Milestones

Grace finished her last day at Our Lady of Guadalupe today. And Claire “graduated” from kindergarten. All over facebook people are commemorating the last day of school with pictures and platitudes about time racing by and how big kids are getting and, though I’m loath to be too trite, I must admit to feeling the same way myself.


But only over those who truly reached a milestone. Lucy finished 3 year old preschool. Sam finished 3rd grade. Not to underestimate their contributions—preschool and mid-gradeschool completion are great. But they are just as much about showing up as anything else. I know Sam would say the same thing. And Lucy, well, Lucy could have RUN that preschool if they had let her. Prancing through the centers and finger painting and trying new vegetables every week didn’t require extensive preparation or skill on the part of my queen. It’s a little sad to see them finish another year, a year they (thankfully) will never repeat. Lucy won’t have another first day EVER of shrugging on a backpack and dancing into the hallowed “big kid” school. Sam won’t, well, start 3rd grade again (he’ll still have 4th and 5th—sorry, I’m struggling to muster much emotion about Sam finishing third grade. Sorry dude).

But there is something poignant and sort of bittersweet about sending my big girl off to middle school. I remember so many details about Grace’s first 10 years—mainly because she was my first and moms are better at the memorization and commemoration on the first—but also because she was always such a sweet, gentle, wise, wonderful little being we felt always blessed to have in our lives. The other night I stopped in her room to kiss her goodnight and pray with her. I don’t do that every night. The others are so demanding at bedtime, requesting endless drinks and kisses and prayers and under-bed monster checks. Grace is so grown up and so undemanding. And so. Darn. Big. Her long foot poked out from under the covers and I wrapped my hand around it, remembering a pudgy baby girl on a cool fall morning many years ago. I had pulled off her little puff of pink sock and reached for her diaper. She looked up at me—all blonde curls and dimples and said, “Doe doe doe?” It was her first word—“toe”—spoken one early morning when I was tired and didn’t bother with my usual tickling banter “toes! Toes! Toes! Ten kisses for ten toes”. It was such a Gracie thing to do—such a sweet, touching request—so tuned into me and my moods, craving routine, needing validation and endless affection. And here I was, her long, size 7 foot in my hand (big feet run in my family) looking into the pretty face of a young woman, knowing she was about to take another major life step. Really? Middle school??

I took a photo of her today, another grainy, out of focus shot of her in a line of other children, unaware she is being photographed, mouth open in song. And I admit I teared up a bit. What is there to say? It’s all been said. She’s growing up. She’s growing away from me. She’s beautiful and poised and smart and kind. She is all the things I always hoped she would be. (Well, I guess she’s not a basketball player. She told me years ago that she “didn’t like the outfits” and we left it at that). But she is better than all the things I wanted her to be. She is more, different, and perfect. I couldn’t have defined the classy young lady she is becoming. I couldn’t have predicted the incredible tapestry and layers of her personality and her appearance—the bright ribbons of character traits and talents and features taken from my family and Chad’s—woven into the unique and wonderful being that she is. Oh! I gush. I’ll stop. Having Grace was a dream come true for me. The only thing I ever knew I wanted to be was a mom and she’s the one who made that come true the first time. And she’ll be a 6th grader next year. I’ll never go to school Mass and have her tuck that sweet blonde head under my arm, or wave to me across the pews (because it’s been a few years since she wanted to sit by me during school Masses even though they are allowed to do so). I’ll never race out of a meeting to get her by 3 o’clock (because she has always hated after-care) because next year she’ll take the bus. She’ll take a bus until she can drive herself until I am dropping her off at college. Ugh. I need to stop there.

And then there is CC Guken—my firecracker little almost-first grader. Looking over this blog I realized that practically the last time I posted, it was about taking Claire to her first day of kindergarten. And now she has “graduated”. My lively little Claire with the bright blue eyes and the beaming smile that make me assure her I can SEE the sparkles shooting out of her. She’ll be a first grader next year. She’s made so many friends (not a surprise) and proven she may just be the brightest of our bunch of smarty pants (maybe a little bit of a surprise. But, in our defense, this is the girl who ran before she could walk, loved to dash about on table tops and counters, potty trained herself at 22 months, and rarely talked. We had her pegged as our star athlete—which we haven’t yet given up on—not our scholar. Turns out she might just be the whole package. That’s my girl!)

So a lot of my ruminations on Claire happened at the beginning of the year—when she started her grade school journey. Next year she’s graduated to the classroom next door to kindergarten, but not a lot will change for her. Of course she’ll keep growing and changing, perfecting that jump shot (she IS my basketball player) and that knack for math facts and Spanish vocabulary. But, even though she’ll finally have a number instead of a letter behind her name denoting her grade, not so much will change for her next year--same music class, same gym teacher, same cafeteria. The way time is flying, though, before I know it I’ll be sending her off to middle school and Grace—nope. I’ll really stop there.

Congratulations, little ducks. Mama’s proud as proud can be.