My littlest graduate

Last week, my heart simultaneously was aching and beaming with pride, as I watched my youngest baby walk down the aisle for her preschool graduation.

Yes, the long-awaited day had finally come.

She was the one waiting for it.  I was hoping to postpone it just a little bit longer.  She is so eager to be bigger and move on to grander things.  I, on the other hand, am trying hard to catch up to her in that respect.

But goodness, watching her enter the room with a smile beaming brightly set my heart on fire.  She is ready for grander things. 

She's so smart.  She's so sassy.  She's so independent.  She's so creative.  She's so brave.

She's going to take on kindergarten full force in the fall.

Watching her graduate was a little harder on my heart than watching her brothers.  When she started daycare, where she did the preschool program that she graduated from, she was less than one-year-old.  She started on the same day that I did.  We started together in the same room.

She's left me way behind.  I love where I am, and so does she, but she's ready to break forth.  I am not.

It's been such a joy watching my kiddos grow and move through the rooms, finding relationships with not only their peers, but my fellow staff.  I have LOVED the four years of having my princess in the building with me.  I have loved knowing she's near, just like I did with the boys.

But watching her go?  I'm not ready for that.   I have a few months to adjust, but I don't know that I will ever really be prepared to enter the daycare doors alone next fall, and not bring her smiling face through the door to see her best friend- the first daycare provider she ever had, whose heart she found a home in, and has loved her, and seen her, almost every single day of her life.

We are in for a big change.

I am so excited for her, though, as she is thrilled to join her big brothers at elementary school.  She has big plans and ideas for the days to come, and I love hearing her squeal with excitement as she tells me all about them.

Her graduation program was adorable, of course.  She grinned until she couldn't grin naturally anymore, then faked it and sang her heart out.  She was beautiful.  She enamors me. 

She wants to work in a hospital when she grows up.  She used to want to be a nurse.  I guess it's a little more open ended now. 

I stood there, watching her, grinning as huge as she did, with tears in my eyes.

My baby graduated.

They're all growing up so quickly.

My second little Graduate

Dearest Collin,

Tonight, as your brother did a year ago, you celebrated your very first graduation.  You did it all in your own very unique style, with a lot of flair.  It's amazing how sometimes you can be so much like your big brother, and then other times, it's like you are complete opposites.

Because of your very special birthday being on the last possible day to go to kindergarten next year, you were not only the youngest in your class, but one of the shortest and spunkiest.   From the moment you walked into the sanctuary at church, you captured the attention.  My heart about exploded while you stood up in front proclaiming "I love you, Mama" in front of everyone, even if you were talking over the person who was trying to speak to the crowd.

Uncle Jesse, Auntie Sam, and Belinda all joined in the celebration tonight, and you were delighted to have them there to celebrate. You waved enthusiastically at both of your siblings, who were excited to watch you perform.  And... perform you did.  You were the loudest, busiest one in the group.  I wasn't surprised, and I was trying to hard not to stress out about the fact that you might have yelled at a couple people because you've definitely got a firecracker spirit and a mind of your own.

Your brother kept telling me how funny you were. Your sister kept telling me how awesome you were.  And everyone knew you were ours.

You knew all the words, and so long as your tassle and your sash were on properly, you sang your little heart out and did explosive actions.

You were thrilled when you received your diploma and went running to hug your teacher.

Thank you for the goofy, joy-filled memories.

We are so proud of you.  You've got big things ahead of you.  I know sometimes, I wonder if you're listening or paying attention, but you prove time and time again that you are.  You take after me in that you've got a vast expanse of trivia-type knowledge.  You love the sea, shapes, colors, automobiles.  You are stubborn though, so I never quite know what you know, because you only want to share on your own terms.  Remember when I asked if you could write a 'C' and you said yes?  I asked you to show me, you wrote an 'X' and I asked why.   You said "Because I wanted to write an X, not a C."

That's how you roll, Ollie Bear.

I'm a little nervous for you to become a big boy and join the realms of elementary school. I worry that your temper may get the best of you, and your teachers might be a little overwhelmed.  I hope they can give you hugs if you need, like your preschool teachers have learned to do.  It almost always diffuses the situation and brings you back down to earth.

I know you're excited to go to school like your brother, and I know you'll love learning there too.

You've grown up so fast.  I can hardly believe it.  You're a graduate.

I love you, Ollie Bear.  Thanks for all the joy you bring to my life, for teaching me unending patience and strength, and for not being ashamed to proclaim you love me, even when it's not perfect timing for the rest of the world.  I'll never grow tired of hearing it.

Little Graduate

Dear Spencer,

Last night was your first of many educational graduations. Last night, you graduated from preschool! I know that critics may claim it is not a true graduation, and quite honestly, years ago, I would have been one of them. Now that I am your Momma, I feel much differently.

Buddy Boy, I am so proud of you. Ever since you were a toddler and the first color you learned was chartreuse (of all things), I knew you had amazing potential. You learned your colors and shapes very early on, and your alphabet and numbers soon after. My heart was so full of joy, feeling like you were following in my honor roll footsteps. You spent much of your first four years at home with me, and I relished these years and took your education (as) seriously (as I could with your siblings and the assorted chaos of our lives).

It fractured my heart a bit when life's curveballs made it so you had to attend daycare and other women would be spending their days with you. 

I was also very nervous. You are my first born, the one who taught me how to be a mommy, and our bond was special. It was laden with challenges of your quirky personality and hate for change and new circumstances. I was very apprehensive to let you be in the care of strangers who didn't know what made you nervous, what brought you joy, and everything in between.

Last night was your graduation program. While you did not participate in the singing, I am proud of you. Last night, you joined your class in your classroom beforehand, willingly and happily, despite your tears and pleads not to on the way there. At one point, you even agreed to stand up front.

I know many adults may criticize us and my decision to not press the issue of you performing. When you walked in and saw the crowd, you panicked. I know thousands of adults would have done the same. An adult would call it a panic attack, anxiety, an extreme phobia, or other such thing, but when it comes to a little guy like yourself, it's often not seen with the same understanding and grace. I am sure many would be disappointed that I did not try to force you against your will to join.

But I heard your scared cry and I let you sit beside me. We watched the program together while you sang along quietly, and in between songs, I would try to urge you to join.  You would chose to stay in the audience. That was okay.

Your accomplishments, your strength, your intellect, your worth... None of that is measured by your willingness to stand in front of tons of strangers who are staring at you as you perform. Some people love performing. Many don't. Your mom is one who tenses up and gets nervous in front of an audience, so I understand.

I will always encourage you to try. I will work to develop your bravery, and we will continue to pray for bravery and strength in situations like that. I believe one day you will join, and you will be so proud of yourself for doing so.

Until then, know that you're amazing, even out of the spotlight. You know so many things, you can do so many things, you have the emotional intelligence of an elementary school student for sure, you have a huge, compassionate, and empathetic heart, and you bring so many of us such great joy. Many know this of you already, some refuse to see it or understand, but one day, countless people will know.

I am so blessed to be your Momma, my little graduate. You have big things in store for your future!

Love,

Mom