She's out there on her own...9 hours a week.

It's officially begun. She's started school. Somehow, from this point of view, it doesn't seem to matter that it's only three hours a day and three times a week. It might as well be college.

On the one hand, I'm so excited. It'll be wonderful for her. At the very least, she needs more social time. Daily she asks if all her friends (who she lists one at a time)can come to McDonald's, come to Daddy's school, come to our house, come to Chuck E. Cheese's, come to our driveway to play with her. Not such a subtle hint.

I'm also very eager to have some good one-on-one time with Addie. Zoe had us to herself for 22 months before Addie came along. Addie's never known our home without another kiddo, and once junior comes, she never will. He'll likely have a couple of years when he's toddling around the house while his sisters are away at school. So I'm glad she and I will have a few hours a few times a week for a few months.

And, honestly, I'm pretty thrilled to have a bit of a lighter load during the week. I am always behind on housework and never have time to start the projects that seem stuck like glue in my head. I know other moms feel just like me, but I also know other moms make it work. They get the laundry done before the pile is taller than their preschooler, get the dishes done before the old yogurt becomes a gel-like substance, sort through the mail before the pile finally falls over when the breeze of my walking by is finally too much for it to take. I want to be one of those moms.

So that's what's exciting about preschool. But then, there's that other hand. The downside. She's my first! And I know school is good and it's not like it's full-time boarding school, but it's somehow a little heart-breaking no less. I spent a good bit of time trying to figure out why I found myself crying as Addie and I drove home Wednesday. And I think I've got it.

She's starting her own life. Melodromatic? Yes. Overstated? Yes. But it made just enough sense to get the tears starting all day Wednesday. In her first 3.5 years of life, we've shared all her experiences. She's been with other people sometimes, but this is school. Think of how much of your life happened in school. How many memories you have. Your friends, your successes and failures, your mentors, your big "aha!" moments. They're at school. And although she was likely waiting with a listening ear somewhere nearby, your mom wasn't there in the hallways with you.

I can hardly wait to know the woman she is to become, and I'm eager to watch and encourage as she's molded by wise hands into that person. But it's just a little hard to let her go.

Psalm 103:17 "But from everlasting to everlasting the LORD's love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children's children...."

You know what's hard? Football. And I don't mean playing it. I'm sure carefully slamming into others so as to knock them down without permanent injury, throwing an oddly shaped object with just the right amount of torque and velocity, and coordinating movements of visually impaired giants with extra weights strapped on are all difficult. But that's not what's hard for me. It's what it takes from a person.

And again, I don't mean the energy and sweat it sucks out of the players and coaches. This is my blog, after all. And I don't play football. But my husband is a coach, so we're a football family. I'm very proud to say that J's so well equipped for that job that there's no doubt in my mind that it's his calling. He's a natural encourager, believes hard work produces results, esteems the role of positive relationships in the lives of those crazy, testosterone driven teenage boys. And of course he's good at football.

He's good at being Dad and my husband, too. We have such a unique family situation. With a teacher and a mom (who's always been a teacher before), we don't even know what it's like to not have June and July together, full time. And since our family has become more than just we two, J and I enjoy sharing household responsibilities and taking turns relaxing. Summers are somehow happily busy, and always together. And that's how we like it.

Which leads me back to why football is hard. We cruise merrily through the summer. Then mid-August hits us, and SMACK! He's gone 6:30am to 8:30pm. If we work hard, we can catch a 25 minute lunch with him, and if naptime goes well, he can join us for bedtime prayers and kisses at night. I know that's much more than wives whose husbands have highly demanding, high-powered jobs, or who work out of town for weeks or months at a time, and infinitely more than single moms. But it's not us, which is why it's hard.

This year, week one was (to be melodromatic) miserable. I mostly felt tired and sorry for myself. The upside for the girls was lots of TV time, lots of pizza, and lots of toys in lots of places. The downside (other than no Daddy silliness or bed jumping) was a strictly enforced naptime, some unique bottom-of-the-drawer, back-of-the-closet outfits, and boredom on a silver platter.

But then Pastor Bill talked a lot about joy in a sermon and it hit me pretty hard that I was being very backwards expecting my joy to come somehow from J or our marriage or family when really I was to grab the joy only Christ offers and then help infuse the family (and others) with a taste. So week two was better. For starters, we boosted our chocolate intake with a batch of chocolate chunk brownies. Then we got out of the house for some field trips, and we even cleaned and did some laundry (though it's still sitting unfolded in the big chair).

And now we'll get it together. We each have a calling. And none of us are called to a life of ease. So while J and the others sweat and shout and slam and stink, I'll remember the joy always at the ready and wash another load. Okay, and look forward to December.