Well, I cried.
The morning we moved my big girl to college, the waterworks started when I hugged her good morning in the kitchen.
Some of you may know that I had a pretty good spurt of denial working for the longest time. Thank goodness that child was going away! It's about time. Ungrateful kid. That sort of thing.
Then, suddenly, it was time to get this girl ready to move out. The fun stuff was over; now it was business and reality was no longer elusive, it was invasive.
The days before she left, on two occasions people made me cry. I was still being strong, still riding the denial train as much as possible, and my response was to tell people who asked that I didn't want to talk about it. They just laughed and kept on talking about it. Well, I showed them. I showed them what the Mama Ugly Cry looked like is what I did, when much to their horror, I fell apart before their very eyes.
I SAID I didn't want to talk about it.
Then, on the big day, it was all good until everything was in the car and we were walking out the door. The house had that littered, "something big is happening here" feeling. The dogs were anxious, everyone in the room was a little quiet, we were running late, of course, and I lost it. We stood together, held hands and the little one said a prayer because I was a puddled up mess.
On the way to the University of Oklahoma I called my best friend to remind me how rotten our teenage girls are. She readily obliged, and that cheered me up some.
So three vehicles loaded with stuff pulled into campus to move her into a room that is not quite as big as the vehicles are. Despite my melancholy, it is indeed an incredibly exciting time. The campus is beautiful, the dorm room is adorable and you can just feel the promise of adventure, growth and possibilities in the air.
As a matter of fact, I myself am considering moving to OU and attending college there.
Just kidding. Maybe.
After a long day, dinner and a margarita, I was fine until I went to the restroom with my youngest. When I asked if she was going to cry, she shrugged and said "I don't know, I've cried so much already." I had not seen her cry. Well, for whatever reason, that was enough to send me over the edge. When I made it back to the booth, I was a Hot Mess all over again, much to my daughter's dismay.
Then came goodbye, and guess how that went. Bad. I cried all the way home.
The days that followed I was very careful. Again, I didn't want to talk about it, so I avoided seeing anyone as long as I could. Now, I've leveled off a bit, but just barely. Please approach with caution if you see me out in public, for I am fragile. And I'm quite sure you don't want a meltdown on your hands. It's not pretty.
So, thank you to everyone for your sweet concern. The girl is fine, the Mamma is trying to cope. Dad is also struggling, and it might be best to tread lightly around him. Meanwhile, little sister is a tad concerned that she is now my No. 1 Priority, as she prefers to fly under the radar when it comes to Mamma's watchful eye.
Life marches on whether we like it or not. All we want is for our kids to be OK.