My baby (all five foot of her) is leaving home this week. Alright, I am being dramatic. She is going away for two nights on a year 5 school trip. Still, how are we going to cope without her? Our household will seem off-kilter without her serene little presence, her piles of paperback novels and her flute-practise. Not least, who is going to feed the dog in the morning?
![Learning to let go of our children Beach at East Wittering](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTR0Ol3zzg1-AruvTenhx9QC9g3TS_8bi0KOStkldikE5__72EYXLaAbcD9Q8Fp1U2BiO10997jhJT2YjQsBoaNHCztxWL7tyL2mMFFPuXqIxVxuu1-3jB7mywW4toHuxjxIXsazUxVPo/s1600/IMG_2178.JPG) |
Learning to let go... |
Last night I was packing up her bag for the BIG trip, conscientiously working my way down the list provided by school: fleece, outdoor shoes, shower cap, medium-sized towel etc. Check! Somehow my scrupulous folding of her clothes and the orderly placement of each item into the holdall became an expression of love.
I remember my own mother doing the same when I went off to boarding school. No nine-year old could have been better equipped for institutional life. My tuckbox even boasted a sewing kit, complete with a tub of dressmaker pins, a sheaf of press studs and a thimble. Never mind that I had barely threaded a needle in my life. The women in my family send their children out into the world prepared, provisioned and nametaped.