Remember when they were babies?

Remember when they were little, snug in our arms?  They had that baby smell that was so sweet and tugged at your heart (okay, sometimes they didn't smell very sweet, but, I'm remembering the sweet smell right now), and you felt like you could and would fight to the death to protect them.
I remember the first time my youngest told me that I didn't need to walk her to the bus stop anymore.  Her little face was earnest and confident as she explained to me that she could walk three doors down, cross one side street and wait for the bus with "the other big kids".  So, with that determination to be independent, I would usher her out the front door, wave a casual goodbye and run to the side window of the house where I could see her at the bus stop.  I tried to be discreet - no pressing of nose against the glass, although I muttered to myself as the other brats (I mean children, really I do), pushed each other to be "first" in line for the bus.  My little girl would get in line (I never saw her shove anyone out of the way).  Although, even at that point, I knew if someone was mean to her (or another child), she would plant those feet, give them her very direct, "I am totally not afraid of you" look and inform them that they needed to knock it off  "NOW".  Never mattered how much bigger they were.  It always worked, too.  Where does a child get that kind of inner strength (remember, I'm the mom huddling against the window, trying not fog the glass until she gets on the bus)? 
Today I helped her carry her clean laundry and cooler packed with chili (it was her request for this home visit), to the car.  She came back to the house to hug her dad, pet the cat.  Then, firmly, but, lovingly she hugged me goodbye, and left me on the enclosed back porch.  I couldn't follow her out to the driveway to wave goodbye, like last visit, so I stood at the window and watched her drive away (with seat belt on).  It was just like the school bus stop - only harder.  Oh, and by the way - she told me a year ago, that she knew that I watched her from the window.  I guess she's not only taller than I am, but, more observant, too.  I just hope the world she's out there conquering treats her right - or I will have to jump all over them.
She says it's weird coming home, "because home is still the same", but, "then I go back to campus, which is like a pseudo-home.  Weird."
I've got news for her - home is not the same, when she's not here.
She still smells sweet, when I hug her tight.
This empty nest thing - don't have the hang of it, yet.
Cindi