First Grade is Over

Dear Nathalie,

You did it. You broke my heart. 

Today is the last day of 1st grade and I really thought I'd handle it well. I had you stand at the door and took your photo. You know, so I could compare your first day with your last day. 

I drove you to school, dropped you off. 

Everything. 

Was.

Fine.

Then I got home. I pulled up my handy "Instacollage" app, pulled your first day photo and your last day photo into the fancy frame and WHAMMO!

Instant tears.

You have grown SO much in this past school year. Not only are you TALLER, but you have developed such a sharp wit. You're smart. You're a critical thinker. You're reading like crazy. And I'm so proud.

And heartbroken. 

It's such a joy to watch you grow and really, that's what it's all about. Raising our children so they can become good people and contribute to the world around them in positive ways. And I know you'll do just that. 

But it hurts to think back to those days where you were so dependent on me for everything. Your little cry for food, or snuggles or a diaper. Long have they passed. 

It's milestones like these that bring out the pain of losing your grandma so soon. These are the kinds of days I should be able to pick up the phone and call my mom and compare emotions.

Was it this hard for you when I finished 1st grade?

Did you cry like a baby when you realized that someday I'd grow up and move out?

Can you believe how BIG she is already?

And I can just hear my mom's voice telling me "Now you know." 

Now I know why it was so hard for her to watch me pack my bags and move to San Francisco. 

Now I know why she was completely okay with me moving back.

Now I know why she was SO worried about some of the choices I made when I was dating less than awesome boys. 

Now I know why she dropped everything to help me take care of you. 

Because our babies are always our babies. No matter how big they get. How bratty they may behave. How mad they may be with us for trying to "meddle in their business."

They are ours to protect and guide and love. Even if we have a hard time showing it sometimes.

So remember, dear Nathalie, that you are MY baby. And I'll love you for always. 

Congratulations on making it through 1st grade. Now I just have to make it through eleven more of these. 

Love,

Mom

Professional Seven-year-old

Dear Nathalie,

As we were finishing dinner last night, Ron and I were talking about how great you are at being seven. I can't recall exactly what sparked that conversation (mostly because I'm extremely tired and getting older) but right on cue you came over with your little paper fortune teller thing (we used to call them "cootie catchers" when I was little) and told me to pick a color. We went through the whole thing and at the end, my fortune was "You will be a princess." You then went on to read aloud all the fortunes. That you wrote. 

You will have xray vision.

You will have rainbow vision.

You will have an extra arm.

You will have an extra eye.

You will be a queen.

You will be a king.

You will be a princess.

You will be a prince.

You, my dear, are excellent at being seven. 

Some of these things I have to start capturing on video because they are much to complicated to translate to mere written words. It's all in how you communicate. The words you use and the tone you select to get your little points across. 

So many opinions already on how the world works. So many questions. 

Last night you wanted to know what a proposal was. Then, what was a business proposal. Why? Where is this coming from? 

I asked you to say goodnight to everyone and it was at that exact moment that you noticed my cookbook shelf. 

"You have a FRENCH cookbook??" Yes, love....and that was my French Laundry cookbook.

This particular letter is extremely scattered, but it will spark a memory for me later, and that's what matters. 

I'll write another soon....Friday morning probably....as I sit and wait to pick you up from your last day of 1st grade. Growing so fast. 

Stop it.

Love,

Mom

The things we do for our children.

Dear Nathalie,

Your Wizard of Oz play is this evening. My plan was to drop you off and run a few errands before the play started.

I was informed by your teacher that it would be wise to head over and get in line for a seat.
So, here I am.

I've been sitting here for close to half an hour already.

On the floor.

Of an elementary school hallway.

It's incredibly uncomfortable and in the end, I'm almost certain that I won't even really be able to see you anyway. But, you've been working hard for this play. And even though you wanted to be Dorothy, in your mind "Oz Person" is just as sweet a role. I caught a sneak peek of you in costume heading to the stage with your friends. You look about as adorable as I expected.

Break a leg kiddo. Meanwhile, I'll break my back here on the floor.
Love,
Mom