Graduating into the Arctic.

I know it isn't Arctic Exploration. People have gone here before. They have walked these steps on the very same path, and kept on walking. But, although that knowledge is a comfort, it still feels pretty unfamiliar. Eldest is graduating from high school. Not to be too presumptive, but it seems likely.
The last post was about Senior Prom, with HH popping in for the weekend to escort her- such fun, and on the list is to get the pictures printed out (I almost said "developed") so I can send copies to the family HH. But, the list is long. Pages. And, each night, as I try to wind down and go to sleep, the list grows.
Now, why is my list long? I'm not the one graduating! I think she has a long list too, just different things. This week she is doing AP testing, and hopefully returning the long overdue library book, over whose absence I have started a telephone friendship with the librarian. (See, graduating seems likely, but it's the little things that can snafu you now.) It's the Senior Top 10 Dinner, and the Awards Ceremony. Her list is "I need a dress for graduation, and something to wear for the dinner and awards.....oh, and for my party. When are we going shopping?"
Sigh. We are going shopping when you are not at one of those things, or Junior Fair Board work day. We are free to shop once I unload the mulch out of the truck so I can go get a load of hay, because we are down to three bales. When your siblings aren't having riding lessons, music lessons, or Girl Scouts. When the entries are in for the Dressage and Show Jumping rally that are due this Saturday. When the horse's teeth are floated and the Coggins tests have been taken to Reynoldsburg- because the results are supposed to be with the entry. When the squash that are outgrowing their little pots have been planted and the fence around the garden finished so the chickens won't dig up the poor squashes again (like they have the marigolds, zucchini and peppers). We can go shopping when I have at least sent a card with a few words to my Mother that reminds her that I think about her everyday. Not just on the one Sunday a year when the lilacs and lilies of the valley are blooming, and I thank her for my love of these things.
Shopping is on the list when I'm not working, and I've figured out what is wrong with Blaze, and Marco, and that sweet Marley, who is still not quite right. I can shop even as I mourn for George, the best yellow lab ever who I didn't fix, and it makes me cry every time I remember I'll never see him in my exam room again, wagging his whole elderly, tumor-laden, adored body. Although, crying while shopping is alarming to fellow shoppers.
I can't wait to shop. The laundry needs to be done, and the bathrooms cleaned, and a guest room crafted for Nana and Opa, who arrive in a few days for the graduation festivities. The ones which require all these new dresses.
And when we shop, remind me to find a pair of "khakis", because I am required to wear them while I serve fried foods and beer to tipsy gamblers at the local racetrack on the 75 nights the band parents will be working our second (third? seventh?) jobs to pay for the band fees. Hey, it might be fun. I don't usually have time to spend at "the track".
And, while we're at it, figure out what I can wear to watch you receive accolades and beam with pride- something that looks dandy with an ankle brace and lace-ups as I think I'll be sporting those a while.
As long as I can keep adding to the list, looking ahead, and not breathing, I don't have to think too much about where I have actually marched to- the place where my first baby is ready for expeditions of her own.
Exploring The Artic. Going forward into the wind and the blinding whiteness where I can't see very far in front of me, but it's irrelevant. Our mission is forward- whatever lies ahead. And, yes, I will squeeze in time to drive to town and go shopping. Just because I feel like a pioneer, and we live in a little house on a prarie....