It's just a little thing ... isn't it?

And so it begins.

The Roo-girl and I have had a morning routine for the 4 ½ years.

I get up at 6 and make sure she is functioning.

I go back to bed, check in with my Plurk buddies, play a game or two on Facebook, toddle off to the shower around 7, get ready for work, check on the Roo to make sure she actually has gotten out of bed and, ultimately, get us out the door sometime between 7:30 and 8.

(Yes, it takes her more than 90 minutes to get ready for school in the morning – in her words: “Don’t judge.”)

Our first – and most important stop – is the local grocery store, where there is a Starbucks.

There, I get my venti nonfat, no-foam chai latte, while Roo dredges up some disgustingly tempting pastry (chocolate croissants, anyone?) at the store bakery.

Then it’s back in the car and off to school.

The whole trip takes about 15 to 20 minutes, depending on how long the coffee line is, so it’s not like it’s a HUGE deal or anything.

But we sing along to the car radio (HER station, of course) and talk about stupid stuff. She critiques my driving (drat that online driver’s education course!), and I critique her choice in crushes. We discuss the latest in BFF news and confirm her afterschool plans.

All in all, it’s a little thing. A brief trip around the corner and down the street. But it’s the routine we have followed since she started middle school and continued into high school – a little mother-daughter time on the road.

Recently, however, there was a little glitch in the gears.

As we pulled into the grocery store parking lot, she recognized the car of one of her best buds – who happened to be in the Starbucks line for her own morning pick-me-up.

And as they stood together giggling at the coincidence, Roo uttered these words:

“This is stupid. Why don’t I just get my stuff and go with you to school?”

*Insert slightly sad mommy smile here*

This scene has repeated a couple of times since then.

If you know me at all, you know that I am holding on to every last vestige of the “babyhood” of my little girl. Every step toward adulthood is celebrated with her – and then a little private tear is shed as I watch the last of the Mohicans grow up.

This summer – if she ever gets her act together – she will get her driver’s license. And then the little mommy-Roo road trips will decrease.

The morning routine will change – because yes, due to her activity schedule and the realities of a SoCal lifestyle, a vehicle of some sort will be necessary for her.

And then I will stand in the doorway and wave goodbye as my baby spreads her independent wings.

Comments

[songbird]

I know just how you feel.

[nikki]

you're making me teary eyed. stop it.

[Kaytabug]

this is me bawling.

[Sha]

My daughter gets her license April 1st and will be driving herself to school. She is my baby. I am very sad.

[lceel]

Of course, this dastardly vision of the future DOES depend on her getting her act together, right?

Which normally happens after incessant prompting from "The Mom", right?

So don't prompt.

[Brianna Popsickle]

It's wonderful you recognize just how precious those twenty minute drives are. There's no doubt in my mind, your daughter recognizes it too! How quickly they grow up.

[Rachael]

Oh my gosh, how do we even stand being parents? Totally teared up, and mine's only 3!

[Krissa]

Awwww. I feel for you, sweetie! It won't be as hard as you think! Just take one day at a time and, plus, you will still have times spent together that will mean even more to you and her too!
You have a great relationship and that's not going to change!

[Suzanne]

Now where is that darn pause button?

[Daisy]

Sniff. Sniff. Lump in throat...now where's that coffee?

[Roger]

I'm thinking that Roo may have the same feelings, otherwise she might have just started getting a ride from home by now.

Love this post, by the way, even if it did make me slightly sad (I've got five more younger than Roo, after all.) :-)

[Pamela]

death by a thousand cuts. Those apron strings. Survived it three times, I did.