Kindergarten Eve

Tonight I took my kids out of the house to give my husband a quiet football draft, and we wound up on Calhoun Beach…during the pinkest of sunsets. I could not have painted a more picturesque setting for myself on this night – Kindergarten Eve – a day I’ve been violently shoving under my pillow repeatedly all summer long. I knew it was coming.  I knew we had to give this summer a big ol’ heave-ho to make every second truly count. And holy man, we did! We took road trips and boat rides. We visited cabins and candy stores. We played at parks and pools and strawberry patches. We turned five, learned to ride on two wheels, enjoyed tee-ball games with friends, and found a new level of confidence that now bursts out our ears (as well as a pair of sassy pants we now battle to tuck back into their figurative drawer). We did it all. No regrets. No regrets at all.

But…

that won’t change the fact that in the morning, I am going to help Captain Sassypants tie his shoes and pour his cereal, snap about a zillion pictures of him donning his new Sonic backpack, and send him on his merry way to a land that is unknown to both of us. A new school with new friends and new teachers. Where lockers replace cubbies and life just feels bigger. Much to my chagrin, that life includes my little boy.

I stood on the beach and watched him play with his sister. Giggling like he did when we took him on his first amusement park ride. Smiling like he used to when we’d tickle his feet on the changing table. Relentlessly spattering on with his oh-so-subtle stutter over the non-existent rules of our made-up beach footrace. Just like a scene out of a movie, my mind produced a hyperlapsed overview of every stand-out, and some not-so-stand-out, memories of his life thus far. And just as what happens at the movies, I wound up fighting back tears as I stared at that big boy of present wondering where on earth my baby went.

Here’s the thing: It’s a milestone, just as everything has been. I cried when I first left him with his nanny. I cried when he jumped in the water at his first swimming lesson. I cried when he beat his first level of Mario Brothers. I cried when he first recited his home address, when he went to preschool, and when he became a big brother. I’m a mess in the worst possible way, but (as my dad constantly reminds me) I will never let him see “messy mommy.” He sees the excited, super-pumped, this-is-gonna-be-great mommy, and messy mommy gets released in the car, the shower or my pillow. The truth is, milestones are milestones. They all come on too fast and affect me way too strongly. I know this about myself (and thankfully, my husband knows this about me too). But, ladies and gentlemen, they are unavoidable, and for that, I guess I am grateful.

All we can do as parents is live each day enjoying and appreciating those with whom we share it. And when it comes to letting go, sometimes we just have to put on our big-girl-pants and let the hearts living outside of our bodies SOAR through words of encouragement, genuine conversations and love. Oh, so much love!

Watching them sprint around in the moonlight this night, I realize one thing: He’s going to flourish. He’s going to learn and teach and lead and follow. And read and write and spell and draw. He’s going to become his own small individual, and if God is on my side, that individual will be able to withstand anything that gets thrown his way because, for five years, he has been surrounded by the sincerest form of love imaginable. As my sister told me, “Wipe those tears and have no fears. Be proud of him because he’s only going to continue to make you prouder.” I am proud. So damn proud.

I’m going to take tonight’s sunset and lock it away for eternity because, as everyone told me years ago, these moments only come once. Don’t blink or you’ll miss them. Tomorrow morning, I wake up and create another memory. Watch out, Kindergarten! You’re getting a good one.

:: Breathe ::