Crying for Kindergarten

May 22, 2009 is one that will go down in my books in a sweet way. I sat and cried some mom-tears today as I was reading the last letter for the year from Ms. Felts, Trip's Kindergarten teacher. I did not cry on the first day of Kindergarten. I did feel funny, and it was a completely new school and new neighborhood and lots of things to fret over. But I certainly cried today because it is over. I am so tired so I don't want to go into so many details - and yes - I have another little boy that will be in Kindergarten in the fall, so we'll do it all over again, likely with the same teacher. But this one is done. Don't think I haven't saved every scrap of paper that has come home. And every picture. And all the "homework" he worked on. I have relished every tiny milestone, every conversation, every teacher conference and every report card. And he wrote in his journal that "my mom is as pretty as a white bird on a tree". What? So cute. He and I laughed together today because there is no 'rest-time' in 1st grade. Praise the Lord. That little boy has stayed awake through hundreds of hours of dark naptimes in preschools, mother's day outs, day schools, at home with me and lastly Ms. Felts' class. Nobody, no-how, no-gettin-around-it - NO NAPPING EVER! So we've suffered through about five exhausting years and he'll not have to be that one that doesn't sleep anymore! Whew! I am so proud of him and what he can do. He's one to watch. And just wait until this time next year when Will's last Kindergarten letter comes home. Send me some Kleenex in advance.

From 'To A Young Son' by Julia Johnson Davis

In your face I sometimes see
Shadowings of the man to be,
And eager, dream of what my son
Will be in twenty years and one.

But when you are to manhood grown
And all your manhood ways are known,
Then shall I, wistful, try to trace
The child you once were in your face?

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MY LITTLE ONE - By Tennessee Williams

My little one whose tongue is dumb, whose fingers cannot hold to things, who is so mercilessly young, he leaps upon the instant things, I hold him not.

Indeed, who could? He runs into the burning wood. Follow, follow if you can! He will come out grown to a man and not remember whom he kissed, who caught him by the slender wrist and bound him by a tender yoke which, understanding not, he broke.

Poem

We are so very glad that you are happy...
long may you keep so, my dear boy...
May you go on as well
as you have begun.
- Charles Darwin

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