School started on Tuesday. First grade for Grace, Beginners for Whit. It was sentimental for me when my first-born child was a Beginner, but now my baby is. Wow. There are many pluses to this new moment in my mothering adventure: there is a new logistical ease, having them in a single school, with one dropoff and one pickup. Whit is so excited to be at Big Kid school with his big sister, and Gracie has been unusually generous towards her brother this week, telling him what to expect and all about his teacher (who she had as well).
But, still. My babies are all gone, as are my toddlers. They are big kids now, full of energy and noise and complexity and, I realize, a dwindling number of hugs and hand-holdings (sad farewells) and sippy cups and carseats (less sad: one of the major achievements of this summer has been that Whit climbs into the car and buckles himself in and out – my GOD what a life-changer that was). I know I don’t want to go back, I really, truly know that. But I don’t know that I want to keep moving forward this fast, either. Of course it’s not up to me, and that I know as much as I know anything at all.
Every achievement, every milestone, is limned with an elegy. And they just keep walking away.
Frightening. Grace brought this photograph home from yesterday’s “rock star” party. I think she looks 16. Terrifying.
Luckily Whit remains 4 and a total ham. Notice the bedhead, not remotely subdued by midday. We went to see Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs (has been one of my very favorite books since childhood, and both G & W also love it). I’ve never seen a movie in 3D before! Whit kept pushing his glasses on his head like a headband, and I kept hissing at him, “Whit! Put on your shades!”
