Today we said goodbye to our little preschooler


And hello to our big kindergartner


She is at school as I write this. I'm tempted to drive by the school in my car and play her favorite VBS songs really loud in my minivan with the windows down. Maybe she'll hear the music, drop her chunky pencil and come running outside and into my arms?

I keep looking at pictures of her. She's really cute. I wonder if she's thinking about me? I miss her. Charlie just went out on the balcony to see if he could see her school bus that's not due to arrive for another three hours.

I almost started crying in the kindergarten hallway when the reality of it all hit me like a big yellow school bus. We will be doing this for eleven more years. Only eleven. And then we'll say goodbye to her again when we drop her off at college. We'll see her at Christmas and during the summer. Again, lots of opportunities for goodbyes. This whole goodbye business is just beginning, isn't it?

It doesn't feel so much like the beginning of something as it does the end of something. True, I have complained ad nauseam on this blog about the trials of being at home all day with preschoolers. It's not like I want to sign on for a life sentence of being a mommy to very young children. But still, I really never thought it would end so suddenly.

After we dropped off Emma at school, we went to a "boo-hoo breakfast" (coffee and donuts in the library). I didn't feel like boo-hooing then. I still had too much adrenaline coursing through my veins. We had not had to be anywhere with clothes on that early in a long, long time, so it took a lot out of me to get everyone dressed, fed, lunch and backpack packed, and out of the house on time. Now, I feel like boo-hooing big time. I know I will make it through this just fine, but right now it feels a little like I'm in mourning. I wasn't expecting to feel anything but joy, so this is catching me by surprise.

A friend was telling me that we could borrow her butterfly cage for Emma's upcoming butterfly-themed birthday party. She said I would have to excuse all the blood stains though. Apparently, when caterpillars become butterflies, it's sort of a violent process and a little butterfly blood gets shed as they are transforming. Who would've thought that something so natural and beautiful could be so painful?