One more day

Will has one more day left at his school. After that, I won't be driving the route that I've driven for the past two years, twice each school day, nearly as much. We won't be racing to beat the green light that also happens to be the world's longest red light in an effort to get there in time. We won't be parking on the street (Grace Street, no less, which I always found appropriate for a church's address), in front of or behind the same cars and vans, seeing the same kids exit those cars and vans. We won't be putting backpacks and coats into a too-skinny cubby while Laura points out Will's friend Walker's cubby for all to hear ("Walker!!!!"--at least five or six of these jubilant outbursts per pickup or dropoff). We won't count the lights and steps on our way out or see Will's teachers from last year standing at their classroom door. Two years there, gone. Just like that.

What will we be doing next year? It's hard to say. We'll be walking, for one. Walking to a brand new school, new teachers, new friends. We'll see some familiar faces, older kids who live down the street, but for the most part, it's all new. That's the trouble with being the first. It's all unknown. I'm never as relaxed with Will (and with good reason, in all fairness, as his temperament requires constant vigilance), never as confident in my parenting. I wish it could be different, that I could relax a little and just let him be. But it's hard with him. It's hard with all of them, I know.

An older lady was leaving the gym at the same time as us this morning. I was holding Laura's hand as she pushed the wheelchair access buttons that open the door and then meandered out, pointing at a plane getting ready to land at a nearby airport. The lady smiled and waved at Laura and walked on ahead of us. A few steps later, the lady stopped and turned around. She said, "She's precious" and I responded with my usual smile and "thanks, we think so too." Then the lady said, "They all are, aren't they?"

Yes, they are. All of them, both of them. Kindergartner and toddler, blonde and brunette, button- pusher and parent-pleaser, sassy and sweet, boy and girl. I need to remember that, always.