When moments become memories . . .

And an almost forgotten Lemon Layer Cake

Today is Friday. August 23. All our summer fun is now just a bunch of memories.

We dropped my daughter off at college last weekend. It was hard. 

It is hard. Every day.

Five days later,  I’m still crying. 

Missing her

I miss seeing her after school. Hearing about her day. Listening to her laughter or the theme song from yet another episode The Office playing too loudly from her phone while she showers. (Do other people’s children watch TV in the shower?)

I miss her collection of Stanleys on the counter. Her perfume in the air. Her car in the driveway.

I only have to fill the Keurig every third day now. I have an astonishingly full set of glasses in my kitchen. The washer is empty and waiting for my load of clothes.

And, perhaps worst of all, I got my first pumpkin cream cold brew of the season all by myself. 

To make matters worse, my son went back to school on Tuesday. On August 20th. In the middle of summer.

(I know that schools in the south and west go back early because of the heat, but I live in northwestern Pennsylvania. Heat isn’t a problem here. August is one of the nicest months of the year. It’s way better than June. It’s the one month you want to be outside playing and having fun. Aren’t these supposed to be the dog days of summer? As an east coast girlie who always went back after Labor Day I will never understand this schedule.)

A new normal

The house is too quiet. Too empty.

Even the dogs are lonely. 

And yet . . . as tough as the days are right now, I am grateful that our drop-off was last weekend. The big move-in day is behind me. The day I have dreaded for the last eighteen years has come and gone. And is now just another one of my memories.

A new normal has begun. 

Many of my friends are taking their kids to college as I write this. One of them on back-to-back days to move-in her twins!?! (I can’t even imagine.)

After already going through this process, I am glad to be on the other side. 

Those last few weeks before she left were one long goodbye. She was emotional. I was emotional. There were so many tears. As the pile in my dining room drew so did the heaviness in my chest. And I found myself calculating days, sleeps, and hours until it was time to go.

It was almost a relief when the day arrived. Almost. But I know that if she had she stayed another week, it just would have been another week of anticipatory sadness. Although, I guess we could have squeezed in a few more memories.)

College move-in

The move in itself was amazing. Hats off the University of South Carolina! Everything was super organized. The staff was friendly and helpful. The wheeled bins made transporting all that stuff (IYKYK) a breeze. 

Her apartment was nice–way beyond what I expected for a first year dorm. Her roommates seem friendly. The weather was perfect (by Columbia standards. It was a sunny 90 degrees, which was better than the 104 degrees we endured at orientation.) 

Even our requisite Target run went off without a hitch. Sure the Black Friday-esque line wrapped around the back of the store initially made my stomach twist in fear. But the store was well-staffed and helpful employees moved the Gamecock crowd through at warp speed. 

I did find it interesting that among the college kids and their bleary teary-eyed parents there were more than a few random locals braving the crowds. An unexpectedly large number of young moms shopped for cereal and toilet paper with three kids in tow. Perhaps it’s the cynic in me, but I can’t help thinking they were there just for spite, to laud their still-littles over us almost empty-nesters. Why else would you go to Target during college move-in weekend?

Another surprising group were the newly-middle-aged moms lurking in the aisles as they loaded their baskets with face creams and serums from Ulta, no doubt trying to stave off the signs of aging so readily apparent on the exhausted college moms. A few furiuosly tapped notes into their phones taking promising themselves they’d avoid those last minute purchases when their time came. Or maybe they were secretly sending photos of unsuspecting haggard moms to their friends. It’s hard to say.

We even enjoyed tacos and mojitos for lunch. Just my husband and me. Don’t worry, I wasn’t plying my underage daughter with alcohol before she started her college experience. (Although after our family vacation to the Bahamas this summer where the drinking age is a much more reasonable eighteen, I’ve already gotten to see how she handles her alcohol and she’s going to be just fine.)

It really was the perfect day. 

Time is a thief

And yet, I am so happy it is behind me. 

Well, not happy exactly. I wish she wasn’t living 600 miles away. Of course, I don’t want her to live at home forever. But a couple more years wouldn’t hurt. And then, maybe she could move in next door. 

Kidding. I’m just kidding. (Sort of.)

What I would love to do is go back and get a chance to do it all again. A chance to make more memories.

My daughter is the second of my kids to leave the nest. I told myself it would be easier this time. I’d already done it once. I love my relationship with my adult son. We talk all the time. Visit often. Grown children are a lot of fun.

But that’s all a bunch of bullcocky.

Not the relationship part. That’s all true. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t lessen the feelings of sadness. Heartache, Loneliness. Grief.

If anything, it was harder this time. 

I only have one child left at home. And in three years, he too will be gone.

Three years that will likely feel like three minutes.

All I have to do is blink and another week has flown by. Before I know it, it will be Thanksgiving. Then Christmas. Then Spring Break. And then my daughter will be home for the summer.

That will be wonderful. And bittersweet.

Major milestones

The older I get, the more I feel the constant weight of time slipping away from me. 

I’ve always been a sentimental fool. At least since my children were born. I cried on the first days of school. And the last.

I cried at the end of vacations. (And I never missed a chance to take one!) And on New Year’s Day. And even on the first day of summer.

These milestones made the passage of time so concrete. And there is nothing more heartbreaking to a mom than time.

When people told me not to blink because children grow up too fast, I believed them. When they said to enjoy “these days” – the ones of tantrums and tomato sauce stains everywhere and way too many episodes of Thomas the Train, I did. (Or at least I tried to.)

But no matter how much you appreciate, notice, and enjoy, you can’t stop time. Even as you’re busy making memories, time is flyng by too fast.

Making memories

For 18 years I baked a Back to School cake. We had crayon boxes and lockers, blackboards and pencils, and one year, when I was on sabbatical, a 3-D shaped backpack. Check out the COVID-era cake. That year I completley gave up.

After the first day of school we’d all gather in the kitchen, the kids talking over one another to tell me about their days while licking icing off their fingers. Those are some of my vry favorite memories. Reunited after a day apart. I was in my happy place, content to soak it all in.

But no matter how much you make of the moment, the moment soon becomes a memory. 

This year . . . I forgot to bake the cake. I didn’t realize it until my son and I sat down for dinner. I burst into tears and he gave me that deer in the headlights look. My husband was out for the evening and it was just the two of us. While he has grown used to me getting teary this summer, I’m pretty sure he was terrified of having to navigate a mom breakdown on his own.

He exhaled with relief when I told him I forgot the cake. Luckily, he is a low maintenance kid. He only made one joke about how much he had been looking forward to it all day. 

So . . . the next day I baked his favorite lemon layer cake, complete with homemade lemon curd, and we enjoyed it on the second day of school. But I only cut two slices. (And what a darn shame that is, because this cake was flippin’ fantastic!) 

Looking at that almost complete cake on the crystal plate makes my heart hurt.

Motherhood milestones

The thing about all these milestones is that they aren’t just for the kids. They are also for the mothers.

Motherhood is a job that, if all goes right, comes with an expiration date. (I know, I know . . . my kids will always need me. But they won’t be living under my roof. We won’t be sharing meals and playing games and running for coffee just because. It’s not the same as when they are little.) Kids get to go off into the world. And moms, moms are left with memories.

Of course, I’ve known this all along. And I’ve been mourning it alsmost since they were born, while at the same time squeezing in as many memories as I can.

But knowing something is not the same as living it. N amount of preparation can truly prepare you for the life shift that comes when they’re gone.
And all the practice in the world doesn’t make it easier.

I imagine that three years down the road will be even harder. So you bet I’m going to spend this time making as many memories as I can.

Off we go!

P.S. Check out the recipe for the Lemon Layer Cake: