Moments: It begins.

Day one: Find our heroine dragging herself out of bed at 6:45-ish, greeted by the most torrential rain yet encountered this season, to be sure all offspring are up and breathing. She finds 3 teenage girls in various activities all having to do with hair, make up and clothing. Check.

Next our trusty mama goes to rouse the little guys...who immediately rebel against getting out of bed 'so early', though they've been getting up a good 30 minutes before now every day thru the past summer months. Not to be deterred, mama hands each boy his clothing for the day and treks downstairs to gather up the various and sundry required items each child must bring into their appropriate institution....lunch money checks, immunization copies, threatening letters to teachers (scratch that), 2 bottles of hand sanitizer, paint shirt. Check.

Back upstairs, vaguely aware of spouse shaving and preparing for his day, mama throws on some clothes (piled conveniently though haphazardly on the bedroom floor), sighs at the image in the mirror before her with greasy hair and eye boogers, and begins loading up kidlets for the inevitable journey into the world at large. Check.

At this juncture, our protagonist has been trying to stuff emotions that have been lurking beneath the surface for the last few weeks, emotions that regurgitate as fear, doubt, regret......but she squares her shoulders, dumps 8th grade dd at the door to what might possibly be a chamber of horrors and progresses steadfastly to the next stop, picking up a friend's daughter who is entering her freshman year at a new school in a new district. Wait for 20 minutes in a line of cars full of other worried, haggard parents, dropping their cargo as close to the door as possible, as it seems the deluge of water pouring from the sky has no intention of closing up shop. Back home again, mother dear pours sugar-coated cereal for the cranky boys and prepares the youngest of the crew for his first day of Kindergarten. This entails digging out 3 months of summer dirt from beneath untrimmed finger nails. Check.

Back in the transportation vehicle once again, our mother makes a last minute decision to let Rover join in the fun, and then makes her way to the local elementary school. Youngest boy hops out with a quick wave of his hand and tears off thru the rain for the door, hotwheels backpack almost completely eclipsing his perfect 6-year-old form. My last baby leaves the nest.
Check (sob).

Immediately, the car is silent. 8 year old son behind her and Rover drooling next to her both turn to look at mama. The air is heavy with expectation, loaded with possibilities both good and bad. Mother feels this is the moment she's been dreading for weeks, living in fear and trepidation of for the last month....that moment when the van door slams closed and quiet takes over.

And what does our heroine do? She smiles. She sighs. She savors the moment of peace. She begins to anticipate a day with her one boy still schooling at home. She pets her dog. She breathes. And it's good. There is a brief moment when the delicious moment is threatened by the unwelcome, but predictable character, GUILT. She contemplates giving way, but stands firm, repeating her mantra internally "this is the best choice for my family for this season".

Back home, with a cup of jasmine tea, she begins her school day with her son....and the joy of the work takes her by surprise. The familiar feelings of being overwhelmed by what must be accomplished are absent, replaced by peaceful interaction with her son. When the time comes to begin the whirlwind hour of retrieving her offspring, a wistful sigh escapes her spirit, not anxious for the chaos that will surely take over. Yet she has the energy, amazingly enough, to face it today. That's what silence can do for you. That's what peace affords you. That's what facing the unknown with courage (and fear) will bring you. That's what letting go is all about, and it's a beautiful, beautiful thing.