Soon There Will Be No More Breakfasts To Make

T-minus 44 days until a new beginning-

Math has never been my strong suit or my favorite subject, but it will be about 19 years spent rising and trying to shine in our house.

Nineteen years of prepping one, two, or all three of our sons to get up and ready for school.

Nineteen years of making breakfast.

Nineteen years of making lunches.

For those of you in the thick of it right now, you know exactly what I mean.

I think my husband Steve and I have it down to a science now. If we had to do it with our eyes closed, muscle memory would support us 100 percent.

I used to set up the kitchen table the night before: three cups, three plates, napkins, and silverware. Sometimes themed breakfast for holidays, sometimes love notes in the lunch boxes. Sometimes pranks on April Fools’ Day.

There have been moments when I thought I couldn’t do it one more day. Not one more lunch to be made. Only to find the resolve to get up and to do it all the very next day.

I remember the monotony of it all. Sometimes I felt like a robot could get this done the same way. Then I remember the personalization. Who likes what: salt, no pepper; tea or chocolate milk; bread toasted just enough to absorb the delicious butter.

But then, after 19 years of making lunches and breakfasts, I woke up out of a wonderful slumber this morning.

You know the kind where the air is crisp and cool, where the blankets are just the perfect weight, providing the perfect temperature to my now-aged body, with arthritis aching in my hands and muscles too sore from yesterday’s workout.

I looked at the clock: 4:04 a.m.

But the alarm clock didn’t wake me; it was the ticking clock of 19 years winding down. Tears streamed down my face.

Forty-four days until a new beginning.

Forty-four days left of a 19-year clock I wasn’t keeping track of until 4:04 this morning.

I felt it sneaking up on me. But this morning, my body had had enough of holding it and decided to let it go, tears streaming down my face.

Tears from all the memories of those early mornings, rarely done right, rarely done on time, never done perfectly, but always done with hugs and kisses, lots of grunts, chaos, tired faces, sometimes barely talking, and yes, sometimes yelling.

But it was done with consistency and intention.

Steve and I have been running a slow jog in this marathon for almost 19 years, and now we can see the finish line.

In parenting, there is so much of the doing, the hustle, the planning, the organizing.

Rarely do we consider the end.

Forty-four days will be the end of us rising and trying to shine to help someone’s day start a little brighter.

No lunches left to be made.

No breakfast to be had.

No table to be set.

The lunches will be found at the dining hall at college in between classes. Or in the dorm provided by a tiny microwave or ill-equipped kitchenette.

The snacks will be bought at the campus store, or in bulk-size packages we will send with them to school.

Sure, we will make breakfast and lunch when everyone’s home or visiting, but this era of our parenting is ending. It is like a beloved diner where the faces are familiar, and they know your usual.

For our boys, it was Trader Joe’s chocolate milk or hot tea. Egg sandwiches or French Toast. Always a side of protein. Lunch was a delicious sandwich made by Dad with the finest from Livoti’s, or a world-famous PB&J on potato bread from Mom, or Dad’s delicious lasagna leftovers from the night before.

Each tear I shed this morning held a memory. Some funny, some hard, some with regret for snapping or not showing up the way I had intended, some with exhaustion, most with a smile for surviving another day of parenthood.

Most of all, what remains is gratitude.

Gratitude for the years raising our children and what they gifted us.

This clock will keep on ticking, reminding me that it’s there, and I’ll try my best to embrace this new beginning.

This clock will keep on ticking, reminding us that the foundation we made has been set.

There is no turning back time.

There is no reset button.

Mornings will feel different around here. No lunches to be made, no breakfast plates to fill, the chaos has come to an end.

As we finish the final lap, all we can think is, “Oh, how we will miss these mornings.”

Originally published on the author’s Facebook page