We're Not in Kansas Anymore, Todo.

The other night I had a dream. I was sitting in my living room when I heard someone screaming outside. I ran to my front window and, looking east could see an enormous tornado headed directly towards my house. I grabbed for my children and dove to the ground just as the glass shattered. The house around us disintegrated in slow motion and the world was nothing more than yellow dust. I woke up and forgot entirely about the nightmare until later that morning, while we were sitting in the doctor's office preparing for Cambria's four-month shots. Brooklyn had been playing with one of those infant ring-stackers. She showed me how she had stacked them upside down, from smallest to largest. "Like a tornado", she said.

Brooklyn started Kindergarten today and I feel (and probably look) like I've been the victim of some kind of natural disaster. Because the facts is, few disasters terrify me more than the inescapable doom of my babies growing up.

For a year I've been preparing her. Worrying about the anxiety I was sure she would feel. Hoping she would feel confident and that she would want to go. Preparing myself for a possible melt-down...

One guess who had the melt-down?

I was doing OK until she brought me a book to read with her about a mother tree and her daughter tree and how the daughter tree grows up. I sobbed through the entire story. I didn't expect to be so emotional today, but the storm hit me all at once. Have I been a good mother? Have I enjoyed her enough? Suddenly crumbs on the carpet and fingerprints over every surface of my house don't matter much. It really is happening. There is no getting out of this tornado's path. She really is growing up.