Every Second

In lieu of a standard morning greeting, I overheard this exchange between the Captain and our daughter who was studiously working through the college application process:

"Alison, did you really eat an entire package of pita bread?"


"In my defense, there were only four of them, and they were small."

"Did you have any fruit or anything healthy with it?"

She mumbled something about orange peppers but happily accepted a package of raspberries.

"Cool!"

Jeff harrumphed his way to the porch where we had settled to read the paper. I kept my eyes glued to the magazine insert. The Captain is having a hard time realizing this is really the beginning of the end of us being routinely included in the majority of the formerly little redhead's waking hours.

"Our daughter is applying to colleges," he informed me on a walk the other day.

"She's going to be leaving soon," he'd said earlier in the week.

"This is really happening," he'd intoned after she'd asked each of us to give her comments on her common essay.

I've refrained from talking much about "this" because:

A: I've been freaked out about her being a grown up at every developmental stage;
B: I'm starting to freak out about the idea of having just Jeff and me rattling around in the Broad Ripple starter home I've never felt compelled to leave; and
C: I'm planning on making the most of every second still available to me.

Plus, she's asking us -- sincerely -- to be a part of this process. She hasn't completely shut us out of her life. We spent a lot of time this weekend discussing her essay, her use of the semi-colon and particular word choices. She asks us separately because our approaches are so different and she wants to have as much information to consider as possible.

Jeff likes to dive deep in his editing. I've learned to ask before I apply the red pen because sometimes she's just looking for content help and will address grammar last. Also: "I know how to properly use a semi-colon, Mom."

The required essays are short, and anyone who's ever tried to "write short" knows it's a harder process than having the luxury of waxing poetic for pages upon pages.

I forget the exact prompt for the essay. It was something about naming a time you questioned a belief. She used her frustration with her K-8 catholic education when she routinely would hear "It's God's plan" in answer to questions. She discovered and dove deeply into chemistry and the scientific process at Herron High School. She's hoping to continue that in her college career.

It's a good essay that I hope gets her where she needs to be next, even though it's going to be hard to have her gone. I'm by turns incredibly proud of her and eager to see what transformations she has left to make and weepy over the thought of her having a life that doesn't include waking up at home and getting in trouble with her father for powering through a bag of dried mango strips or hiding sea salt caramels under her bed.

She's still not gotten her driver's license. The other day we were coming home from school and I was driving as we're putting off teaching her the magic of the stick-shift until she's gotten authorization for solo passage in the Subaru.

"I pray a little every time you pass another car," she volunteered from the passenger seat.

I laughed because she works really hard to convince people she doesn't subscribe to a faith. She's been all in to the idea that I'm a bad driver for a long time. It's been a while since she blared "Highway to Hell" when we've been in my car together, though. I was kind of hoping she'd decided I've improved on the roadway. I do use my turn signals more often than I have in the past, but her routine scan of the speedometer hasn't slowed me down much.

She's been battling a cold for the last few weeks and it wasn't until 4 p.m. on the Friday of Labor Day Weekend that she confessed that rather than getting better -- which allowed her to go to a sleepover with friends -- she was worse and needed medication. Not able to get into the doctor, we ended up at Urgent Care Saturday morning.

Unusually, Jeff joined us. I think he was expecting she'd go with us to shop for a new bike for me. Ali, who's taller than me now, has been using my bike rather than her own, and we plan to let her take it to college.

I handed her the patient paperwork. Jeff gave me a look. Usually it's him who's pushing the teachable moments.

"If she gets sick in college, she'll have to do all of this by herself," I said.

She filled out the form and said she was fine going back to the doctor alone.

"I can do this," she said, unintentionally conjuring up all the times she's used that phrase in the past: tying her own shoes, filling her own glass, riding her bike.

The Captain shook his head but didn't protest. I swallowed hard. We let her go home while we bike shopped and waited for her prescription to be ready. We came home with meds and a new bike that Jeff was itching for me to try out.

But Ali put her sick little head on my lap and I suddenly had zero interest in going for a spin.

Every second, man. Every. Single. One.

Her love of junk food started early. That's a Hostess donut she's focused on. I LOVE this photo. Alex is over six feet now, I think. Hannah is in college. Gulp.