On the Eve of the 1st Day of Kindergarten

Dear Nora,

Remember when I wrote you on the day before you started daycare? That seems so long ago now, yet just like yesterday. Time is a trickster, because…

Tomorrow, you start kindergarten.

It is so hard for me to believe that you are already entering your school years. No longer a baby at all, just a big kid. This is the stage of life that will now carry you through high school graduation, and that is mind-boggling. Thirteen years ago, I was a junior in college. Your daddy and I had already been dating for more than six months. I remember that time pretty vividly, because it doesn’t feel like it was that long ago. To think that you’ll be heading off to college in that same amount of time is… well, I can’t think about that right now.

It was not an easy decision about whether you should go to kindergarten this year, or wait until next. There were arguments (from others) on both sides, so Daddy and I debated for quite a while. Ultimately, so many signs pointed us in the direction of sending you. We took a leap of faith and registered you last winter. Then we had information night in May, and screening a few weeks later. You took it all in stride, yet I don’t think it seemed real—to any of us.

Yesterday, we went to your school to meet your teacher. Mommy and Daddy went first, by ourselves, to sit in your classroom with all the other parents, to set eyes on the woman who will be responsible for you during the weekdays for the next 10 months. The good news is that she seems lovely. Cute and funny and… she was nervous. It was endearing because I think it means she cares. It’s important to her to make a good impression, for all of us parents to trust her with our precious children. I sat in your tiny little desk chair and found myself fighting back tears through a few parts of the presentation. To think about you being there, doing all of these things they talked about—it was overwhelming for me.

Then we went to get you and brought you back to school with us. Your demeanor changed a bit as we walked into the classroom for the first time. I could feel your nerves. I wondered how this was going to go. For perspective, on your first day of preschool last year, I walked you into your classroom and stayed for a few minutes, taking pictures. You eventually turned to me and said, “Mommy, are you going to go now?” When I said, “Yes,” you said, “Yay!” So I hoped this would be your element. I still hope (for tomorrow). But I also know that kindergarten is perhaps a whole different animal.

We set you to work in your classroom, with the scavenger hunt that your teacher created for the morning. To find different areas and objects in the classroom, to familiarize yourself with it all. You started to loosen up a little bit. We followed your lead, let you make the choices about how long to spend in one place, and where to go next (cafeteria, school bus, library, exploring other areas of the school, back to your classroom, etc.). We ended up back in your classroom no fewer than four times.

When I thought for sure we had seen everything there was to see, you asked to go back to the classroom one more time before we left. I was thinking, “Really?? Again??” but reminded myself that you and I really didn’t have any other place to be. There was no rush. The school was getting quiet, as most students and parents had already come and gone. When we walked into your classroom again, it was just the two of us and your teacher. She invited you to walk around freely and check things out, touch things, ask questions. You took advantage and I swear, during that 10-15 minutes, I felt you grow comfortable. I saw it in your face. I heard it in your voice.

Finally, you told me you were ready to leave to go out to lunch. We told your teacher we’d see her on Wednesday, and walked out of the classroom. In the hallway, you asked me when you could come back. I explained, “The day after tomorrow is your first day of school.” You CHEERED and jumped up and down. “I didn’t know it was so soon!” you said. It was funny because I feel like we’ve been telling you forever, in an effort to prepare you. But something about being there, seeing it, and then being told it was “the day after tomorrow” made it real for you. You’ve been cheering and jumping up and down ever since.

“I have the nicest teacher in the world,” you tell me.

“I can’t believe tomorrow is the first day of school!” you exclaimed repeatedly today.

“I LOVE SCHOOL!”

You asked me 10 times today if it was time to make your lunch for school tomorrow.

You keep recalling the things that your teacher said to you yesterday, keep telling me stories about the stuff in your classroom and the things you’ll do. You’re excited. You seem genuinely ready.

I’m trying to prepare for all of that to turn on a dime tomorrow morning, but I’m really hoping that it doesn’t. As much as I love you needing me, I’m also ready to let you fly. At least a little. (It is “only” kindergarten, after all… not college.)

Tonight, I feel like tomorrow is my first day of school. And I guess it kind of is. I’m letting my heart get onto that school bus in the morning.

I know you can do this. I know we can do this. I just can’t believe that it’s already time to do this. Weren’t you just a tiny baby? Wasn’t I just putting you to sleep with your face in the crook of my neck?

Daddy and I are so proud of the little girl that you are. We can’t wait to watch you grow and soar.

I saw this on a friend’s Facebook page this morning, one who also sent her daughter off to kindergarten. It seems an appropriate way to end. It’s from the wise Dr. Seuss, in Oh! The Places You’ll Go!

You’re off to great places. Today is your day. Your mountain is waiting… so get on your way.

I love you, Nora Grace. More than ice cream. More than roller coasters. More than vacation. More than the stars in the sky.

Go get ’em.

With a million hugs and kisses,
Mommy