Go ahead and ask me how I’m doing.
Oh, you didn’t think I was going to hit you with the generic, “Good, busy, taking it all in!” did you?
Because I’m doing no such thing.
How am I doing?
Amazing, depressed, fabulous, and no longer wearing mascara because I cry a lot.
Well. You asked.
Today is the first day back to school for the kiddos after a spectacular 3-weeks off. Christmas was pure magic. We left after Christmas for a week of travel with our very best friends, and it was pure magic. The kids had the best time. We had the best time. We ate well, drank well, played well…it was, hands down, the single best post-Christmas mountain getaway we’ve ever taken (and we even threw in a last-minute night away in Savannah to make vacation a little longer and a little more fun).
Alas, all good things must come to an end.
Such as the kids’ time off school.
And now the real world begins. The new year begins.
2026 is the year everything changes.
(except me…I’m good)
Our first born graduates college with her AA at the beginning of May.
She then graduates high school with her diploma two weeks later.
Then she leaves for university to spend two years earning her Bachelor’s Degree.
She’s chosen her University – and she had plenty to choose from after being accepted into all 8 (maybe nine? I can’t remember) of the universities she applied to – and she’s moving away.
I’m super casual about it. Very nonchalant. Unbothered.
But if you catch me alone when no one is looking, I’m crying hysterically like a psycho.
I’m pretending to be totally fine, but I’m definitely dying on the inside. But I’m also raising a ninth grader whose obsession with golf is paramount, twins in the sixth grade who are obsessed with excelling at everything, and all three of them need me constantly.
And then there’s our oldest. She needs me (us) for nothing…other than Daddy’s wallet (car insurance for that Range Rover won’t pay itself, after all). She is independent. She is responsible. She is mature. She is lovely. She is smart. She is almost an adult. She is breaking my heart each and every day.
Our home is full, loud, alive, exciting, happy…and I am a tragic mess. Which, if you know me, you know isn’t brand-new information, but it’s more like an emotional tragic mess these days. I am emotionally unstable all the time, constantly, with like 9000 reasons to justify it.
I cry in the car.
I cry when I hear certain songs.
I cry over Instagram reels (the ones the cool kids watched weeks ago when they were new and cool on the TikToks).
Senior year is an extreme sport.
It’s like $5 million worth of college application fees and constant countdowns.
- Milestones
- Deadlines
- Forms
- Photos
- Feelings
And the constant voice inside my head reminding me, “this is the last time, this is the last time, this is the last time, this is the last time,” and I cannot shut that bitch up.
I am doing all the things.
- Keeping everyone fed (but like, really? Every single fucking night forever until I die?)
- Academically supporting all four kids (Seriously, four kids and not one mediocre kid who isn’t an overachiever? Super proud but like, really?)
- Watching all the sports (again, four kids and they ALL have to be athletes???)
- Being on time – I’m actually good at this because I respect myself and others
- Being pure magic – because I promise I’m a good time and a lot of fun under the near constant state of panic-induced sadness I’m facing with each reminder that my baby is leaving me in a few months…and I don’t like to deny the people fortunate enough to be part of my life the magic they’re all here for
So, even though I may seem calm, cool, and collected, rest assured that my left eye has been twitching for months, my teeth are constantly clenched, and my heart aches every moment of every day.
It’s a fucking bitch feeling so proud, nostalgic, grateful, and excited for my girl while also feeling my heart break into tiny pieces every day with her.
You guys, I am one sentimental commercial from losing my grip on reality entirely.
The part no one talks about.
She’s leaving, yes.
But I still have three kids who need me every day.
A ninth grader who feels the entire population of earth is one giant moron after another (she’s not wrong).
Twins who need me to carry on as snack bitch and chauffeur and to reach things taller than them (and explain things that should be common sense but apparently are not because CARTER).
This is not a clean ending. This is a layering. I’m not losing motherhood. I’m expanding it sideways.
And let me tell you about the level of exhausting it is to do this.
Let me tell you what nowhere near enough people are telling you.
You can be proud. You can be prepared. You can be absolutely wrecked.
At the same fucking time.
Trust me.
So, as I begin the final countdown to leaving my daughter in her college dorm room without me there to take care of her, I’m reminding myself to continue to live well.
Wear the Manolos.
Dress up.
Book another trip.
Order another bottle of champagne.
Toast to the good.
Toast to the new.
Live big.
Live well.
I’m a midlife mom, and I’m embracing it.
Without mascara.
Because it’s not really waterproof.
Tiffany Raiford 