MOTHERHOOD RIGHT NOW / HUCK THE SCHOOLKID

Today, my baby started pre school.

Yesterday afternoon found us on a quixotic hunt for a bag of roasting marshmallows. The sun was hot, we'd been out for a while (seriously Brooklyn with the sudden marshmallow shortage!) (have you read this?), and Huck had started the "I'm too tired to go on!" routine with the tormented voice and the dragging feet and the panicked, whiny whimpers and the "I can't run! Carry me, please!" There's a whole system in place here, and the two of us know it intimately. First comes the whining, then the part where he stands right in front of me so I can't take another step without tripping over him, and then comes the bartering (if you walk all the way home, we can have dessert after dinner!), and then finally I give up, first saying At least ask nicely, and then once he has and I'm carrying him and he's satisfied with life, he'll start in on all of these wonderfully inane existential questions.

"Mom, what does "smaller" mean?"

When Brandon's around I usually turn Huck over to him. Gladly. I figure, it's gotta be hard to be a Brandon and be off at work all the time, missing all these funny little Huck quirks and routines and anecdotes, but more than that, Mom done like her breaks, son. But this time, watching Dad tackle the receiving end of Huck's never-ending requests and queries and general updates on life in minute-to-minute detail, was suddenly more bitter than sweet. Here somebody else was having my experiences, experiences that aren't even mine anymore--at least, not the way they used to be. Those days when it was just us two, Huck and Mom, Partners In Crime--asking and answering the impossible questions, planning our days out on the one-for-one system (I go with you to the playground, you come with me to get concealer), sharing a plain bagel with cream cheese after the playground and capping it off with a frozen yogurt at Culture--those days are ending. We'll only get two a week from now on. Plus holidays and summers. And--two a week!? Is that not unfair! I've started to understand that whole Blubbering Mom on Her Kid's First Day nonsense, after months of swearing I wasn't going to get emotional about it.

Maybe it's not about the missing them, so much as it's about the significance of letting them go.

I do feel as though I've handed over my controlling interest in the Raising Of Huck Corporation, LLC. I've sold some of my shares to the teachers and friends and other outside influences that will become more and more a part of his life now that I'm no longer the primary shareholder. On the one hand, I'm so happy for him. And me! Free time! Also, I'm thrilled to be able share him. He is a blessing, and who am I to deprive people of such blessings? Like all kinds of joy, Huck is a thing best shared. But also, Hey. That's mine. 

"Come here, let me snuzzle you," I said to Huck last night as the sun was setting and the ache in my throat had gotten too big to ignore. 

"Why?" Huck asked, screwing his yellow mechanical crayon up and then down, screwing up his mouth to one side, and winking one eye as he concentrated on getting just the right amount of crayon set for the page in his coloring book.

"Because," I said. "I am feeling nostalgic."

I walked into his bedroom and scooped him up into my lap. He smushed his cheek into mine, still screwing that yellow crayon up and down, bouncing his legs against my knees, and then before I could help it my vision got blurry and my muscles forced my mouth into this ugly, involuntarily little frown.

"I just want you to know," I mumbled into Huck's cheek, still so soft and squishy with that scent of spun sugar I've always loved, "that the time we've spent together, you and me, just us two, has been the best time in my life. I love you so, so much, and I am so excited for you. You are such a big boy, and I am so proud to be your mama."

(Oh crap, here it comes.)

"I love you too, Mom," he said, "but Mom? This place is for kid stuff. Can you go do grown up things with Dad on the couch?"

"Okay, baby," I said as I stood up, straightening my shirt, and wiping off a stray tear. Brandon eyed me with amusement from the couch as I walked over and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him and pouted. I'd been swearing for days that I wouldn't cry, but what are you gonna do? It's the kind of sadness that has no solution. You can't fix the melancholy of nostalgia, not even if you wanted to. And I don't want to. I'd never wish this away, not for all the rewind buttons on the planet. Even if I found Huck's rewind button, man...  I'd leave that sucker un-pushed. This is so wonderful, and the pain is an important part of it.

We all walked Huck to school this morning, the Holbrook Trio, Brandon snapping photos all the way there like a proper Dadarazzi. I'm so grateful to have these photos. Even if I sort of suspect that apart from the family memories, what Brandon was really after was a good shot of me mid-cry. ;)

A few of our favorites:

Aw crap, he got one.

Saying goodbye and see you at pick up...

He was a little worried on the walk over, telling me he felt lonesome for me and that he wasn't going to want me to leave, but of course the minute he got there it was all school, all big boy, all I got this, Mom.

I know you do, turkey.

So do I. I think. 

And then Brandon just kept on snapping.

Ooooookay okay okay. Geez. :)

Courage, all you moms. We got this.