And a Beginning

The first day of school has come and gone.

Years from now Bird is going to be all angsty and she's going to look for signs that I just don't love her as much as I love my other children. She will point to the five pictures I took of her first day of school and compare them to the pages and pages of pictures I took of the other children. She will hold this up as proof of my blatant favoritism. She will declare that I didn't love her then and I don't love her now.

The truth is, I didn't take as many pictures because she wouldn't put her hand down and smile.

She will blame me. But the truth is she has no one to blame but herself.

We are getting into the new groove of school. The older children are loving school. Once again Pork Chop feels she has "the BEST teacher EVER!" Meaty has promised to leave the classroom fish alone "when I'm supposed to be learning." And he is well on his way to getting a 100 on his first spelling test. It is so cool, and odd at the same time to see him setting goals for himself at school. He's growing so fast.

But Bird. Oh my Bird. She is my favorite kindergartner EVER!

You send your children to school and imagine them coming home full of stories to tell as you share milk and cookies at the kitchen table after school. The reality of the dream is you ask them how their day went and they say "fine." Any further information about their day must be pull out of them using interrogation skills that would make FBI investigators jealous.

But not my Bird!

She greets me at the kindergarten gate brimming with enthusiastic stories to share. She tells me every detail about her day. She sings me all her songs. She wants to teach me all the games they've played. She LOVES school. And I love her.

The only unhappy member of the family is Sweet Pea.

Each morning she eats breakfast at the table with the older children, just like a big girl. No high chair for her anymore. Then she rushes upstairs with them to get dressed. After she picks out her own clothes and is suitably adorned she toddles to the bathroom to have her hair done, just like a big girl. She is all dressed up and ready to go.

She watches out the window for the carpool to arrive. As the older children rush out the door in a flurry of kisses and backpack she tries to slip past in the chaos. But I see her. And she must stay with me.

Each morning I hold her as she cries and flails and tries to go to school, just like a big girl.

Doesn't she know there'll be time enough for that?

Can't she stay my baby for just a little longer?