Mrs. Flinger: Blog

Yesterday closed out the last of the official White Shoe Wearing Season. I always hate to see that time of year go. Symbolically, I wore black sandals and froze my feet while wading in three inch puddles to various “summer” events. TAKE THAT SHOE GODS.

I’m not ready for fall, for football, for colourful trees. I’m not ready to for long nights and dreary days. But when I think about what I have to look forward to, I’m thankful the people in my life are still here going through each season with me. Each season makes our space more like home.

So with that tone, I say good-bye to a summer full of people we love, even if it was entirely too short, in a 4:58 video.

**Special thanks to Nintendo for the Flip and the fabulous Netflix party this summer. More about this coming soon. Who DOESN’T want to see the girls shake their booties. (Don’t answer that)

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This year the leaves are not the only things changing this season. My oldest starts first grade, my youngest moves in to Montessori, I turn thiry-five. I am not ready in the same way my Mother used to tell me how Christmas came too early. As a child, that sentence, “Christmas can’t be here already?!” was as unfounded as it gets. Christmas too early? Mom’s gone crazy again.

I am not ready.

I drove away this morning, literally crying, as I left my son for his last day at his daycare. He waved, blew a kiss and signed “I love you” as our usual drop-off routine necessitates. But this time, I was crying, thinking of how much he’s grown and learned, remembering back to the first few times I left him there, scared, worried, watching him cry as I walked away. He’s become a boy there, a real boy, growing from an insecure toddler into the healthy, funny, loving little man I enjoy today.

I have to thank the the people who loved him while I was gone for that.

I remember so vividly my summers at my baby-sitter’s house. I think of her sometimes as I parent my own children, flashing back to 1982 playing outside with her daughters as she cleaned the house or made our lunches. I remember her like a second mother to me, as much of an influence in my life as any adult I’ve known.

People who raise children, don’t only raise their own.

It truly takes a village.

So to my son’s village, to the ladies who have kissed owies, and changed diapers, and read stories to my son when I wasn’t able to: Thank you. Thank you for being such an amazing influence in his life and for teaching him in ways he will subconsciously always take with him. He’s a lucky little man to have had this time with you all. You will be missed.

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