Tomorrow is Emma Grace’s first day of Kindergarten. Holy cow.
That was fast.
A little back story: We had a few options for her schooling and, in the end, it looked like she was going to be at our neighborhood school. We had a good peace about it, bought her school supplies, and were all set. That is, until two weeks ago when we found out that another option that we had all but written off was now available. That pretty much sent me into a tailspin of uniforms and paperwork and a new school supply list that was nothing like the first (are you kidding me?!?). Oh, and a start date one week earlier than she was originally supposed to start at the other school (which, when you're clinging to the last few days of summer before your firstborn starts school, is like...nuts). Everything between getting the call two weeks ago and meeting her teacher a few days ago? It's been crazy. I stood in the kitchen one day crying to Jereme as we wrestled with what to do before I realized what a "first world problem" we had...trying to pick a school for our daughter. Oh, to be so blessed! We are excited about where she will be attending. We know several families from our church who have children there. I have a new peace.
But...
I don’t mean to be all dramatic, but let me be dramatic for
a moment. I just had her. Like, it was all just yesterday. And tomorrow starts this whole routine of her
leaving me for seven hours every single day.
What’s up with that? Why are you
doing this to me? Why do you need to
learn? Why am I not homeschooling? Ok, I know the answer to that last one, but
still.
We’ve done all we could do to get ready. She has her school supplies, including
TWENTY-FOUR STICKS OF GLUE SO PLEASE BRING HOME SOMETHING GLUED EVERY SINGLE
DAY OF THIS YEAR OR IT’S ALL FOR NAUGHT.
Her pink and green bag is monogrammed, lest she forget it’s hers, and is
waiting for her to grab it in the morning.
Her uniforms are embroidered, ironed (read: fluffed in the dryer), and
ready to wear. I’ve looked up her
teacher on Facebook (all looks ok there). I’ve prayed for her. We’ve talked and talked about strangers and
being a good friend and washing hands. I
hope she remembers it all.
She is going to LOVE school.
I’m not worried for one second that she will thrive. But this is all very new and sort of seems
like the beginning to the rest of her life.
This is her first, first day. And
she’ll keep on having these first days until she has her last, first day. And then she’ll move out and go to college
(except she cries when I tell her that one day she will move out and I love how
sweetly she assures me that she will never, ever leave us) and likely never
live at home again. And, yes, that’s
years away. But, gracious, five years
went by in a flash.
My borrowed time is up, so it’s time to let her be on her
way. Just for kicks, before she gets out
of the car, I’m going to remind her just one more time:
God loves you, way more than Mommy and Daddy. He has a plan for your life that is perfect.
You are a treasure.
You are smart. You are perfectly
sensitive. Your excitement is
infectious. I can’t wait to see what you
do this year, how you grow, and who you become.
Be a good friend.
For the love, wash your hands.
I will come pick you up every single day at 3:00. If I’m late, I’m on my way. Never go home with anyone except Mommy or
Daddy unless I tell you beforehand.
I will try really hard not to make you late for school. This new level of school where they keep up with that sort of thing is kind of stressing me out. So we will get up at an ungodly time to make sure you are on time. Your sisters will have to eat breakfast in the car. That will teach them flexibility.
Perhaps you could use some discretion in what you share
with your classmates and teachers. I’d
like to be able to walk the halls of your school without my head held down in
shame.
Tell me if someone is mean to you. It’s good that we talk about it so I can tell
you that we need to forgive people who might do the wrong thing sometimes. And, also, so I can give that kid a mean
glare when I visit your class.
Keep your dress pulled down.
No one needs to see your panties.
(This one goes far beyond Kindergarten)
Don’t let your struggle for perfection keep you from trying.
Tell us if anything happens that hurts you, makes you sad,
or just doesn’t seem right.
Invite a friend to church.
If you forget to wash your hands, use the hand sanitizer I
put in the small pocket of your book bag.
Seriously.
Remember where you live in case of an emergency.
Use your manners with all of your teachers. Every time.
Check your lunchbox for the note I wrote you.
You are going to rock at this whole Kindergarten thing. I can’t wait to hear you tell me it was your “best
day ever!” I love you. We’ll have cookies when you get home.