Dear Mother of a High School Senior,
If you find yourself wanting to pamper your child a little extra this year—perhaps by making more of an effort to support, spend time with, and treat them to special things—consider this your permission slip to go for it. This year will pass in the blink of an eye, and you certainly won’t regret focusing much of it on your child’s needs.
When my eldest, Ethan, was a senior, his younger siblings dubbed it “The Year of Ethan.” I embraced that title without hesitation, as it was a time to celebrate him.
Sure, they might have been a bit dramatic. The other kids still received plenty of love, attention, and essentials. However, that year was undeniably centered around Ethan. I baked his favorite cookies, prepared meals he enjoyed, and stocked up on his preferred snacks. I showered him with affection—not significantly more than the others, but certainly more than he had allowed in recent years. Both of us were aware that changes were coming, and we wanted to cherish that final year together.
Throughout high school, Ethan took advanced classes but rarely sought my help with his assignments, even though I am a teacher. Our discussions about his readings and papers were minimal. Yet, during “The Year of Ethan,” he suddenly sought my assistance with scholarship essays and applications. I relished every moment of it. I took on tasks like doing his laundry, running errands, and finding ways to make him feel cherished. More than that, I think I was also searching for ways to feel relevant in his life.
That year, I felt a strong urge to mother Ethan in a way I hadn’t in a long time, thanks to his independence and the busyness of our household. Our college visits became treasured moments—just the two of us in the car, talking for hours.
I was also anxious to impart any last-minute wisdom, tips, and guidance—anything I feared we might have overlooked over the years. Did he know how to use an ATM? Was he aware of the importance of eye contact? Did he understand the value of attending church, even on days he felt tired? From significant life lessons to simple household tasks, I was determined to prepare him for the future. Resisting the urge to overwhelm him was a challenge, but I wanted him to be equipped for independence while still feeling connected to home.
I cooked and baked more that year, imagining him in the dorm chatting with friends about my homemade potato soup or my famous pecan pie. I hoped he’d reminisce about my cooking fondly.
During “The Year of Ethan,” I hugged him more frequently and tightly, and he welcomed it. I lingered at the dinner table, savoring even the most casual conversations. I tried to grant him space, but I soaked in every moment with him.
Despite my efforts to nurture and support him, time did not slow down. The year sped by, but it was a wonderful experience! Now, we occasionally enjoy “The Weekend of Ethan,” and the other kids don’t mind too much—they miss him as well.
Next year will be “The Year of Sarah,” followed by “The Year of Lily,” and eventually, “The Year of Ben.” Perhaps my other children’s final years will be a bit easier. I’ve learned that graduation, while it brings change, is not the end. They remain my children, they still need me, and they do come back home. After all, I make an exceptional pecan pie.
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In summary, cherishing the final year of high school with your senior is a unique opportunity to indulge them a bit more. It’s a time to create lasting memories and prepare for the transitions ahead.
Keyphrase: pampering high school senior
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