You have known us for longer than anyone--literally our whole lives. Our first cries signaled a new chapter in your life---motherhood for the first or second or sixth time. You tell us it's different once you have a kid. It's different when you have two. We stop asking then because we cannot imagine being outnumbered by tiny humans the way you were. You woke up with us every two hours because we were hungry or tired or just a baby who cries. You watched us crawl, walk, and eventually run. You endured messy meals and even messier tantrums. You picked us up when our little legs couldn't walk any farther and then you held our hand when they could. You dropped us off at school for the first time and tried not to cry because if you cried, we would bawl. You left our little selves in the care of someone else, and you gave us the space to learn and grow. You took pictures of every play, ball game, and VBS. You watched as we excitedly asked to take the training wheels off our bikes and then worried with a smile on your face as we teetered away like “big kids.” You washed Little League jerseys and tutus and blankies. You let us eat PB&J for the third day in a row because it was our favorite, and it wasn't worth the fight. You were there for the first recitals, home runs, broken bones, and sleep away camps. Then, you sent us to middle school, confident in us but still sad to see us walk through another door. Here, you calmed our anxieties about multiple teachers and lots of people. You were on our side through every friendship fight. You showed up for the games and concerts, even if they were exactly the same as the last one. You shuttled us to school early and picked us up much later than 3. We started to find our group of friends, and you welcomed them with open arms. You watched and cheered us on through the good and the bad. Then, we were freshmen: scared, little, and still your babies. That first day came too quickly. You continued to watch our every activity, snap too many pictures, and do our laundry. You listened when the day hadn't gone our way. You taught us to drive. You took us to get our licenses. You watched us drive away on our own for the first time. You gave us more space to run and grow and learn. Then, you watched our senior year fly by us all. Last games, last dances, last concerts, last everythings seemed to get harder, not easier. You paid for caps and gowns and pictures even when you had paid for so much to get us to that point. You tried not to cry, because even though you thought you'd embarrass us, we would still cry, too. You watched us cross a stage, move our tassels, and celebrate. You spent your summer helping us figure out tuition payments, dorm colors, meal plans, and a few more lasts. And every second of the past eighteen years, you loved us fiercely.

Now, the thing you have dreaded is here: move-in day. You will take us to our campus, help us organize our dorm, say silent prayers for our roommates’ sanity, and then say goodbye. You are giving us more room than we've ever had; you're taking off our training wheels again. As you pull away, you'll see us teeter back to be like the big kids. And if you cry, know that we will, too.

We are so grateful for everything you have done for us. We are proud to have made you proud. We want you to remember that you gave us the best roots we could ask for, that without you we never would have even started on our training wheels.

We know you're our biggest fans.

And we know that you love us more than we can imagine. We love you, too.