Cool Pride, Warm Memories

We walk into the school, hand in hand, I to the office to do some volunteer work, Dee to his classroom to begin his day.

We pass a scrum of little boys and girls in Grade One, all sitting against the wall, their colourful lunchboxes clanging against the floor as they wait to be told what to do next.

Suddenly, one, two, then all of them, begin saying, "Hi Dee! Hi Dee!" in adorable, lilting, happy voices.

And then, one little voice says, "Dee, you're so cool."

I look over at Dee, who is grinning from ear to ear. I smile, proud of my little boy. And I think, cool? My son? When did this happen? Just yesterday, he was one of these little ones. And now, he is the one they look up to.

"Yeah, I watch them at lunchtime. They really like me," he explains.

They sure do, I think to myself, so proud of him, and yet so sad that he's growing up, becoming himself, and needing me less and less. But his hand still fits perfectly in mine. And always will.

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Em is spending this entire week at a mini-enrichment course at Carleton University. She was chosen, along with a few other students at her school, to participate, which makes her parents kind of proud. She's worked hard this year, tries her best to get good marks, and deserves this.

She and I went to the campus Sunday for orientation, and as we tried to find parking in the throngs of traffic, Em seemed anxious.

"But, do you know where you're going? Will we make it in time? Are we lost? Do you know where we go? We're late, Mommy."

The unknown affects Em deeply. She needs to know. Everything. Schedules and routines are very important to this child-cum-young woman. And when she is thrown into the unknown, her insecurities come out full force, and she is unable to keep it under control.

She becomes a child again. She takes my hand in hers because it helps ground her.

Once we were safely ensconced in the classroom, Em relaxed a bit, and I saw the tiny, frightened child in her get buried once again behind the feeble cover of security and maturity. Whereas a few moments earlier, I was her rock, her security, I was again just her mom, the person who embarrasses her an awful lot and gets on her nerves these days.

Later that night, she seemed anxious again, trying to remember her way around the maze of the campus, and not being able to, she came to me for support and confirmation that all would be fine.

My little girl, trying so hard to be grown up, and finding out it's not really all that simple and easy. No matter how much I bother her, and how often she rolls her eyes at me, she'll always be my little girl, my first child, and I will always be her rock. And that, to me, means the world.