This is the beginning of the end of the beginning

This is the end of the beginning. Sixth grade graduation. Half way through public school. Two thirds of the way to 18. Two hours from the first day of the last summer of his childhood.
This morning I listened to Moses tell Daniel what they were going to pretend play this morning, and I realize, just as I suspect Moses does, that those mornings are drawing to a close.
This morning I paused our audio book to say a prayer with him in the car one last time as we rounded the corner to the drop off line at the boys' elementary school. I impulsively reached back to squeeze his hand but he misunderstood and just handed me my phone, which he'd been holding. I pretended that's all I wanted because how do you explain, "I just wanted to hold your hand?!" and I watched him get out of the car in that spot for the last time.
He's already too old to take to the splash pad or the play area at McDonald's or the mall. All those things that I forget for a second because sometimes I'm still picturing that tiny boy with the straight blond hair and big blue eyes in his pirate onesie, who I could pick up and carry until he was way too old for that.
Soon he'll be too old for Pokemon cards, and Legos, and babysitters. He'll be too old to order off the 12 and under menus (although who am I kidding...he rarely does already).
This summer I want to savor. I want to savor the last time he'll be up at kids' camp with me as a student. What may be his last trips to the children's museum, the indoor trampoline park or the kids' programs at the library. We'll trade the trumpet for a guitar and we'll buy from a school supply list that won't include crayons. And, despite what I might say some days, or how he'll undoubtedly make me want to pull my hair out when summer boredom makes our house feel too small some days, I want to soak in as much of it as I can.
I've heard it said that moms, from day one, are constantly mourning the loss of someone who will no longer exist. The three month old, the four year old, the sixth grader that has been replaced by someone so very different. But, I also welcome this newness. This half grown man I saw standing in my doorway in dress slacks and shiny black shoes yesterday, saying "Mom, where is my dress shirt?"
That same half grown-man who knew what to do when I opened my sleepy eyes, gasped and said, "It's wet, in the washer! Can you go dry it for me?"
I welcome the Daniel I played on an ultimate Frisbee team with last night, who was way better than me and yet took such gentle care in teaching me how to play. Who didn't cry hot angry tears this time when I caused us to lose. I cherish this kid who can make his own breakfast and sit across the table from me having those grown-up conversations I craved for all those years surrounded by toddler babble and baby food jars.
And I also realize time is running short already. We're entering into that home stretch. Does he know the things he needs to know? Have I taught him the things that are my job to teach?
This is the end. But it's also the beginning.