Call me a sap, but I simply cannot sit at my kids’ school events without a tremendous lump in my throat. Seeing that tiny handprint and the corny poem about love gets me every time. And if the kids are reciting anything in sign language, I'm toast.
This morning, Danny and I parked ourselves on the tiny chairs in Mrs. Eaton’s primary-colored classroom to watch our children “graduate” from kindergarten. Though they entered her classroom last August looking more like toddlers than school children, the past nine months have shown that they are indeed growing and ready for first grade.
They demonstrated their knowledge of the Pledge of Allegiance, their knowledge of ABCs, seasons, months and days of the week. They showed us how well they sit and listen to instructions from the teacher. And then they each received their “diploma” and portfolio containing examples of their work over the year.
When Mikey flashes that beautiful dimpled smile at me, I am positively certain my heart will burst with love. The tears instantly fill my eyes and I have to do my darndest to hold them back.
There’s something about the end of the school year that makes me melancholy. The end of so many happy memories — like the great candid shot of Ryan in his school yearbook seen cheering at the faculty/student volleyball game at Bay Middle School — and the support and encouragement from some terrific teachers, whose presence in my boys' lives I will miss.
Things could have gone haywire. All three of my kids started in new schools this year, but they all thrived in ways I could not have imagined last year. Patrick, in addition to serving on Safety Patrol, was his classroom representative on Student Council. And this after he suffered some pretty severe anxiety last summer.
Most importantly, all three of my boys are happy. I couldn’t ask for anything more as we begin our summer vacation.