He is so excited that this Sunday he will move upstairs, to the five year old class, out of the preschool hall.
At least one of us is . . .
To hold that first one when she was five just once more. That would be bliss.
To think with my brain and not so much my heart . . . that would be bliss.
I'm not logical or methodical. I'm emotional and chaotic.
And that used to be good enough.
Sunday I'll hold his hand and climb the stairs and feel Gregg's hand on my back and know that Max is beautiful and growing and in love with me still.
I'll watch him grin big and go in like he owns the world and try not to think too hard.
I could parent for hundreds of years and still not want to say good-bye to the preschool hall.
Good-bye, preschool hall.
Hello, children's wing.
And time taking flight - be gentle with me, please.
