November 4, 2011

Last Pick Up

Today you go to get your permanent license. On Monday you will drive yourself to school.

I picked you up for the last time yesterday. This morning I am remembering the day Dad and I picked you up from kindergarten and brought a puppy—our Maggie.

It was a surprise for you and your brother and sister but mostly for you because we didn’t want you to grow up without a dog.

Dad and I had driven out in the country and turned on the road where jugs hung in the cedar trees. That was our instruction and we went in and picked out your dog. She was happy, wagging her tail but not begging to be chosen. I wanted a girl. The lady said by looking at her, she was pretty sure that one would be a male. She picked Maggie and she was wrong.

I took her immediately and she shivered and shook all the way to the school. I had her hidden in my sweatshirt when you climbed in the car. I told you I was having a baby----and then came the big reveal.

You were so surprised you had tears in your eyes.

I won’t pick you up from school anymore. I am going to remember those afternoons when we unwound the day on our way home. Then you jumped out to get the mail on our way in.

Being your mom is and has been one of my greatest joys. Thanks for the memories.




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