Friday, April 12, 2013


Yesterday was our school district's kindergarten registration day. Noah is now five years old. He will be starting kindergarten this September.

I'm not sure I am quite fully cognizant of the fact that in a few months, I will be putting my youngest child on the school bus every morning with his sister.

I will be the only one left standing in the yard, waving.

As much as I protest, I know I am ready to move to this next stage of life -- with all school-aged children. They will all have the same days off, the same schedule (essentially, except for the teen), and I will no longer be paying for preschool tuition. Wow.

I worry about my baby, though. He's so precise, so routine-bound, so very smart in a different way than his sisters. I wonder if I will have three children for whom traditional school is a bit of a struggle. Or will he thrive in the structured atmosphere? Will he enjoy school, or will he be bored?

Will he miss me?

Actually, I think he will be excited, but apprehensive. I think he will find his niche, and some friends, and be happy. He has grown from a relatively insecure, change-fearing child into a little boy with more social reserves than I thought he had, who is actually ready to try new challenges and be in new places. He has always had strong language skills, and strong analytical and visual-motor skills, but now he is really starting to shine.

A few weeks ago, he explained to me how the seat belt latch in the car works. "It has a spring in it, Mommy, so when you put the buckle in, it snaps and holds it there".

Oh. Why, yes it does.

I am looking forward to a more regular schedule, with more time in the day for me to do the things that I need to do and want to do -- my day job work, touring at the museum, riding Champ. I won't have to plan everything to happen between the hours of 9am and 1pm so I will have enough time to get home for some lunch before running to the preschool to pick him up. The bus will drop him off in front of our house, with Wren, every afternoon.

I imagine he'll come running, like Wren does, backpack flying, straight into my arms.

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