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Oldest Daughter, who is a freshman in high school, has other plans. Today, she left on a Fine Arts Department trip to New York City, which I really wish I was on. Over the next five days, the group is going to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, 30 Rock, Times Square, Ground Zero, Wall Street, Broadway, and they will see a show and watch the NYC Philharmonic, and then she took her cello because they get a clinic with the Philharmonic. Pretty awesome trip. I grew up in Nebraska in the 70's and 80's, where our idea of a field trip was Omaha, Lincoln, or if you were really crazy, Kansas City. Needless to say, I've never been to New York except to fly over it and spend eight hours stuck in La Guardia Airport. *le sigh*
For the past week, people kept asking if I was nervous about her going. I even had someone mention how they couldn't do it because they've heard about too many fatal bus accidents with student groups (Um...THANK YOU?!?) But I was totally not nervous about her going at all, just really stoked that she was doing it.
Until today, when I went a little tiny bit Womb Ranger on her.
We drove to the 3 p.m. student meeting before the buses took off at 4 p.m. While the teachers and chaperones are making their announcements, I'm looking at the other kids. They have pillows. They have water bottles. They have snacks. OD wouldn't let me equip her with these things. She said they would be a pain and in the way. I insisted. She dug in. I finally caved and thought, "Whatever, it's your hunger pains and cramped neck." But at the meeting, my palms started sweating and my heart started pounding and I leaned over to her and whispered, "You NEED a pillow and snacks. Can I get them for you?" and she said, "MOM. NOT. AGAIN. Let it GO." Then she gave me the Teenage Death Ray look. I ceased pleading.
But I REALLY wanted to get them - it felt like I was putting her on a bus to NYC without supplies, like I was sending her off to be a teen runaway. I could see that she was really eager to be with her friends, and for me to be on my way. I hugged her and walked to the car and CRIED. Because just one damn bag of Chex Mix would've made me feel like a good, providing mom. Like she still NEEDS me. And I know she does, but DAMN, kid, throw your old mom a bone!
Of course I texted her about two hours later. "Do you wish you had snacks/pillow?" She replied, "Yes on snacks, no on pillow. I love you." I was right about the snacks, and she still loves me. I guess I need to just relax. Where is the pamphlet at the hospital after labor about the emotional toll these kids take on you? That bus better have a very good driver. And maybe some Chex Mix to share?
Nervous tics and pinot grigio until Wednesday....
