Bitter. Sweet.

Lili started school today, at the ripe old age of three years and four months. For the first time in her short life with us, I opened a door, nudged her in to the arms of a virtual stranger, and walked away. Granted, it was only for two hours on this, our first day, but it was the walking away. With our children, it almost always lies with the walking away.

Hop, skip, and a jump.

Mama and I have been prepping Lili about school culture for a number of months now, but I've remained palpably nervous about how she might take to such a drastically different mode of daily operation. Lili has always straddled the line between painfully independent and fiercely attached, and it was impossible to predict what response would be elicited as we gave our final pre-school hugs. With a camera click (Mommy) and an awkward hand wave (Lili), she slipped off. No tears. No fear. Only straightforward, pure toddler confidence.

Heart in hand.

Early motherhood is rife with cliches. "Sleep when the baby sleeps"..."Ask for help from your family and friends"..."Trust your motherly instinct!". Two cliches I heard early on, though, have defied the odds and remain particularly relevant.

"The days are long, but the years are short."

"Motherhood is comprised of a long series of goodbyes."

Today, on one of those "milestone" days that parents celebrate and dread in equal measure, I feel the ache of both sentiments in a deep-seated, maternal core, an instinctual part of myself that I wasn't aware existed until after the arrival of this sweet child. I feel the breathtaking shortness of our days, and the temporality of the deliberate, familial cocoon we created for her after her birth. And, of course, I feel the goodbye. From the snapshot image of her tow head sliding through front doors, to the lingering smell of her parting hug on my sweater. I feel it in the split second of almost unbearable, crushing loneliness on the steps of her school, and in the acknowledgment that, in so many ways, she is now beyond my purview, outside my emotional grasp. All of this, despite the fact that I know she is ready, and has already begun to outgrow us in small, fleeting ways. All of this, despite my own knowledge that she deserves more. Everything, really, in exchange for the light and joy she emanates daily.

Ice cream most of all.

The sweet taste of success.

Happy first day, baby girl. Mommy loves.

P.S. On the homemaking front, I'm taking one final, autumnally inspired stab at our window boxes. Now I can most definitely blame a Minnesota cold front when the kale and miniature peppers meet their untimely demise.

Window boxes, Take 45.