I’m someone who loves to celebrate everything. I’ve always been the girl who looked for any excuse to commemorate an occasion; a beginning or an ending, a milestone, or even an ordinary weekday.
One of my favorite parts of being a mom is having three more humans to celebrate. I’ve always wanted my kids to know they are treasured, valuable, and deeply loved, not just on their birthdays, but throughout the ordinary moments that make up a life.
When my husband and I were dating, we spent weekends with his young son and daughter. Every Sunday we made homemade waffles and covered the table with sprinkles, fresh fruit, whipped cream, chocolate chips, and fancy glassware. Every Sunday felt like a celebration (until we all got tired of waffles).
Those Sundays weren’t special because of the menu. They were special because we decided they would be. Intentionality leaves an impression, and I think there’s something sacred about acknowledging life as it unfolds. To notice it instead of rushing through it. To let time move through you instead of simply moving through time.
I’ve always wanted to be the kind of mom who celebrates the highs, the lows, and the mundane. I’m grateful that I get to live that out. But over the last few weeks, I’ve also realized there are some milestones no one tells you to celebrate. Hidden goodbyes. The endings you don’t recognize until they’ve already happened. The invisible graduations.
Last week, our oldest turned sixteen. Along with that birthday came the freedom and responsibility of driving himself. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I have just realized that last week was the last time we will have dropped him off at soccer practice. There was no countdown to the day, no ceremony, no photo to mark the occasion. Just an ordinary afternoon that became the end of an era, and I didn’t even realize it until now.
Our youngest no longer falls asleep on my chest. I don’t know when it happened. I only know that one night was the last, and I didn’t realize it until much later.
Another invisible graduation.
Life has a way of doing that. Everything is unfolding exactly as we hoped it would. Our children are growing into capable, independent people, the very thing we’ve prayed for from the beginning. But every new freedom quietly closes the door to something we once held every day.
As parents, we spend so much energy celebrating the milestones we can see: first steps, first days of school, birthdays, graduations. But there are so many others that pass unnoticed until they’re behind us.
The last time they call for you to come get them out of bed.
The last time you buckle them into a car seat.
The last sports practice you drive them to.
I still want to be the mom who notices, who celebrates, who makes ordinary moments feel meaningful. But this week, I’ve been reflecting on (and honoring) the milestones I missed. The ones I’m just now recognizing in the rearview mirror.
Am I grateful I don’t have to spend evenings driving to soccer practice anymore? Absolutely.
Am I a little sad that we’ll never do it again? Absolutely.
Both things are true.
Eventually, ordinary things get old, just like Waffle Sundays did for us. But I think one of the sweetest parts of being a parent is getting to sprinkle delight over whatever you want to: the big and the small. The next things and the last things.
-by Destini McPherson
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