The end of an era...

Growing up is bittersweet.

When my first baby was still a baby, I couldn't wait for him to grow up.

"Things will be better once he grows out of this colic."

"Things will be easier once he is walking."

"...once he is communicating more."

"...once he isn't napping so we can travel more."

"...once he sleeps better."

"...when he isn't having all these meltdowns."

"If only..."

"If only..."

"I can't wait till..."

I have to admit, I am doing this right now with kid two.  Rushing the stages.  Wanting more freedom than I am allowed to have for the time.  Desperately wanting things to just be...EASIER.

Flash forward to today.

I am taking kid one home from school, when he says, "Mom, I don't want those notes in my lunch anymore."

The little love notes I had written him every day without fail (ok, some days I forgot and used the previous day's note again) since his first day of kindergarten.  Since the first day I dropped him off someplace new for seven whole hours, anxious, but trusting that he would be cared for and loved and have a great time.  He was and he did.

All through that year and the ones that followed (2.5 more so far), those notes have been the one constant, the thing that has connected us during his day, while he learned and played and grew in his independence.

Until, "Mom?  I kept meaning to tell you that, but I forgot, so I'm telling you now."

"Did someone see your notes?"

"No, Mom, it's just in case they do.  I don't need them anymore."

"Ok, buddy, no more notes."

And just like that, the invisible ties that bind loosen, just a little.