The Last Day
He couldn't jump out of the car fast enough and there she should stood with her arms open to greet him. We've had the most amazing teachers in his elementary years and this year was no exception.
This was our first year in the big building.
This was the year he devoured books in the "big" library.
This was a year of growth.
This was the year I didn't make the flag ceremony.
The ceremony that marks the end of the year, the signal that school is out for summer - I missed it. For the last three years I have raced down the tollway to watch the flag come down, to see the look of excitement and anticipation on his face, to get that one last photograph with his teacher.
And I just couldn't swing it this year.
And it's OK.
The only world I know is one of competing priorities between my professional commitments, the mothering of my boys, the nurturing of my marital relationship and my own needs as an individual.
Each time I navigate through these competing priorities I get a little bit better at understanding where disappointment truly lives when I invariably feel like I come up short.
I've learned this tradition is for me. This day's disappointment is in my heart. He is uneffected.
And so in this standoff between motherhood and career I bend to career because there is truly zero impact to motherhood. I'll save my fight for motherhood for another day, for a moment that matters to him.
This was a year of growth.