I’m not sad…. and that’s ok.

I think I’m supposed to be sad today.

I think so because facebook and Instagram and twitter tell me so.  They are filled with moms posting teary statuses about their babies, and back to school posts about longing and wishing to turn back time.

I think I’m supposed to be sad because I kissed my kids goodbye today and after 11 years, they all went off to full time school and left me here, alone.

We spent the weekend packing backpacks and making lists.  Trying to make a way to make ‘balanced nutrition breaks’ work with my eating phobic kids.  Talking about friends and teachers and bedtimes.

This morning they were up well before 7, even though they don’t leave until almost 9.  Dressed in their very best, until they decided to draw with chalk on the driveway while they waited and ended up covered in coloured dust.

I cared a little, even though my goal this year was to head for a mediocre start.

Because we all know I’m not going to keep up some super planned routine of having it all together very long.  So I decided to just ditch all the keener bullshit and start the year the way I hope to finish – “meh”.

That way the teachers are impressed when I get even the smallest things done, instead of disappointed when Monster shows up for the first time with 2 different shoes or Drama doesn’t have her lunch kit packed 3 days in a row.  And they are full of acceptance instead of frustration when Freckles forgets his entire backpack by month 2.

But I mostly spent the last few days feeling bad about my parenting.

I’ve been a mostly stay-at-home mom since Freckles came into the world 11 years ago.

I’m not very good at it.

And while I love my children unconditionally and frantically and beautifully, in that way that only a mother can while simultaneously wanting to strangle them, I’m not sad to say goodbye to that phase in life.

Babies are nice for a time.  Toddlers are cute.  Preschoolers are full of excitement.

I was blessed that I could stay home.  It wasn’t my choice, I couldn’t afford the childcare to go back to work.  But the fact that I was married to a man who was willing and able to support us these years is not something I take for granted.

But there are moms out there who make crafts and sing songs and read stories and play games.  They like it when their kids help with baking (they also bake) and when they get together with other moms they actually do it so their kids can grow socially, not just so they can have a coffee and pretend the kids aren’t there.

Those moms are sad this morning because that time is ending and their kids won’t be with them all day.

That’s awesome,  the world needs moms like that.

So I think I’m supposed to be sad.

But the thing is, I’m not that mom.

I’m the mom who barely held it together for 11 years.  Who spent more time dreaming of that moment when a planned activity or their dad coming home would mean I had time to myself. 

I love them.

I hugged and cuddled and played.

I kissed their scrapes and drove them to play dates, I introduced them to books and movies and dressed a million Polly Pockets.

But I also regularly forgot lunch (Seriously?  Why are you ALWAYS hungry?  What time is….oh….it’s 1:30….. riiiiiiight).

I snapped when all they wanted was milk and I growled when I had been asked too many times to come see the same ‘performance’ in the playroom.

And it may have taken years, and it will probably take more therapy for them, but I’ve realized something that I don’t have to feel bad about (but I do.  Especially on mornings like today).

I am a better parent when they are not around me all the time.

So I think I’m supposed to be sad today.

And I know that most of you are, and that’s cool.

But I’m just…. not.

I’m impressed to see them become great kids despite my lack of parenting skills.

I’m  happy to send them on a new adventure.

I’m proud of their excitement and their eager faces.  I’m sending them off to life, to learning not just schoolwork but social skills, problem solving, independance..

I’ll greet them with open arms this afternoon to hear all about their day, their teacher and their classmates.

I’ll feel slightly more together than normal because I will have probably accomplished something during the day without feeling guilty for banishing them to the basement during my quiz.

We’ll have dinner together like we always do and I’ll be able to hear them because I won’t have already tuned the sound of their whining out for the day by then.

So I’m not sad, really.

If anything, I’m trying not to be sad that I’m not *that* mom that’s sad.(Because if there’s one thing most women are awesome at, it’s being sad for something like not being sad.)

Instead, I’m the mom enjoying my half sweet soy pumpkin spice latte studying at Starbucks, and lunch date with their dad before hitting the books this afternoon to start my Philosophy paper.

The preschool years were fun (most of the time, at least what I haven’t blocked out) but they weren’t my time to shine.

I’m hoping I’ll find that time sometime this year.

And my kids, they’ll remember more these years anyways….. right?  

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