The End and the Beginning

Last Friday was Hope's last day of preschool. Forever. As my oldest baby she is stuck with all the firsts. The first to go to preschool, the first to end preschool, the first to go to Kindergarten. My goodness, I just realized this means I officially have a Kindergartener at home now.

I loved Hope's preschool teacher. She was the perfect fit for our sweet and extremely timid daughter, and a perfect fit for our family struggling through our first experiences of sending a child to school. She made each family feel important and each student feel special. And the only reason I didn't bawl when we said good-bye was because Paige will have her for a teacher next year.

There are so many mixed emotions going through me right now. I would blame the pregnancy, but who am I kidding? I'm a mixed emotions kind of girl any time.

I love that Hope is getting older. That she is growing up and gaining independence. That she is learning about the world and meeting new people. That she is understanding jokes and sarcasm. That she wants time to herself but she still likes to snuggle. I love love love it all.

But sometimes it's hard to watch her grow older too. It's hard to say goodbye to preschool. To know that she will be gone every single day. (And the year after that she'll be gone every single day all day long.) That things are shifting in our family. I love it all, I really do. But sometimes it's hard. It's hard to know that there will come a time when she doesn't think I'm great, but is instead embarrassed by my very existence.

It's hard. But I try to remind myself that today is not that day. Today I am still her world (along with numerous friends). And this growing up thing? I've got time.

Here's a photo from Hope on her first day of her last year of preschool this past fall, and then on her last day of preschool this spring:

Happy Summer to all!

xoxo,

Christine

Nothing and Garbage

The first day Hope came home from preschool she told me all about it.  She gushed about building potato heads with friends, playing with a stuffed kitty, and squishing animals into glurch.  When I asked her follow up questions, she readily answered, even telling me the plot of the story they read because she couldn't remember the name of the book.  She played outside on the little playground, so she didn't get to do the swings, but she did go down the slide.  They had cheese and crackers for snack, but she didn't eat the crackers.  Her excitement almost brought tears to my eyes.

Fast forward to today.

Me:  "Hope, how was school?"

Hope:  "Good."

Me:  "What did you do today?"

Hope:  "Nothing."

Me:  "Well, what did you have for snack?"

Hope:  "Garbage."

To give credit, where credit is due, I know that Hope got these responses from her friend.  The two of them find it quite hilarious, and if I'm being honest, I get a little chuckle out of it too.  As hard as I try though, I can not extract information about her school day.  I guess I can assume that as long as she comes out of the room smiling and confidently tells me she did "nothing" and ate "garbage" during school, I can be reassured that she's feeling comfortable and well-adjusted.  Plus I just need to let go of knowing every little thing about her day.  Because the "letting go" is part of parenthood too.