My little chicky,
Tonight was your kindergarten orientation. I wore high heels which was totally impractical, considering I was surrounded by tiny humans approximately 3 feet tall, and all the roads leading up to the school are gravel. But I marched across that gravel road in those high heels because they made me feel like I had some kind of power over something. Mostly I just looked like a wobby colt learning to walk...which ironically, described how I actually felt deep inside.
I'm feelin' all the feels tonight, sister. Walking into your classroom tonight, I got super excited because this is the beginning of a whole new world (yes, sung in the voice of Princess Jasmine) for you. School is awesome. You're gonna learn to read, and do math, and tell time, and you'll make dioramas and play Heads Up 7 Up on rainy days during recess (or just play on an iPad, whatever), and hopefully not pee your pants on stage when you are the narrator for the class play "Stone Soup" (I mean...I don't know anyone that has happened to.)
I am so relieved because for the first time since you were 2, you will have a consistent schedule from week to week. One classroom, one school, every week. For the past 3 years, you have bounced from house to house every other week, in preschool one week and at home all day the next. We adults have expected you to conform and transition into completely different routines and schedules constantly, all while we feel sorry for ourselves. And you have owned it. Nothing has slowed you down. Has anyone told you how brave you are? It takes a lot of guts to turn your back on chaos and resentment and instead throw those tiny arms around the world you live in.
I think that's what scares me the most about you going to kindergarten. I have anxiously anticipated this day for so long, where you go off and learn and face challenges that require you to think for yourself. But at the same time, I am terrified of you learning because I can't help but think that the more you learn, the less you'll need me. (I'll be honest, I hope you learn more about algebra, because needing me for algebra will not serve you well. You are free to un-need me for math.)
But for real, I need you to need me, sweet girl. I know that will sound crazy to some people because of COURSE kids need their moms at this age. But you have already learned to survive without me for 7 days at a time, every other week. When you aren't with me and you cry when your tummy hurts or when you fall down, you've already learned how to survive it without your mommy. You learned that at age 2. Your coping skills are stellar, angel. The other day when I dropped you off at Daddy's, you burst into tears when we got there. The only words you could get out were, "But Mommy, if Beau is at work, you will be all alone. I don't want you to be alone." I couldn't get many words out after that. I pray that Jesus gives me a heart like yours one day.
You have learned to trust a lot of people because you never know where you might be when crisis strikes (from a blanky left at preschool overnight, or a Barbie whose head fell off, or a round of vomiting in bed at 3am). You know that someone who loves you will help you, and that's what matters - you don't see the lines that divide our family, you just see the hearts that hold you together. We are a jagged bunch, but you have discovered the fullness of life that goes beyond circumstances.
I'm sorry and I'm not sorry for that. My heart breaks and swells with pride all at the same time. Because that's how life works. And maybe you shouldn't be ready for that at age 5, but you are.
The other day you were FaceTime-ing with Nana and you quoted the Bible verse you learned at VBS for her: "God saw all that He had made and it was very good" (Genesis 1:31). It is hard to believe a verse like that when every time we turn on the TV, things seem very bad. Is He still looking down at His creation and thinking it is very good?
I can tell you this for certain...I know when He looks at you, He sees good. You can sense the deepest cracks in people's hearts and instead of seeing them as broken, you see an opportunity to fill those places with joy. I selfishly want to bottle that goodness up and douse myself in it on days when I make poor choices about my attitude. But I know He is going to use you to share it with your classmates, your teachers and coaches, and even strangers you meet on the street. (But please don't talk to strangers. That was a bad example.)
I'm crazy proud of you, Fifi. You are kind and compassionate, and THAT is what will not only carry you through life, but will also be a genuine reflection of Jesus.
You're my girl. I couldn't be luckier to be your snot-nosed, meltdown-prone, weepy mama.
Love you to the moon and back,
Mommy
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