Against the silvery blue twilight sky, I had one of the most transformative moments in my motherhood walk. My children and I witnessed a magical rainbow over Pensacola Bay and our neighborhood, before we set out for a sunset bicycle ride. Following the rainbow, we were treated to a breathtaking orange and pink sunset, made even more brilliant against the background of purple-gray clouds and blue sky. It was perfect; what childhoods are made of. After several redirections, we were headed for our community park. I knew exactly what my Arden wanted to do. Swing. Swinging is her favorite. Followed by a close second: record-breaking feats on the monkey bars.

She is leaving for kindergarten in two days and I wanted to inhale every last moment with her. God in me said, “Stop. Look at her. Memorize her movements. Relish these days. Give thanks for her. Send her off with beautiful memories of her mother.” So, I did. In her ever-so-assertive tone, she ordered, “Come swing me!” Without hesitation, I tromped across the sand, knowing it would fill my shoes and try my patience. I began to push her and noticed that her feet were now big enough to hit me when she swung back towards me. I watched her swing forward high into the sky over and over again. “We have survived,” I thought as I remembered her daring, sudden three-year-old movements near the traffic in front of our house; and the countless messes she has made year after tiring year. (As I type, a mess stands to be corrected in her room.) She asked to turn around and swing the other way, so she could see the moon. So she faced the other direction and I sat down beside her on the adjacent swing. Rowan asked if Arden could swing with me so he could swing, too. She loves to swing with me, so she climbed into my lap, so that I faced the moon and she faced me. As I watched her face, I realized that she is no longer my baby. With a child like Arden, you have rare moments just to sit and study her. She is five. I was suddenly so grateful for the time I have had with her, at home. I was thankful for all the tiring days of her curiosity and exploration. I was instantly happy for the gift of her willful temper and unpredictable moods and our ability to transcend them together. In 48 hours, one of the most challenging and meaningful phases of my life will close. Many days, I wasn’t sure if I would make it through without an admission to the psychiatric ward (I’m not counting visits to the psychiatrist’s office; any parent of a future President/Olympian/Drama-Queen Extraordinaire is due those), but I did make it and she is wonderful and I’m a better person than when I started down this long and winding road.

As we swung, I began to cry. She buried her face into my chest and hugged me tight. Rowan asked why I was crying and I said, “Well, some mommies cry when their babies go off to kindergarten. And I’m gonna miss you two a whole bunch.” “We’ll miss you, too.” Rowan said. “And you’ll miss us when we grow up but we will come see you.” They both agreed to build houses right next door to me. (I made them sign in blood, carry on) “I want you to be good people,” I told them. “I want you to be good people at school and out in this big world. I want you to be kind and loving.”

I held on to Arden for a long time, until my legs began to ache. I wanted my legs to stop hurting, but it was almost as though putting her down meant that she’d never be this little again. “Don’t cry,” she said, “Or I’ll cry.” “Mom, I’m praying for you right now,” Rowan said. I knew right then that it was okay to let them go. When they were babies, I would hold them and pray that they would be children of God, compassionate and empathetic and that in spite of their mother’s shortcomings that they would love people like Jesus did. Rowan pointed out the first star in the sky. He didn’t know it but I had been fixated on it since we began to swing. I saw it as the second of God’s guiding promises from nature: a rainbow and a northern star. Arden hopped down and began “I wish I may, I wish I might…how does it go again?” Together we gazed at the star, just two hand-lengths to the right of the moon, and recited, “Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight,” and Arden finished with, “I want a unicorn.” Rowan said, “Well, I wished for 13 bunnies for Arden.” Under Rowan’s exhibition of love, Arden turned back to the star and wished for “1,000 squirrels for Rowan and a zebra for Mommy.” Rowan said he would rather have a falcon, so Arden clasped her hands together and squeezed her eyes tight, “and a val-con” she ended. “I love you guys so much.” I didn’t need wishing stars. I have one amazing God who’s clearly already granted my wish.