School, Here We Come

Tomorrow is the big day. The first day of school. Unless you're a kindergartner at our kids' school, in which case, it might be your first day of school, or it might not be your first day. It could be Tuesday, or even Wednesday. Don't ask me to explain. I'm weary of it. In our little kindergartner's case, tomorrow will be First Day of School Eve, which means I have 24 more hours to completely dread my little Lukey heading off to Big Boy School.

I have to change the subject immediately, or I might end up in a puddle of tears on the floor.

So, being the fab mom that I am, I have the homemade whole wheat muffins for tomorrow's breakfast cooling in the kitchen. Lunches are mostly made, except for the fresh ingredients I'll add in the morning as the children are happily and quickly getting ready for the day. (This is the plan. Keep in mind things do not always go as planned.) Clothes are laid out, notes and corny school jokes are written to add to little lunchboxes. And I'm right on track for breaking my new school year resolution for getting in bed on time every night so I can be up and at 'em bright and early.

I will not mention that I was snippy with my kids at bedtime and that there are dirty dishes in the sink. Except that I just did.

In all seriousness, I've been dreading this day for months and months. Not only is my little Momma's Boy heading to kindergarten this year (the child has never even been to preschool), but my first born and only daughter is starting....
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I can't bring myself to type it. M-I-D-D-L-E S-C-H-O-O-L!!!

Oh the agony.

I know it sounds crazy, but I've been unable to thing about these two facts for more than a few seconds and have hated talking about them at all since the middle of the last school year. And I always said I'd never be that mom! The one who's all weepy about something as silly as your kids doing what they're supposed to do. But I am that mom.

Or I was. Until God gave me a good smack in the head and changed my perspective.

You see, I'm 36. And last time I went to my doc for that fun yearly visit that we all circle on our calendar and put little hearts beside, I was 34. Which means last month when I encountered that blessed day, it was time for my first mammogram.

What a fun year. A kindergartner. A middle schooler. And a mammogram. Who said getting older isn't fun?

So, I went in for the dreaded test, and the technician could apparently tell from the look on my face that I was less than thrilled. She quickly chided me for listening to all the horror stories and assured me it wouldn't be that bad. To my great surprise, she was right. In fact, the whole thing was rather comical to me. I felt like a Chinese contortionist in the circus, only half naked and with my boob squished flat under a giant Panini press. I do love a good Panini. It was hard to keep from laughing because the whole thing just felt ridiculous.

I went along my merry way, thankful it was over and that it hadn't been that bad. I finished the week by watching my husband's return to the stage (He was in The King and I at age twelve. Please ask him about that.) in our church's children's musical production. Needless to say, he gave a moving performance as Coach Q, the preachy leader of a kids' summer running club. Then we packed up enough stuff to survive for the rest of our lives on a deserted island and headed to the beach for a week. Remember? I was going there to de-stress.

Turns out the joke was on me. I was all stress-free until about three days in when I got a call from the nurse. Something had turned up on my mammogram and they wanted to take a second look.

What a vacation killer.

We actually had a really great week, except for all the quiet, still moments when I thought I might die from fear since I had already diagnosed myself with breast cancer and given myself a year to live. No, I'm not dramatic or a pessimist. Why do you ask?

So I spent the rest of the week riding emotional waves, fighting a battle in my mind, praying, and trying to just live in the moment.

Two days after we got home, I was back with the reassuring technician. This time the look on my face must have been one of pure terror, because she couldn't quit saying, "I told you not to worry!" And the more detailed mammogram was no laughing matter. It was all I could do to keep from crying it hurt so bad. When Miss Positive Mammogram Lady says, "This is going to be very painful. I'm just warning you," you know it's going to hurt. That lady don't lie.

You can imagine the worry I was fighting back, so I won't draw this out by trying to describe it. Now that it's over, I will say the Lord was gracious to give me many moments of peace as I wrestled through all of this with him. And then he was very gracious to have the nurse call back 24 hours later to tell me it was fine and there would be no further testing needed.

Oh, the relief that swept over me. I was so thankful, but also so aware that I did not deserve that news any more than anyone else. It was simply a gift.

And so I sit here, late to bed, which will mean a groggy momma tomorrow, with a bit of a new perspective of tomorrow (and the next day in Lukey's case). While it's still going to be a bittersweet week, I am thankful that I get to be here for it. I'm thankful for another start to another year of my children growing and learning, and I'm so glad that I get to be the one to bake their muffins and pack their lunches and sign all those thousands of pieces of paper they'll bring home and help them with homework. I'm so glad to share these fleeting, precious moments with them, and I look forward to seeing the people God is shaping them to be.

Is anyone willing to come whisper those words in my ear at 5:45am when that dreaded alarm clock goes off?

Now I will post this without proofreading so that this Night Owl Momma can get to bed. (I want to proofread it so badly!)

Happy School Day!!