De-nesting

I realized, back in January, that I have nine months. Nine months until my littlest little one transforms from preschooler to ruler of the known world by way of kindergarten.

For many moms, including those who mostly stayed home, shipping the baby off to class is a sad day. I know. I've seen strangers and friends race ahead of their child's bus on the first day of school. They line the school sidewalks; they snap a gazillion pictures through their tears, forming a sea of mourning paparazzi.

I, being a delinquent slacker mom incapable of capturing life's moments on film, let alone scrapbooking them, am planning (God-willing) a different approach.

My pal over at I have a blog? coined a phrase for it: de-nesting. It's time. Time to let the kids gather some twigs of their own: do a few more chores, have a little more freedom, take a little more responsibility for themselves. Time for me to tackle something new, prepare for changes, discover new opportunities. It's like throwing myself an un-baby shower.

Do I sound excited? I'm only slightly embarrassed to say that I am. Eight months from now, you might find me momentarily weepy as the future dictatress waves goodbye and advances toward an unsuspecting teacher. But the moment will pass, and I will enjoy the fact that as she expands her territory, some manner of adventure also awaits me.