Tomorrow is the day, Buddy. In the morning you go to school for the first time. A whole new world opens to you then. You are ready to meet it. You've handled your new kindergarten clothes so many times in anticipation of the day you would first wear them. And you've almost mastered tying your own shoes, except for the hard part - making the bow.
But I wonder how ready your mother is for this new life of yours? If I could, I'd hold you back just a little longer, close to me, where I can shelter your world and share your life.
Tomorrow when you take my hand for the walk to school, I will be the one who dawdles. "Just a few minutes longer", I'll tell myself, "only a few extra minutes to keep you all mine".
When we reach that door, you'll leave me, eager to join the others in the Kindergarten room. You'll walk through it without a backward glance. There I'll stand, wanting to shed a few mother's tears because my only baby has become a little boy. But I won't cry, I promise you I won't.
Instead I'll concentrate on being proud. Proud of you, and Daddy and me. Proud that we've made you secure enough, in five years, to stand on your own for a little while, before racing home to share the news of the day. How we've built so much security, I don't know. All we've ever done is love you.
I admit I'm a bit jealous. Tomorrow you will meet the ultimate authority. Soon you will tell me, with complete confidence, what has to be done because "teacher says". I must surrender part of my position to that other woman who is about to enter your life and your heart.
No longer will I know all of your friends. Diego and Preston and Hannah are old, familiar in our yard and kitchen. But tomorrow you will broaden your horizons and meet other children I shall know only through tales of the schoolroom.
You will soon learn to keep your own little secret as you master the art of making Christmas presents: the paper chains, the felt and glitter, bookmarks, the orange juice cans transformed with macaroni and gold paint to hold Daddy's pencils. And someone
else's hand will help you do it.
But there is much for us to share this year, you and I. Over cookies and milk, you will tell me what "Teacher said" and "Michael did". And I will listen, enchanted as I view the world through your eyes.
It is hard to let go, my sweet son. For five years you have been my companion. Together we have surveyed the supermarket, devoured the dollar store and puttered our way through the plant shop. It won't be the same without your trusting hand in mine.
Tomorrow I begin a new life, too. Back I go to the carpool. Each Tuesday, I will fetch you and your friends and deliver you home safely. The rest of the week, I shall watch for you as another mother brings you home to me. Then we will catch up on all that went on in school, a pair of old pals huddled closely over cups of hot cocoa.
Yes, I hate to see you leave behind the sheltered world of home and Mom. But, I will always be with you. Love reaches beyond he doors of schoolrooms, beyond the boundaries of neighborhoods, beyond time and places.
In the morning, I will help you put on your blue and brown
argyle shirt and your crisp new jean shorts, and comb your hair just a little bit neater. And we will be on our way.
But tonight - tonight, for the last time you are simply my baby. And I hold you now at bedtime just a little longer, cuddle you just a little closer, give you one more kiss before saying goodnight. In the excitement, you don't notice my stealing that extra kiss. I need it for Kindergarten.
I love you so much,
Brayden.
Love,
Mommy
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