In a couple of weeks my five-year-old will graduate from preschool in a ceremony held at a little church in our community, the same place her big sister’s preschool graduation was held. The kids will be a conglomeration of cuteness in red caps and gowns all shout singing off key and beaming with pride as their parents laugh until they practically cry and take pictures of a moment in time that ushers in the real school years and shuts the door on learning ABCs and shapes and colors and nursery rhymes.
Miss A has asked me approximately 3.2 million times when kindergarten starts and when I told her this morning in about three months her face dropped as if she assumed that next week she’ll start riding to our elementary school with me and Miss C. When she asked how much time three months was and I explained that it was about ninety days she said, “OH MAN…that is too long!” Come to think of it, when you are five years old ninety days sounds like a century.
She has also told me numerous times that she wants a backpack with a strap (a messenger bag) for kindergarten. Obviously the girl knows how to accessorize.
It seems like yesterday she was just eleven months old and I was carrying her in to her daycare classroom for the first time to visit with the other babies and her teacher. She was crawling and reaching for things with my help. Now she is running and reaching for things on her own.
She is ready to start kindergarten.
My heart will never be ready.