The Day It All Began - June 23, 2017

The day it all began.  A launch I will remember for the rest of my life.  Adam was up and out the door on his way to a conference in Portland by 6:30 AM.  Fifteen hours later we would reunite.

After an early run and breakfast with the kids, I abandon my first two classes to escort my three babes to their last day of school and enjoy Carmela’s 5^th grade promotion ceremony from John Stanford International School.  It wrapped up at 9:30 with tears and undeniable exclamations of how quickly 6 years passed, and with a cupcake hug, I hopped on my bike to arrive at Washington Middle School in time for 3^rd period.  I cheerfully made it through the next three classes and bid my students adieu, then turned in the keys to my now abandon portable.  After four years at Washington Middle School, I suppressed a squeal of glee as jumped on my bike, refreshed in my new freedom.  I was able to contain my elation until I passed the office and cafeteria, and at that point it came out in a high pitched and exuberant - Whooooooo Hoooo! 

I raced home, legs full of adrenaline with anticipation of the adventures the next 14 months would hold.  I turned into the driveway just as the kids were walking down the street hauling their sacks bursting with a year of school work.  I parked my bike in the garage one last time, patting her sadly, and knowing I would miss her sweet ride.  She has been my companion for over 10,000 miles the last 4 years, and I have never regret choosing her over the car.  She got me safely to work every day.  My biking motto was, “If I am too sick to ride to work, I am too sick to go to work.” It served me well, and I never used more than 2 sick days a year. 

I got the kids inside, and gave them 15 minutes to drop their loads, show me their work, and tell me any last minute details.  Jamie and friends picked them up promptly and escorted them to the graduation party at the park where I promised to be in an hour.

Three hours later, 98% of the crap in the backpacks was in the recycle bin; 2% was stuffed in each child’s memory bin; the house was finally cleaned to perfection for our renter, and somehow every inch of the car was packed with our shit for the next two months.  It was a miracle.  Seriously. 

I said goodbye to the house, jumped in the car and drove to the park where the fiesta was in full swing.  The adults were imbued with libations and sentiment, and our new sixth graders were savoring their last moments together full of pubescent emotion.  I was starving, so I took down as much food as I could before my mama bear kicked in, and I went looking for my kids.  Eventually they were found in a mess of tears and octopi arms, and at 8:00 PM, I dragged them away from the party with their hugs, promises, and friendship rings.

I knew the first goodbye wasn’t real, so we drove to the house again, stopped in to pee and grab a last forgotten stuffy, then hit I 5 south to Portland to rendezvous with Adam. 

This was it.  So much of the previous six months was spent preparing for this moment, and it had finally arrived.  As Carmela and Caleb sobbed in the back seat, I was filled with freedom and thanksgiving that I have been blessed with this gift of a year to enjoy my family, friends, and world.  Eventually their tears subsided, but my smile only grew larger as Seattle disappeared in the distance.