This is a bittersweet summer for me. My last summer with preschoolers. Come August 27th, they will be
kindergarteners. Elementary school
kids. I’m gonna pack their lunches,
kiss them goodbye, and then put my two little angels on a bus with no car seats
and no seat belts, and send them off to school. I won’t know anything about their day other than what they tell
me, unless I noodge the teachers with early conferences or lurk in bushes and
peek in windows. Terrifying.
Somehow my children who currently take over an hour to eat
lunch are going to have to eat it much faster (what do they get, 20 minutes?)
and without me constantly reminding them to stop playing and put food in their
pie holes. Somehow they are going to
have to go the whole day without Cheez-its.
They can read a little and do arithmetic on their fingers. They can sit and listen and learn. And the social stuff that used to paralyze me with fear has largely resolved itself.
But they’re young. August
birthdays for a September 1 cut-off.
They’ll be the babies. They’re
MY babies. They’re excited. I’m considering home schooling. No, not really. I’m not really. But for
the first time I understand why anyone would.
They’re MINE! I want to keep
them here with me, where no mean kids will ever throw pretzels at them or teach
them that skipping is only for girls.
If my son stops skipping joyfully around the house, I am going to
cry.
This summer. Our
last summer of innocence. It feels that
way. The last summer of my kids being
just mine. When something comes out of
their mouths, it can usually be traced to me, my husband, their cousin, or
their best friends. (Or the Little
Einsteins. Or Mario videos on
youtube.) We are on the precipice of
their friends having more influence than we have. My brain knows that it’s right and natural and an early stage of
the evolution that has to happen so that someday they are grown-ups. My brain knows. My heart breaks. Don’t
go. Stay with Mommy forever, with your
little lisps, almost gone but still flavoring your speech, making bring “fring”
and disgusting “exgusting.” Keep saying
“aminal.” Stay with Mommy. Give me unselfconscious hugs forever, and
smile at me with your growing up faces, child-like but retaining that touch of
babyness that makes me want to rub my face on yours. Don’t go. Stay.
I don’t really want them to stay this way. I don’t.
Not with my brain anyway. My
heart, well, yeah. Maybe. My heart wants to crack open and expand
until I can fit them inside it and hold them there, protected from anyone who
would ever hurt their feelings to the smallest degree.
And then they spend a day fighting or whining, and I’m ready
for kindergarten to start. So
ready. That happens too. Life is not a magical love-fest every
day. Nope. For sure not. But my
heart doesn’t care about that either.
It just says, “Mine. Stay mine.”
They won’t. They
can’t. And if they did, it would be
creepy and wrong. I know. So I put on a smile and act excited about
kindergarten. I buy #2 pencils and
research bento box style lunch containers.
I take them to playdates with kids who will be entering kindergarten
with them, and try not to freak out at the maturity of the kid who is 10 months
older. Try not to freak out that lots
of people in our area hold back their kids with summer birthdays and send them
to kindergarten when they’re 6, so there will be kids in their classes who are
more than a year older. Just breathe
and have faith and try not to freak out.
Try not to freak out.
Try not to freak out.
This summer is ours.
For the pool and vacations and lazy days in pajamas. For sleeping over friends’ houses for no
reason on a random Tuesday. For too
much time on the Wii and sometimes being allowed to get out of bed and watch So
You Think You Can Dance or American Ninja Warrior with Mommy and Daddy on the
couch when they should be sleeping. For
hugs and hugs and endless hugs. Don’t
go.
Go. I love you. Go.
I love you.
