And so begins kindergarten

I was walking back to the car with the girls through a parking lot, and I looked up right into the front windows of Carter’s Clothing Store.  I saw a mom in there trying to push an oversized stroller through the aisles with a very tiny little one riding as passenger.

And I remembered all of my times in there.  I remembered going in there almost weekly once I found out Magoo was a girl.  I remembered going in there, again weekly, during those first few years with her when we were trying to kill some of the endless, unstructured hours.  I smiled a little inside thinking about how I understand that new mom and all she is going through trying to learn how to raise a little baby.

And then I looked down and almost choked on my breath.  Magoo wasn’t in a stroller.  It wasn’t just her and I killing hours.  She wasn’t an infant anymore.  She can sit and stand and talk and cross streets holding hands, and…

She’s starting kindergarten tomorrow.

I write that as tears cloud my vision.  I write that through feelings so overwhelming I feel like they might crush me.  I write them as I realize that while this is a monumental milestone in her little life, it is also a rather significant one in my own as well.

Tomorrow morning we will wake up and she will get dressed in the same uniform she will wear for the next nine years.  We’ll pile in the minivan and we’ll drive there, and just like I did at preschool last year, I will leave my baby there and drive away.

And of course it’s different from last year.  We both now have experience with her being away from me.  I have learned that while school provides some challenges, it provides more opportunities.  I learned that sometimes her feelings will get hurt by the words or actions of other kids but that in the end, she will come out stronger and more capable.  I learned that there are just some things I can’t provide for her myself — like intense social interaction and the expertise of years of experience teaching little ones.

I learned that she will be fine.  And I learned that I will be fine.  And right now I’m learning that perhaps this pain of separation, slow as it might be, will never really cease.  I’ve said it before, but I still think it rings very true.  We spend the first few weeks with our children learning to get used to having someone totally and completely dependent upon us.  And then we spend the rest of our lives learning to let them let go.

Today she had her meet and greet with her teachers.  We stood outside of the school with all of the other children, anxious to get in and start on this new journey.  When the pastor came out to greet everyone, she got a little closer to me. When the principal came out to do the same, she scootched a little bit closer.  And then when the line started to move, she looked up at me and asked me to hold her hand as we walked the hallway towards her new classroom.

She’s getting so old and so independent.  But moments like these make me remember that still she is just five, and still she needs her mommy more than anyone else.  Yes, I quietly mourn the days that have passed behind us, but even more so, I embrace this new moment where she holds my hand as she slowly dips her toes into the rustling waters of life.  Still so little, still so mine.  My Magoo.  One of my three finest gifts to the world.

And to my Magoo, as you begin this new journey, I pray that God gives you…

feet that face confidently forward.

hands that desire to help.

a heart for those who need compassion.

a hug for those who need mercy.

a brain to make your dreams come true.

And aways an open hand that is willing to take mine.  Because sometimes I need to hold your hand just as much as you need to hold mine.

God bless you my little one and all the millions of other littles ones beginning similar journeys.  May God always hold you all in the palm of his hand and may Mary watch over you all when you are out of the sight of your earthly mothers.

 

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