My Little Graduate

I never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom and still happy about the decision I made to work and be a parent to this day. I know there are many out there that do enjoy the SAHM role, but I wanted to have a career outside the home and have a family. From the moment my little guy was born, he couldn't have been loved more, and our connection couldn't be any stronger.  One important piece to making this work was his wonderful preschool that he has been at since he was 8 weeks old, and from which he will be graduating in less than a month.   It's still hard to believe that five years has passed. Kindergarten decisions that needed to be made seemed so far away have been chosen, the excitement for something new grows every day. I am nervous about how he will like it, how we will like the school we've chosen, what the new schedule will bring. Being in the same routine for five years becomes very comfortable and change is sometimes scary for big people and little people.

He tried on his cap and gown Monday night before picture day at school and he beamed with pride, as did mommie and daddy.

I still snuggle him at night and he holds my hand as he falls asleep.

He still hates to brush his hair and his teeth.

I still love to lean in and catch the smell of his hair after he's had a bath.

I still make him promise me at least once a week that when he is a teenager he will still think mommie is cool.

He's a big boy, but will always be my baby.

Kinda related, for those with big graduates this year, a friend sent me this yesterday and thought I would share: 

An author named Sandy Hingston writes a regular piece in Philadelphia Magazine called "In Loco Parentis" about (obviously) being a parent. In this month's magazine, she writes about how her daughter is already in college and her son is headed there this fall and she is trying to decide if she can rid the house of all the kids' clutter that has accumulated over the years. Towards the end of the piece she writes:

"I can pretend all I want that I’m preserving the gargoyles for the sake of my children. I can rationalize hanging onto the third-place volleyball tournament trophies and baking-soda volcanoes by telling myself Marcy and Jake would miss them if they disappeared. I can even convince myself I’ll want the building blocks and Legos for grandchildren someday. The truth is that come August, I’m going to need all that stuff — need to walk amongst it, touch it, to convince myself it wasn’t a dream. That once upon a time there was a place called Camelot, and I was king. No one is ever going to need me that much again. I’ll never loom so large in the world."