summer

Tomorrow is the last day of preschool. Two years ago, when I dropped them off for the first time, everyone told me I would cry. I insisted that I had been with them every single minute of their lives, except for maybe five, and I was ready to drop them off for awhile. Anywhere. I did not cry on the first day. I went to Starbucks by myself and sat, happily, for two hours and fifteen minutes. And they absolutely loved preschool.

Yesterday was the annual spring program. The noisy boys stood proudly with their class, Twin B. with his new glasses, singing silly songs. They all looked so grown up, in a five-almost-six kind of way. They sang “Brown Bear, Brown Bear” to the tune of Baa Baa Black Sheep, and even did sign language along with all of the animals. And by the time they got to the end, “Children, children what do you see? We see mothers looking at us,” I was all choked up. How can I forget the early years and all of our worries about their development? When the speech therapist who evaluated them periodically said, “Read, read, read,” I did. After breakfast each morning we would sit on the living room floor and read all of our books. Every last one. It took over an hour, but we soaked up all of those words, my boys and I. And “Brown Bear” was my personal favorite. Well, that and “I Love you Stinky Face.”

My tears yesterday weren’t tears of sadness that they’re growing up. They were tears of joy and accomplishment. Twin A. and Twin B. are ready for Kindergarten. Really ready. And as their lives unfold, it’s a privilege to guide them along the way; to teach them; to give them opportunities to grow.

Happy summer, noisy boys!