Tomorrow will be your first day of kindergarten. You're in bed now, dreaming of Legos and drooling into your pillow while clutching blankie and Ray-Ray, the stuffed sting ray that happens to be "up" on the elaborate rotation of soft nighttime companions you devised several months ago. I'm sitting on the couch, imagining what it will be like to send you off at the bus stop at the ungodly hour of 6:40 in the morning. Your lunch is packed and in the fridge, your clothes are laid out on your bedroom floor. We brought a mountain of school supplies - glue sticks, markers, notebooks, pencils - to your class last week when we met your teacher, Ms. Borth and first stepped into room 105.
You're ready.
Several days ago you received a letter from Ms. Borth welcoming you to kindergarten and reassuring you that it's normal to feel excited and nervous at the same time about starting school. I think that the mix of pride, worry, excitement, and love that I feel right now is normal too. You're growing up, kiddo.
Today you told me, unsolicited, what 2 + 2.5 is, and exclaimed, "I can add halfs!" You told me a joke, sang to your baby sister, and built a customized Lego train car. Just last week you learned how to ride your bike without training wheels. You want to know why everything works the way it does and you want to know how to spell every word under the sun. You are so excited to learn how to read and you already know that you love math.
You are so undeniably you. From the way you tell daddy and I that you need to think about something (and then deliberate face down on the couch for several minutes before pronouncing your answer to questions like, "What do you want for dinner?") to your love of every single fruit in existence (except pineapple) to your ability to prattle on endlessly about the various and sundry Lego sets that you dream up, you are all Bryson.
When you started daycare, I wondered about what you would pick up in the world at large when you were no longer under my constant gaze (turns out it's things like potty humor, though you've also picked up your fair share of that from daddy). I wondered who you would become. My parental hubris had led me to think, or at least hope, that I could influence you enough to learn and know the "right" and important things there are to know in life (like always voting Democrat!). But of course, your own driving need to understand the world in your way, on your time schedule puts daddy and I in the proverbial passenger seats as we watch you steer your course through life. We can help navigate when called upon, but ultimately, you're the captain of this operation. And I think you're heading to some amazing places.
For now you're mostly cool with daddy and I wanting to remember and preserve every little milestone along the way. Like how you've memorized your lunch time PIN so you can buy milk. You know your bus number and the route from the front entrance to your classroom. You know how to safely cross the street on your own to get back home after school. It all seems so grown up, so very far removed from the wailing infant you were not so long ago.
So, on the night before your first day of kindergarten, parental hubris notwithstanding, I have some hopes for you. I hope that you meet new friends and share secrets with them that you don't tell daddy or I. I hope that you fall in love in that little kid way with your teacher and the magic of learning that she has to share with you. I hope that you continue to learn to express yourself in a hundred ways - through art, play, words, numbers, movement.
I hope that you know and remember that who you are, independent of what anyone thinks you should be, is important. I hope that you don't shy away from being and showing your true self. I hope you know how much daddy and I love you, how our hearts expand to bursting as we watch you grow.
Here's to a great first day of kindergarten, kiddo!
Love,
Mama
