Can it be? Are you really about to start Kindergarten?
Where has the time gone, my boy?
As I reflected on the upcoming life-change and monumental moment for my boy I couldn't help but wonder (and doubt, as I do. just being honest.) Have I taught him enough? not in the typical letters and numbers sort of way. The kid is an information vacuum and loves to learn. he's the same kid who asks questions like, "why does the moon change sizes? how do planes work? what were some of your mess ups as a kid?"
but i wonder (or perhaps worry) have we practiced honesty enough? treating others the way you like to be treated? sweet Jack, we've practiced for the last five years how to use gentle hands, how to use words when we're upset, how to problem solve, find root emotions, sing songs to ward off bad moods and find comfort in blue blankets and bee bees (his beloved pacifier. RIP.) We've learned the joy of dance parties and bath time, Thomas the train, playmates, oreo eating, long walks and car-running in the house and/or backyard. we've practiced so much, my boy, and yet i can't help but wonder, are you ready? have we laughed enough? have we played pretend, read enough books together, taken enough naps together, made up stories, built forts, put together puzzles, created paint masterpieces and jumped through creeks enough?
have you tasted enough adventure? i'm sorry for how many times i've asked you to slow down or be careful, you know i just love you and want you to be safe, right?
did we read up enough on how thunderstorms start and what an earthquake is?
did i listen to your dreams?
did i draw your heart out enough? your tender, spirited little heart that has lots of feelings that you're learning to express well.
i sure hope we did. i do love those moments with you.
you're getting faster, kiddo. your legs are strong and swift and your feet hit the ground at just the right beat. i watch you dart across yards, across monkey bars, down and up slides. i see you there, with never ending energy that only ends when your head hits that pillow. but oh, my boy, you will stay awake as long as i will sing and your questions just keep flowing. i see you dozing, your eyes getting heavy, but you come alive in those late night chats and every secret of the day unfolds and suddenly you have undivided attention (as your baby sister is long gone as soon as the lights are out. it is 10pm after all.)
you ask, "are you old? i wish i could stay young forever."
"i had a scary dream, do you want to hear it?"
"i wish mater was here."
and suddenly, those chats will have to be cut short as school starts and our wakeup call will be much earlier than the 9am you typically roll of out bed.
i wonder, do you feel ready? do you know how life will change for the next several years? school starting marks such a beautiful beginning of independent life and i am so excited for your journey and to watch you grow and change.
time with you is precious, my son. and time is catching up to us and here we are. five years in and i love you more each day. being your mama is an adventure and never lacking excitement and laughter. you're funny and kind and know a good friend when you see one.
i see you, goose.
i see you choosing good friends on the playground,
sharing that toy with Zoey,
creating incredible pretend play with your friends.
learning how to read and feeling deeply about the characters in the book or in a good movie,
singing your prayers to Jesus at night about how much you love Him and how big He is.
i see you, pal, using the coping skill of laughter to help someone feel better when they're sad. choosing to see the bright sad in tough situations and being protective and encouraging when things are tough. even when you're the one who is disappointed.
i can't wait to see you travel through this next adventure. to learn how to read and write, to learn about science and math and how to master those monkey bars. you will love it.
love you, goose. my wingman and the one who taught me how to be a mama.
some of my favorite songs that remind me of you:
father and son
blue eyed son