She calls them 'pasta parties'. They have become a weekly ritual for the cross country team. They gather together a day or two before a meet, and they eat noodles. Apparently "carbs" are good for athletes. When I pointed out that cookies contain just as many "carbs" as pasta, she gave me an eye roll. I'm actually used to those.
Last night I knew she had plans for pasta with her friends. But, I made spaghetti anyway. I think subconsciously I hoped she'd stay. Noodles here or noodles there are just the same, right? No. I knew that. But in a weird way, I hoped I was wrong.
Because I look at her now, and realize the more she steps out the door, the sooner she is off on her own for good. That part of my brain that has always screamed, "Hurry and grow up so I can have some peace and quiet!", doesn't shout as loudly anymore. There are times where I don't even like that voice at all.
The deepest part of my heart seems to whisper, "Please don't ever go away". I can't always hear that whisper. Living with teenagers just doesn't allow for that. But it's there. And every now and then, when she rushes out the door with friends, that whisper is all I can hear.
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