August | 2018 | A Dash of the Unexpected

I sent my baby to kindergarten and survived!

Yes, it involved me ugly crying in the car before running my feelings out for four miles at the greenway. And yes, she fell asleep in our bed after she got home. But we made it through, and she seemed to enjoy her day. She was too tired to talk much about it, but at pickup, she was smiling and answered the standard, “Did you have a good day?” with an enthusiastic “Yes!” So, we’ll call that a win and do it all again tomorrow. Then the real fun begins with the first full day on Monday.

There is a lot I could say about the ways this is familiar and ways it’s different than it was with my firstborn. I could talk about my own worries and how hard I am trying to keep them in check so they don’t color Lina’s experience. I could talk about how these milestones often bring a tinge of recurring grief over the ways life is harder for my girl. I could talk about the guilt that threatens to rear its head, whispering that I should have worked harder with her, that there is more I could have done to give her a head start. I could talk about how proud I am of how ready she really is. But we’re all pretty tired around here, so I’m going to let all that lie. I will post cute pictures and finish out this day knowing Lina is remarkably capable and in very good hands, human and – most importantly – divine.

Happy kindergarten, precious girl! We can’t wait to see all you will accomplish this year.

Sassypants didn’t want to smile. Also, the headband didn’t make it past photos.

There is nothing quiet like the bittersweet ache of these first days… Looking through the lens of my camera this morning nearly took my breath away. I could swear he just started kindergarten.

This is what the older folks mean when they say, “Enjoy every minute. It goes so fast.” It sounds crazy to a frazzled parent just trying to make it through the eternity of an afternoon with little ones. But I get it now. The details we sweat, they matter so little. The hard stuff fades. And suddenly, that baby who wouldn’t feed, the toddler who threw stuff out of the cart at the grocery story: he’s a third grader, still anxious and sleepless the night before his first day, still willing to hold his mama’s hand on the way to his new classroom, but so tall, and every day a little more confident, a little more independent, a little more himself.

I have prayed with him and for him, and I will whisper countless more prayers through this day, and every day. He is my heart, and he is growing into the young man he was designed to be. Thank you, God, for this dimpled, freckled boy of mine.

Happy third grade, Corin.