"Last" isn't always a bad thing.
I wouldn't mind the last load of laundry, for example (providing that actually existed).
And you see no tears from me when I put away the last dish after dinner.
I definitely like getting the last laugh.
But today -- exactly 11 years after the first time I held him -- I did something for my son for the last time. And I didn't like it. Not one bit.
Micah turned 11 today. Next year he'll be in middle school. So it's a safe bet that this is the last year it'll be "cool" for mom to bring in cupcakes.
It's the last time, 20 plus adorable children will cheer, "Yea! Mrs. Means is here!" when I walk through the door with birthday treats.
And I almost missed this "last."
I had tons to do today and I simply dropped off the cupcakes with the lunch lady this morning.
I was halfway home when I realized this would be the last time I would do this.
So I turned the car around and spent the afternoon eating lunch with a table of mischevious, rowdy fifth grade boys and watched with a smile as they quickly devoured a couple dozen red velvet cupcakes.
I even got a huge hug from my son without a hint of embarrassment.
And I savored every last moment.