Kindergarten, Day 1. The drop-off was successful. I was not nearly as emotional about it as I thought I’d be. Annie was pretty upset though. Me? The feelings are running a little deeper under the skin on this one, they don’t seem to be coming up to the surface very quickly.
I’m quietly pondering it all. I’m thinking about how long the days are, and yet I’m a bit blown away by how fast the years are piling up. I just want to bottle up little bits of it. Somehow trap the feeling of lifting her up and feeling her little tiny torso in my hands. I want to bottle up the feeling of those little arms wrapped around my neck. I want to bottle up the feeling of her tiny hands holding my face still as she plants a kiss on the tip of my nose. I want to bottle up the feeling of her nuzzled against my arm as I read her a bedtime story.
If things keep moving at the rate that they feel like they are moving, then I’m afraid I’m going to blink and suddenly find myself walking a beautiful bride down the aisle and giving her away to another man, younger than me.
I’ll be wanting those bottles near me when that happens.
It’s an undeniable and universal struggle, an old cliche, balancing the business of everyday life with stopping to smell the roses. Luckily the business of my everyday life is mostly centered around someone who is all about stopping to smell the roses.
But still – I’m thinking about this morning, the logistics of it. What time she should be cleaned up and dressed? What time should she be finishing breakfast? What time should the van be loaded up and running? Does this schedule have enough wiggle room? Can it handle Reggie filling her diaper as we’re headed out the door? Will I have time to brush snow off the van? Will I have time to shovel the snow? Flat tires? Spilled Juice? Lost homework? Why is there toothpaste on the . . . ?
I can create 10,000 scenarios, and have plans for those scenarios, and I’ll still get taken by surprise. That’s fine, I’ve been at this Dad gig long enough to know these things can hit at any given time. As I get farther into parenting, it seems to me that my reactions to things that happen are actually more important than the things that happen.
This morning, we successfully got Lyd to school, with time to spare. All I have to do is repeat this about one hundred and seventy more times. I think I have a decent amount of chaos calculated into the whole thing.
Technicals, logistics, back up plans, built-in redundancies–the Stage Manager in my head is happy.
Then I pause and look at the picture Annie took this morning of Lyd, she’s smiling proudly, holding up a Magna-Doodle with the words, “First Day of Kindergarten” written on it, and I think about Lyd in the not-so-distant future holding that same Magna-Doodle, the words, “Last Day of Kindergarten” written on it. I wonder, “how much taller will my little girl be when that second picture is taken?”

I think I need to go smell some roses