida, where I learned how difficult it is to share a small hotel sink and counter space with a teenager who spends her days and nights watching makeup tutorials.

"Just give me a spot," I told her.

We survived that too.

On Thursday, January 26, I woke up to having a 16-year-old daughter snoring in her bed next to me. We woke her up with song and hugs and kisses, only for her to complain about how loudly WE snored in our bed next to her.

After a breakfast at the local Waffle House, we drove the remaining few hours to DisneyWorld. Thanks to modern technology, we didn't even have to check into the hotel. We parked the car by the shuttle, hopped on board and, within minutes, we were in Epcot.

She wore her crown and received a birthday button at the front gate. We spent the day strolling from country to country, dashing in just about every store and having people from around the world wishing her "Happy Birthday."

We ate fish and chips in England, had French pastries and champagne in Paris and (her choice) Japanese food in Japan.

And it was, truly, magical. Friday we went to Magic Kingdom and Saturday we spent a small fortune visiting the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. We even caught the Pro Bowl parade, which is another story (you can read it here... I wrote a column about it.)

And I cried.

Even as we were making memories, I was surrounded by them....

Her face when she saw the princesses on the castle stage for the first time....

When she saw Mickey and Minnie....

When she was the little girl dressed in her Cinderella costume sound asleep in her daddy's arms after a long day at Magic Kingdom....

When she was getting autographs for her book....

The moment she balked at getting onto the Hogwarts ride a the last minute (Hey! Those warning signs were scary!)

Now she's nearly a grown up. She doesn't believe in the magic much. She believes in Netflix, Lush, Sephora and Etsy. She refused to get on the Small World ride because it's "creepy," and she almost refused to go on Splash Mountain. And we never saw the Magic Kingdom fireworks because she was tired and ready to go.

And in two years -- just two years -- she'll be off to college.

And Coach and I can go to DisneyWorld all by ourselves.

School Daze

Where in the world does the time go?

She is an 8th grader as of today, heading off to her last year of Middle School just five weeks after major surgery.

Me: You gonna show everybody your gnarly scar?

Her: Mmm hmmm.

Me: Cool.

First grade to eighth grade.
In the blink of an eye.