Oh man. My feet are KILLING me. Even though Dennis is mopping the kitchen floor and Kate is vacuuming, I have GOT to sit down. Thirteen hours, two clean bathrooms (one cleaned twice because Dennis hung two doors after I cleaned it the first time and he made a big mess), one short rehearsal, chocolate chip cookies, banana bread, pound cake, poppy seed bread, Rice Krispie treats, peanut butter bars, applesauce bars, thousands of dirty dishes, eleven loads of laundry, and several crying spells. I've been a busy girl today.
Tomorrow is Paul's missionary farewell. His room is getting empty, ten white shirts are hanging ready to pack, new suits, new scriptures, new shoes. I feel a miserable kind of joy.
I'm so glad he's going. I hate it that he's leaving. He's my little boy. The first time I held him he was no longer than my arm, elbow to fingertips. He was scared, and I was scared. But we've managed, and now he's all grown up, and he's making this wonderful choice and I'm so proud of him.
But I don't handle change very well, and we have change on our hands. Lots of it. Paul is going. He's moving his things out of his room. The rest of the house is trying to absorb his stuff, and we're bulging at the seams. It's good, but it's hard.
This is a day I've been dreaming of my whole life. I haven't planned exactly how I want the days between now and Wednesday to go, and I don't know exactly how I'm going to get through them. All I know is that I am a mom, and my son is leaving on his mission. I'm proud and scared and happy and sad.
And I hope he knows that I love him. To the moon and back.
4 hours ago