When my girls and I finally curled up in bed to read our traditional “Kissing Hand” book, it was almost 10 p.m.
Courtesy of Sarah Shrader
I didn’t think I would take it this hard – feel this much feeling. It’s just another school year. I mean, we do it every year. You would think I would be used to it by now. But for some reason, the night before school started this year had me unable to contain my tears.
Maybe it was the rush of getting to that night – we actually shopped early for school supplies, so I was feeling prepared – but then almost forgot to put it all together before we went to meet their teachers. And we had to get through two different days (and four different schools/buildings) for all the kids’ orientations and open houses.
Then, the night before the first day of school, we had three kids with games and two with practices on top of last-minute pickups of new water bottles for the first day and all of a sudden it was 8:30 p.m. and we hadn’t had dinner, lunches weren’t packed, I still needed to locate art shirts and gym shoes and, whew, I was stressed about getting it all done.
When my girls and I finally curled up in bed to read our traditional “Kissing Hand” book, it was almost 10 p.m. And, while I was kind of mad at myself that we were starting the school year off getting to bed that late and I knew I still had about 100 things to do once I got them to bed, there was no way I was skipping our annual reading of our book – even if that meant they would get to bed even later.
Before we started, Maylie insisted that she should read the book – since it was her last year before middle school. To which I quickly replied that we were going to read it before middle school as well – heck, I will call her at college and read it the night before classes if she lets me. I also reminded her that it was Reagan’s only time going into third grade. So, we agreed to take turns and each read a page at a time.
As I settled into my spot on Maylie’s bed and both girls melted into me – Reagan on my left pressed up under my arm and Maylie on my right in the same manner, it was like time just stood still for a second. A children’s book that usually took mere minutes to sift through and yet, the words danced off the pages a little slower than all the other time around us.
Mesmerized in the moment with my girls, my mind wandered to the first year I read the book with only Maylie – and I did all the reading. And then to the year we added Reagan into the mix and Maylie pitched in on the reading — and now to this year where I really didn’t need to do any of the reading at all. Oh, but I wanted to. I soaked in every single words.
At just the right part in the book, the girls knew the routine and held out their little palms for me to kiss. And when we made it a few more pages, they unfolded my fingers and placed gentle kisses in my hands. And guys, I am going to be honest, it was almost like the words from the book jumped right off the page and into reality as I swear I felt their kisses travel all the way through and filled my heart.
Once we finished the book, Reagan popped over to her bed and Maylie curled up under her covers. We had already prayed over the school year and all that was left were tuck-ins and goodnight kisses. Maylie gave me a quick snuggle and kiss and said goodnight in her practically grown 10-year-old tone.
But Reagan, she reached her arms around my neck, pulled me in close, and in that sweet, still little kid voice proudly proclaimed, “goodnight, Mommy, I love you!”
Look, I have a lot of kids – all whom I love very much – but only two of them have ever called me “Mommy.” And for some reason it hit me so hard that night that I was officially down to only referring to me as “Mommy.” Sure, Maylie calls me Mom – and she and Reagan will call me “Mom” forever. But there’s something about being called Mommy – the softness and innocence in it – the fleeting of the time that it is used – that just hits deeper.
I left their room holding back tears. Once I was on the other side of the door, I let them flow while finishing up the last minute things for the next morning. We would be ready for another school year – I am just not sure that I am ready for another year closer to not being called Mommy.
Sarah (Pitson) Shrader was born and raised in Lima. She is a Lima Central Catholic and Tiffin University graduate. Sarah is a full-time working mama who enjoys writing about her somewhat crazy, always adventurous life as a mother. She lives in Bath Township with her daughters and writing inspirations, Maylie and Reagan.
