Big Girl Pants

When you're about 4 years old, you get invited to your first sleepover. You pack up your pink Spotty-Dotty backpack with your scooby-doo pj's, your Barbie toothbrush, your blue blankie, and all the toys you can cram into it. You wait at the window until your friend's mom comes to pick you up in her mini-van, and when she finally gets to your house, your mom double-checks your backpack, makes you leave your Polly Pockets at home, reminds you to clear your plate, gives you one last hug, and says the magic words:

"If you change your mind, just call me and I'll come pick you up and bring you home, okay?"

And you giggle and tell mommy that she's being silly, that you won't need her to come pick you up, that you're a big girl now. But, deep down, you feel better knowing that comfort and familiarity will only be a phone call away.

And then, all of a sudden, you're nineteen years old, and about to leave for another continent. There are a lot of similarities: your suitcase is stuffed with things you probably won't need, but can't bear to leave behind. Your calendar is crossed-off, counting down the days. Your parents check and double-check your packing list.

But there's one big difference:

You are a big girl now, and this time there are no magic words this time. Sure, if there's an emergency you can come home, but it has to be more than "their couch smelled funny and I forgot my special pillow."

I know once I get there I will love it. But in these last few hours before takeoff, I could sure use some magic words.