Skipping Town

Last official day of school. It feels so scattered that Lucia didn't even attend her final Google meet with her teacher; we didn't know about it and TBH it's felt like we've been done for a week. Sigh. Greta had a virtual clap-out since she's moving onto a new school next year (the next school building is grades 3-5). Then Greta and I went to a park near her school so she could say goodbye to her teachers and receive her belongings and her oldster medal, a tradition in the multiage class. It was sad saying goodbye. We've been with these teachers for four years since Lucia had them for multiage too. End of an era. The kids spent the afternoon playing in the basement, helping me sort and prepare more things for sale, and swimming. Then there was a neighborhood clap-out for the kids moving on to new schools. Then there was the spring piano recital on Zoom. The girls did great. It was an emotionally intense day. Besides all the end-of-school intensity, it's ...

SUMMER!!! This school year seemed to last a hundred years, but today was FINALLY the last day of school. Last day of first grade for Greta, last day of third grade for Lucia. It was a half day. Lucia went right to a friend's house for an end-of-year party, with a backyard inflatable waterslide contraption that looked amazing. When Greta came home she ate lunch and read for two hours, determined to catch up to Lucia for the library's summer reading program. We signed up on Tuesday and they're already obsessed with racking up hours. I gave them each an end-of-school gift of a rainbow of model magic colors--they've been asking for this for months--and a divided organizer tray of Rainbow Loom bands, plus a sun-shaped cookie from the Able Baker (a bakery in town). When Lucia got home, they played outside a bit (the rain has finally stopped) and then got into a giant argument about these two hobby horses they use as "crutches," but the argument was stupid and no...

Today was Lucia's last day of kindergarten. The year flew, and it seems like just last week we were sending Lucia off on the school bus for the very first time, Andrew crying openly in front of the neighbors. Then racing to the school to meet her in the crowd of kids lining up behind the school--and not finding her. She found me, smiling in amusement. She had a great year. She made the adjustment from small nurturing private preschool to big chaotic public school in a snap--I can't believe how much is required of these littlest ones, and how they rise to it. She loved being on the bus, made bus friends, made lots of other friends, learned to read and spell (well, sort of...she forgets to add vowels) and write in capital and lowercase letters. She learned about ants. (That was big.) An interest in space and planets was sparked. She learned funny songs. She found the boys in her class hilarious. She bought pizza for lunch on Fridays and carried a stuffed animal in her back pack...

Dear Lucia, You've finished preschool last week! Three years--done. This was by far the hardest year to say goodbye to, for me at least. You had a pre-K year that was wonderful beyond words. Exceptionally warm and talented teachers, supportive and welcoming preschool community, lovely classmates and families, activities that fully embraced both fun and kindergarten prep. We couldn't have asked for more. On the way home from your last day, I asked you how you felt, anticipating sadness; but all you said, happily, was, "I feel like kindergarten." You loved this year but are eagerly anticipating the next big thing, which is as it should be. Month by month, you're becoming more of a five-year-old, curious and funny and so much yourself in ways that--I have to admit--have little to do with me. You still love reading books together, and your interest in identifying sight words is growing--my ambitious goal for the summer is to get you even closer to reading...

Dear Grets, Well, you did it: you made it through your first year of preschool. It started off dramatically, with so many tears and so much clinging and sadness. I'll never forget peeking into your classroom after your first day of school, expecting a happy, proud baby, and seeing instead your sad, tear-streaked little face, lips quivering, barely holding it together--and then you losing it completely when you finally caught sight of me. I don't think you've ever sobbed so tragically. We started your preschool experience by sobbing together as the other kids and parents milled about. Happily, things changed for you. For a while, you cried when I left, and I spent the first two weeks of school hanging out in a nearby meeting room just in case you needed me (you didn't). Eventually, you gave me sad, worried looks, but no longer cried. And then--it all clicked for you. You gave me a hug goodbye and traipsed into the classroom with nary a backward glance. I won't...