Milestones

How do I describe yesterday - J's first day of kindergarten? It began with the anticipated early wake-up, followed by an excited and barely-hungry-because-of-nerves breakfast time. Suddenly we were at the bus stop, and then suddenly the bus pulled away and I found myself at home with watery eyes posting photos on Facebook.

The house was not entirely quiet - JBL chose to work from home. I think I might have liked it better had I been totally alone, with space to be vulnerable and not feel like I had to have any particular expression on my face. Does that make sense?

The day went by quickly, with a surprising amount of work, coupled with the usual exercise, cooking and laundry. Finally it was time to go back to the bus stop. J and K tumble off in a flurry of chatter and excitement at seeing Daddy again. Riding home, my inquiries about the day were rebuffed as J wondered incessantly who in the neighborhood would be available to play.

There was garden time, TV time, dinner help, and play with neighbors before bed. J's ebullience continued to bubble over, causing her to flop all over the bed as I attempted to read to her. "I can't WAIT to go back tomorrow!" she sang.

Later in my own bed, I marveled at how incredibly blessed I am. How could I have possibly hoped for a better day? My husband was there to support me and share in the celebration, my daughter - my littlest rabbit - was all smiles, even when she wasn't feeling brave, and she returned to me as joyous as she has ever been, delighted to finally have all the stimulation she so richly deserves. (Not to leave her out - K had a great day as well, making friends with several of the new children at the school, loving her 'advisory' teacher (akin to a homeroom teacher), and enjoying being back with her best friends. But entering 6th grade is a whole different thing from entering kindergarten. I have my own separate feelings about this continued progression into womanhood, and will write more on it soon.)

But how do I describe how it all felt? There isn't a mother out there who wouldn't cite the same emotions: pride, grief, trepidation, and pride again. These small words, however, barely scratch the surface of the depths of these feelings. And they are different for different people. Some may feel utterly bereft if motherhood is their life's ambition. Some may feel guilty for taking this new freedom as an opportunity to pursue personal goals. Most will have trouble explaining the biologically-deep feeling of loss, or the sense that time is washing over us, past us.

I suppose my feelings run the gamut. It is not as simple as being glad for the ability to focus on tasks for more than 15 minutes at a time. It is not as plain as the need to hear J's voice, feel her soft skin, to be in her sparkling presence. It is not as easy as feeling at a loss after bearing full responsibility for her life until now, only to have her disappear for what seems like years at a time. It is all these things and more. I look forward, and my life is open and changing. My identity and goals are morphing. My love for J seems to spike in intensity as she continues to gradually step away from me.

I am still left with the ability to control her destiny for now - to give her everything possible, and love her thoroughly through it all. That is all I can ask for, isn't it? And so there I was last night, holding her while standing in the kitchen. Late afternoon shadows and a warm breeze filtered lazily through the open windows. The sound of wind chimes offered a gentle lullaby.

"Tell me more about your day," I begged.

"I already TOLD you!" she laughed. "But what I really need to do is THIS!" She threw her arms open wide and tipped back precariously from my body, then lunged forward, wrapped herself entirely around me and kissed my cheek wildly. Big, wet kisses. Then suddenly she was down and scampering upstairs to play, singing to herself. And my arms were empty.