79% of My Life

With my two sons in class again, the McKee home is too quiet this morning!

I joke that my favorite day of the year is the one in which I first drive through the school's morning drop-off lane. In actuality, I dread it because it checks off another year on my mental "Time Together" logbook.


With his lunch box (the Mommy-I-gotta-have-this-cool-blue-camouflage one!) in his hand, my six-year-old began First Grade. Questioning my perception of time, I asked my husband, "Wasn't he born just six months ago? It hasn't been six years."

Our oldest, hair combed just so, whispered, being careful not to be overheard, "I love you, Mom!" and asked to walk alone into his Sixth-Grade homeroom.

Just six more first days of school and Marc will leave for college. Eleven more and it will be his little brother's turn. Our time together is too short for my liking.

I'm reminded of a conversation I had at a dinner that Kent, my husband, hosted for his clients. The guest speaker was a member of the World Council of 500. Chosen as one of the 500 greatest minds of our times, our guest consults kings and presidents on grand and serious issues.

Knowing I was going to be sitting next to the doctor throughout dinner, I was flustered in the days prior, trying to think of what I would say, and fearing I would bore him and embarass myself.

My fears quickly manifested! Before our first course had been served he asked, "Maralee, help me understand some of the economic and libertarian concessions you believe your guests are willing to make in light of our current financial and political surroundings."

Eek! Obviously, that topic hadn't made my short list! My mind rushed and then went blank. I had nothing to say to our esteemed guest until I was able to bring the conversation around to family.

He beamed that his wife was about to give birth to their first child. It's true what they say about children changing everything, we agreed, but "only for a little while," he added. "Why only for a while?" I asked.

"Well, if I live to be 85 and my daughter lives with my wife and me only until she leaves for college at 18, we live together for just 21% of my life. 79% of it we'll be without daily interactions with her." The pointed fact of the numbers pricked my heart; it still does.

Since then, in the times when I'm angry about finding superhero action figures and school shirts stuffed under my boys' beds, I hear the doctor's words.

When I can't bear the thought of explaining one more time why we have to do homework before watching SpongeBob, I hear the doctor's words.

When my children complain about my dinner menu and I have to remind them I'm not a short order cook, I hear the good doctor's words.

For 79% of my life I won't have the joy of waking up and going to sleep under the same roof as my sons. With my perception adjusted, I take a deep breath, smile, and say, "What do you want to do today after school? I think we should celebrate you coming home!"