A Year of French Toast

When my youngest daughter was in her last year of elementary school, our town instituted a mandatory  bus fee for anyone who lived less than 2 miles from school.   Our elementary school was less than a 1/4 mile away from our house but my kids had always taken the bus because the street had no sidewalk and was just too busy to walk down.   However, there was no way we were going to pay $200 for our youngest daughter to travel 1/4 mile to school.   Luckily, a neighbor offered us the option of using her backyard as a cut through to the school and with that possibility we were able to become "walkers".    That also meant that our mornings weren't as rushed because there was no bus to catch.   My older daughter had to catch the middle school bus over an hour earlier than we even had to leave.   So the two of us, my younger daughter and I, had a good chunk of morning all to ourselves.   As soon as my older daughter got on the bus, I would climb into my younger daughter's bed to snuggle and gently wake her up.   I would ask her what she wanted for breakfast and every single morning her answer was "French Toast".

I had watched my older daughter change before my eyes when she went to middle school.   She was quickly shedding her "little girl" skin and the way she acted, dressed, and spoke had changed quite dramatically.    I could see the future and I wasn't quite ready for all that to happen to my youngest, my baby.   So, I cuddled her a little longer and I happily made her French Toast every morning.    I would go downstairs to cook breakfast while she got herself dressed.   Ever the fashion queen, I was always curious what she would come down in.   She would eventually appear in some sort of pink, purple, striped, polka-dotted, crazy ensemble and a big, proud smile on her face.   She would sit down at the table and our puppy would curl up at her feet.   She would dig into her French Toast and we would chat about her day.   She would tell me about her friends, what she wanted to do at recess, and she would regale me with hilarious stories about her classmates and her teachers.    I think, because I knew what was coming down the pike, I really appreciated these mornings and I was fully present at these breakfasts.   I drank in her smile, her giggle, and all her little girl-ness.   At a certain point, my neighbor/friend would stop by with her little boy and we would join them for the short walk to school.  The kids would chat, skip, play and if there were puddles, they would splash in them.   And, when we arrived at the school's front door, we would watch them run ahead and disappear.    We did the same thing, every single day, for just that one year.  It was lovely.

The next year she was off to middle school, back on a bus, and she had to leave the house much earlier and there never seemed to be time for a relaxed, home made breakfast.    So she started eating cereal and frozen waffles, if anything at all.

As the years passed life just became busier and busier.   When she went to high school, she had to get there even earlier.   There were days when life just seems so crazy, so busy and so thoroughly unenjoyable that one of us would say wistfully, "Remember the year of French Toast"?

Tomorrow this same girl will start her senior year of high school.   Her sister is a sophomore in college and I have seen the future.   I am well aware of what is down the pike.   The high school is four miles away and this year, for the first time, she will be driving herself.   There will be no bus, and no walking.    She has to get up quite early, and leave the house before 7 am.   I don't think there will be any time or inclination for French Toast, and even cereal and frozen waffles are a stretch.

Any parent who has gone through a senior year of high school with their child knows that the year can be a stressful one.    There are so many things to do, and oh so many deadlines.   Sometimes it's enough to make your head spin, and it can be a year of much parent-child tension as important deadlines loom.  It is a very different year than the last year of elementary school because it is a year of major, life changing decisions.

My daughter will roll her eyes when she overhears me telling people that I'm not looking forward to this year.  "Senior Year is so tough" I'll say.   Then when we are alone she'll ask/yell at me, "Why do you say that?  It's not going to be hard for you!!!!  You are not the one taking standardized tests, filling in applications, and trying to keep your grades up at the same time!!!"   I know she is right.  I know this is all on her.  But, she is also wrong.

This year will be hard for me in ways she simply cannot understand.

This morning I took her back-to-school shopping for notebooks, binders, pens, pencils, etc.   At one point, she turned to me smiling and said, "Hey!  This is the last time we will do this together!"  Yup.  Gulp!  And I had actually been feeling lucky, now that she has her driver's license, that I had the honor of being there at all this year.  Of course, she was happy to have my wallet there.   I watched her as she chose her school supplies with such care and decisiveness.   All her folders and notebooks are properly color coded, in a way that would only make sense to her.   I see other mothers, with younger children, frantically looking around with school-issued supply lists in their hands.   One frenzied mother asked me, with a crazed look in her eyes, "What if I don't send him with a red folder like the teacher requested?  What will happen?!?!?"  I smile as I remember going toe to toe with a teacher on this very subject.   "It won't be the end of the world,"  I tell her, knowing that she will probably get a "this is unacceptable" note home in just a few days time.   But, I have given her a moment of peace. We have no such list.   My girl knows exactly what she needs.

On the way home we stop at a coffee shop, and she orders her "usual" with no hesitation.  She knows what she wants.   When we get home, we eat lunch together and make small talk about the upcoming year.   She runs ideas by me, but I know she already has her mind made up about what she is going to do, and isn't really asking my opinion, but is more making sure I don't object.   I listen to her talk and I drink in her smile, her giggle and am amazed at the confident, autonomous young woman she has become.

 After lunch she takes a nap on the couch with our dog, who hasn't been feeling well and takes great comfort in her presence.  Their deep breathing seems to be in sync as they dream their separate (but equal) dreams.  The two of them look so content.   Correction.  The three of us are so content.  Then, without warning, my daughter pops up and realizes that she has to be somewhere.  Right now.  And she is suddenly gone leaving nothing but a warm dent on the couch.  The dog and I look at each other wondering what just happened and where she went and then he moves himself to the warmth of where she used to be and goes back to sleep, seemingly content.    And me, I'm still kind of confused.   We were so cozy and content.   Why did she have to leave so quickly?  Why does she have to leave so quickly?

If I remember correctly, I did not go into the year of French Toast happily or willingly.   I did not want those years to end, but it was not up to me.   The year would have happened with, or without, the delicious breakfast treat, but it did make it ever so much more palatable! (Maple syrup makes anything better!)    Tomorrow my daughter will start her senior year of high school whether I like it or not.  Since the hour of departure is much too early for anyone to make, let alone eat French Toast, we will have to find something else to make the coming year easier to digest.   Whatever that may be, I am hoping it will be a year full of such sweet, syrupy goodness that it will stick with us in a way that lets us forget everything that it portends.