It's Graduation Day! It's Graduation Day! Sing It With Me...

Today is the day.  Thirteen years of hard work (counting kindergarten because everything you ever needed to know was taught there) completed. In a few short hours, my baby boy will walk across the stage, shake hands with his principal, administration team, and assorted dignitaries and be a high school graduate.  I am extrememly proud of him. It's Graduation Day!

I stayed home the first two years of Taylor's life. He fought to live when the odds were against him, and I could not bring myself to leave this beautiful miracle that God had allowed me to keep.  When he was two, I went back to work and counted the hours until I could go pick him up from the preschool. I didn't have to count the entire eight hours because the school called and asked me to come get him.  He had sobbed uncontrollably since I had left.  Taylor told me between gulping sobs that he thought I had forgotten him. It broke my heart.  I could never forget this beautiful child.

The first day of kindergarten was a totally different story.  We drove up to the school, Taylor jumped out of the car and yelled BYE!  Ummmm... I think I'm going to walk you in, I said.  He allowed me to do so.  He begrudgingly let me be his overprotective mom. It was my turn for tears.  I hoped he wouldn't forget me as he explored the land of centers. I cried all the way to work.

His elementary school did not hold a kindergarten graduation.  They do, however, hold a fifth grade one to mark the transition to middle school. I remember sitting in the crowd with Taylor's father surrounded by the parents of Taylor's friends and tearing up when the strands of pomp and circumstance started.  Taylor walked down the aisle in his shirt and tie, looking so proud and so mature that I had to fight to hold back the tears. My baby boy was growing up..... and I was going to be one of those moms who cried at graduation.

In middle school, Taylor found his love for running.  He discovered teachers who he loved... and others that he hated.  He visited Washington, DC with his best friends.  He ruled the school. It seemed to last a minute.

High school has been amazing.  Taylor has grown into a fine young man. He remains friends with the same friends from elementary school and has added several new faces along the way.  His group is a wonderfully diverse mixture of guys and girls who will one day make this world a better place.... and Taylor, my Marine, will protect it.  Without a doubt, I have enjoyed every single moment of the journey. And tonight when the strands of pomp and circumstance float across Littlejohn Colliseum, I will cry... out of joy and pride... Those kind of tears are allowed. Afterall, it's graduation day!

It's Not How Many That Matters...

When I entered the chapel today, walking a few steps behind my mom and dad in the traditional family march of mourning following my aunt's casket, I looked around and was saddened by the small number of mourners present.  My aunt had been retired for a number of years; she had been mostly confined to her home the last few years due to health concerns and family issues.  There were not large numbers of people from a church congregation or from work relationships or from volunteer agencies. Most of the people there had came to lend support for one of the family members. My aunt had lived a small, quiet life the last few years of her life; she was going to have a small quiet burial. It seemed so wrong.

My aunt had a miscarriage - twin girls - when my mom was pregnant with me.  She always said that this was why I looked so much like her. I always argued that I did not resemble her.  I wanted to look like my small, elegant mother.  I refused to say that I shared any traits with this loud woman who laughed all the time and pinched my cheeks.  If you thought that older relatives who pinched little children's cheeks were simply figments of a screenwriter's imagination for television, you were wrong - my aunt, Martha, pinched my cheeks over and over when I was little.  She was beautiful too, of course; her beauty came from her laughter and her heart and those startling blue eyes of hers. Now, of course, I want to share those traits. My aunt loved to cook.  She loved sweets especially and when I was younger I loved for her to make banana split cake.  It makes me smile thinking of it now. The cake was delicious. She cried easily and went to pieces as my mom would say whenever there was a stressful situation. In a family where strong women are valued, this is not a great trait.  I cry easily too, but then I get over it.  I like to think Martha did too. I have wonderful memories of her. I wanted the chapel to be overflowing with others who would testify to her wonderfulness.

There was a song, and then the preacher began to speak.  It was a typical funeral message until he started reading things the grandchildren had told him about their grandmother. How she loved to laugh, how she would do anything for anyone, how she was an amazing cook, how you could not come visit without being fed. My eyes overflowed with tears. To these five grandchildren, five great-grandchildren and her two sons who were audibly weeping throughout the service, Martha meant everything.  They knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was a great woman, that their lives had been shaped by the bounty of her love. She didn't need an entire chapel full of people.  The family that she cherished was there. The number of mourners doesn't matter; the amount of love that you share on this earth does. Make sure that the people you love know it!  Call them right now for no other reason than to talk to them.  They'll be gone quicker than you think....

And The Countdown Speeds Up...

Senior year is a series of milestones. The clock heading to graduation starts ticking the night before senior year begins and ends when your child walks across the stage to receive his diploma. First day of school.  Tick.  Last home game.  Tick. Mid term exams.  Tick.  Graduation supplies ordered and delivered.  Tick Tick.  The time is elapsing but like the New Year Eve's countdown in Times Square, no one really pays attention until the time is almost over. People start counting along when 10 seconds are remaining, not two hours. I've known for months that the end of senior year means Taylor leaving home is real. There are no more finish lines to cross before his enlistment begins.  Tonight is his senior prom though. Did anyone else hear the people yell 10, 9, 8...?

 Taylor and his beautiful girlfriend, Rachel posing in front of the azaleas. Rachel earns many points for this because this is Taylor's fifth prom and she is the first girl to come to our house for pictures.  Every year, Taylor goes to pick the young lady up from her house and I either join him there for pictures or I depend on the date to share pictures.  Rachel willingly came to the house after Taylor picked her up to pose for pictures. Nice change.  Of course, we then drove to Greenville to take pictures of the entire group but still...

 Every year, Taylor and Wrenny, my great-niece take pictures while he is all dressed up.  Last year, a classmate asked if she was his and Taylor laughed.  In today's society, teenagers having children is more and more common.  I am proud to say that Taylor is not one of them.  He does love Wrenny the Pooh though.

Lucas, Taylor's best friend, also came to the house for the photo session and a little help figuring out the pocket square.

This is Taylor's prom group. Taylor is blessed to have an incredible group of friends that he has known forever.  Starting from the left is Suzanne.  In first grade, Suzanne hurt Taylor's feelings by telling him that he had to go to remediation because he was dumb.  He was devastated.  He was (and is) dyslexic.  Taylor forgave her long ago.  Me?  well... Next to her is Chelsie.  She was the tough girl on Taylor's peewee soccer teams.  He once invited her to an all boy birthday party, but she didn't come.  To a seven year old, the invitation was high praise. Interesting side note, Chelsie dates Zach who went to camp with Taylor year after year as they grew up in church together. Small world... The handsome young man next to Zach is Lucas, Taylor's very best friend who he has known since nursery school. In the long pink dress is Sarah., beautiful and sweet Sarah.  Taylor and she have been fast friends since middle school. The young lady in the dramatic red dress is Tori, Taylor's prom date from last year.  In middle school, Taylor told me that Tori reminded him of his "big sister cousin" Cricket which is the highest praise anyone could be given. The tiny blonde next to Rachel is Bree who has went to school with Taylor since first grade. She likes to wear baggy shorts and t-shirts most days so it is wonderful to see her all dressed up.  The last couple is Taylor and Rachel who are absolutely goregous.  Taylor has talked about the twins (Rebecca, Rachel's twin didnt go tonight) since middle school.  He has always thought Rachel was beautiful.  She is.  You know how in Father of the Bride, Steve Martin sees a little girl telling him she was getting married rather than his grown daughter?  That's how I feel when I look at these kids...  How is it time already for them to be grown?

The countdown is speeding up...  Swearing in May 2nd.... Class Day... Graduation... Basics... Tick Tick Tick...

It May Be Time...

I realized yesterday that it may be time for a new car...  The state convention for Student Council is being held in Charleston this weekend.  Since I drive a small car, I made plans to drive the larger vehicle of a retired teacher who is currently driving a truck all over the nation with her husband.  However, since she is gone for most of the time and her grand-daughter needed a vehicle to drive, the SUV is in use.  To use the Tahoe, I need to switch cars with Sarah.  I cannot do this. My car is old and has issues.  It has to be driven using certain tricks.  I would never, ever want anyone else to HAVE to drive my car.  The realization of that small truth made me think... Why do I think I have to drive this car?

I have had my car since 1999.  It was new then, and I was excited to have finally purchased a car in the same year that it was released.  The Toyota Corolla has been a wonderful car. It's good on gas which is so important now that gas costs over $3/gallon. It is small and easy to maneuver which is wonderful when I get lost and need to turn around quickly.  This happens more than it should. It has safely delivered Taylor and me to numerous soccer games, track meets, and vacations.  It has been where Taylor napped and played on the drive cross country to visit the National Cowboy Hall of Fame, down the coast to meet Mickey Mouse, and to the beach to work on the perfect tan.  My mom has told me over and over to not drive the car long distances since it is getting older, and yet the Corolla has been the perfect car on trips to Ohio, Indiana, and Florida. Wherever I needed to go, she took me.

There's more to it than that, of course.  I bought the car when Taylor was 6 years old. It is the car he rode to school in every single day from first grade until he began to drive. Taylor's childhood is wrapped up in the car. There are probably hundreds of fries crushed into the seat cushions.  Army men probably lie in wait for the little soldier to return, not yet realizing that the little boy who pretended to defend the world is actually poised to go do just that in real-life. The back seat is stained with red gatorade, sunscreen, and melted crayons. When Taylor was in elementary school, there were always clothes, shin guards, and toys covering the back seat. When he was in middle school, the toys became books; the shin guards were traded for running shoes.  There were always clothes in the back seat. High school led to Taylor driving, and my back seat holds simply history books, a discarded coat or two of mine, and memories.

Is it time to move on? Probably... The car is old and quirky. The drivers' side door does not open from the outside.  The rod that is inside the door is no longer connected.  Taylor and his dad fixed it the first time it broke. When it broke a second time, I decided to just deal with it rather than to ask my ex-husband to fix it again. It is not like I have to struggle to open the door; I simply open it from the passenger side or crack my window to open it.  The car also has a rattle.  I'm not sure what causes the noise, but it goes away if you put the car in neutral at red lights and stop signs. Taylor says the car is a beater which means it is a wreck.  Did I mention that his childhood is in the car though?

I am looking at cars though.  I really like the Kia Sorento and the Kia Sol.  My eye is drawn to them on the road.  Maybe I'll take a test drive...  Maybe I'll take the leap...  Afterall, it really may be time to let go of a few things...