Friday, May 3, 2013

It's complicated

My daughter is off for the night, staying over at a friend's with a bunch of other friends. She left her wallet here, hidden under something on the sofa, so she stopped by a little while ago to grab it, left her friend in the car ("She wanted to declare her undying love for you, but I wouldn't let her in."), hugged me and - poof - gone again.

Lately, it feels like we're closer than ever, but I don't see how that's possible. Maybe our relationship is shifting, and what feels like more closeness is more like ... recognition or something. I see the adult in her; she sees the interesting person who is more than mom in me.

I'm starting to have little meltdowns when I think about her leaving us for college, but I'm also so happy for her, so excited to watch her grow out there on her own, though most of what she's accomplished, she's accomplished because of who she is, not because of who raised her. (I was never a helicopter mom, though I was involved.)

I will be bereft when she leaves.

She is my heart, my center, my purpose.

It's good no one reads here because this kind of post is likely to get the kinds of comments that mostly make me feel ridiculous. "Look on the positive! She's a beautiful, talented person! You did a great job raising her. Now you're free to become anything you want to become."

"Read books. Go to school."

ahahahaha (graduating in August)

"Find work you love."

Of course, of course, of course.

But this life I've been leading for more than 18 years is the best life. Really. It's been a magical journey and she's the magic.  ("Her magic will stay with you even when she's at school. And she'll come home to visit and you'll be even closer! It will be AWESOME!")

(Bite me.)


Change of subject.

I was thinking about my Lily novel today, the one I started a decade ago about the woman who discovers that...well, no, no spoilers. Lily is not Elizabeth. She's sassier (that's a word we've been tossing around a lot lately). She's braver. She doesn't know the meaning of passive-aggressive. I want to go back and start working on her story again, but when I dive back in, I'm going to make her more of a bad ass,  more willing to confront, less freaked, at first she needs to be freaked out.

Oh dear. I'm doing that boring thing where I write about process in public.

Well, whatever. This is what I wanted to write today, right now, in the moment before I leave the house to run some errands.

Bye now.

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