Last week I went to my niece’s art fair at her school. It is for the students in grades K thru 8, and it encompasses all pieces from their year in art class. I went to this show for nine years when my son was at the same school, and it is my favorite event. Children pull their parents – tugging really – to their artwork. God help the parent that has more than one child, because they risk bone dislocation.
This year, this piece was my favorite in the entire show:
The colors weren’t captured well in the softly lit gymnasium. It was captivating and is the work of a 4th grader. I don’t know what the process was, but it struck a chord. And what’s not to love when mounted to colored construction paper?
This was my niece’s favorite in the entire show. Clarification: her favorite that wasn’t of her own hand.
Her favorite of her pieces is here:
She called me out on the fact that my favorite wasn’t one that she had labored over. I talked myself deftly out of that by letting her know I had to take her pieces out of the running in able to even be able to vote at all. I didn’t go into the ethical practices of jurying an art show – something I use in my work on occasion.
Not my first rodeo.
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I did not sit with my son at the BBQ before the game or at the game. He was off with his friends – new and old – and that made me infinitely happy. He’s building his life and his memories, and I’m merely the taxi driver. Fine by me. Truly.
The light came on again tonight that my son has done nothing but grow away from me since he was born. I should be sadder, or so I’m told. I’ve spent time and energy visiting this issue, and you can see one of those musings 
And I’m the one that can’t stop crying. Every day this week has had at least one event in it that is a “last” for either my son, me or our family. He’s not just leaving his friends, I’m leaving my friends. These are men and women – all parents! – that were standing there with me 11 years ago when we sent our 3-year-olds into what seemed like a huge adventure.
The school my son attends had a policy, when he was starting out there, that no seats could be held at musical programs. “Come and claim a seat for yourself early, but don’t save any for others” was the open invitation. At the time, the school was still sharing a stage in the building of its neighbor church, and these rules served a purpose. I guess. I really wouldn’t know, because 
for years I surreptitiously laid my scarf / jacket / briefcase across six or seven chairs to attempt to hold seats for our son’s supportive and extended family. Divorce may divide families, but it acts as a multiplication factor when it’s time to sit and listen. Yet, six or seven was never enough; some of us still stood. I took major ribbing from many factions, 
but I never received a citation, and the school never threw my kid out of school. (Questioning authority runs deep in me. I push most boundaries gently.)
his performances, games and recitals.
they show up at all their grandkids’ events when possible, sit next to each other, and speak rather easily between themselves. I know this behavior is exceptional when I mention it to friends whose parents are divorced and I learn how they have to “divvy up” the school event calendar as to which parents will attend which event. That way, the grandchildren can’t see or feel the simmering emotions. 
I can’t imagine what that’s like, and I’m reminded that I live in grace in this category of my family life.
the rules for saving seats seems to have weakened and isn’t spoken as vociferously. I did notice that my sister was ultimately unable to “save a seat” for my husband’s and my late arrivals that day. And I can guess why: the ribbing got too intense, and she gave up what she’d laid claim to. I’ve been there. I know all about it.
