One Door Closes Another Opens

**Vintage Thirty would like to apologize for the tardiness of today's post. Tootsie was busy huddled in the corner crying her eyes out.**

Dear Girl-Child,

Today was your first day of kindergarten. You've been ready to go for the last two years. I know this because it has been one of the lead topics of discussion for you. Kind of like when you know a play date is upon us or a birthday; you yammer on and ask endlessly "Is it tomorrow? Is it tomorrow?". Two years later, tomorrow is finally here.

You chose your outfit out of the sweeping new wardrobe in your closet. You chose these shoes out of the dozens of new pairs (dozens: slight exaggeration but not by much). Your backpack and lunch box were handpicked by you. The wonder and excitement you exuberated? Also, all you. You woke up on time, ate your breakfast, and brushed your teeth. This is what you've been training for!

Once on school grounds you were off to play on your new playground. The one you've coveted ever since you were old enough to know what a playground was. All those years of asking if you could play on it and all of those same years my answer was no. Today is a yes day. And so is tomorrow, and the days after that.

There was no time to waste. There were new friends to make! You certainly did not inherit your mother's awkward shyness. [Thank you Jesus]. You were blessed with your paternal grandmother's exuberant zest for meeting new people and chatting them up. You don't know a stranger. Or an enemy. In your own words, "These are all my people". You're a good girl. You're sweet and kind and nice and compassionate and other children flock to you. This has always been true. You're more of a follower than a leader. You're willing to play whatever game interests your friends rather than what your immediate want is. I think this is excellent. No one likes bossy kids.

The moment was upon you. The whistle was blown and it was time to line up. You stood by your backpack and your new friends. You were all smiles and high-fives. You even gave me a thumbs up. This was totally gonna rock and you could totally feel it! Unlike your oldest brother who was dragged in by the assistant principal and an aide, kicking and screaming, literally. It took weeks for my heart to recover from that fracture.

As you knew you were ready for kindergarten for the last two years, I used that time to prepare myself as well. Or so I thought. When it came time to follow your teacher inside and the line started to move; your bottom lip quivered and tears welled up in your eyes. And my heart broke at exactly that moment. I know that fear your feeling. Sometimes I still feel it as an adult. I knew what you needed more than anything at that moment was a hug. And so did I. But I did not. Because I knew if I hugged you there was the possibility that I would never let you go. We would both end up in a blubbering heap on the playground. It was in your best interest and mine that I give you another high-five and silently pray that the line move faster.

You're gonna be okay, kiddo. I'm sure that once you were inside the classroom and at your desk that fear of separation vanished. I hope it was replaced by that excitement you had moments before. This day is a new experience for me. When your older brothers entered their first days of kindergarten, I always had an infant or a toddler at home with me. But you are my youngest. Our last. There are no more babies in our home. This is the last time I will experience a first day of kindergarten with one of my children. This will be the final page I write in your baby book; just as I did with your big brothers. I'm so proud of you.

I love you.

Love,
Mama

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Dear Mr. Farklepants,

You're lucky my tubes are tied. The end.

Love,
Tootsie