Sentimentality Be Damned.

I just dropped my Kindergartner off at school for the last time. The. Last. Time.

At 11:15am today, he will officially be a first grader. (What the!) Bug told his dad this morning, “Bye, Dad! It’s the last time you’ll be saying good-bye to me as a Kindergartner!”

I’m not a sentimental person – not overly, anyway. I have kept a majority of Bug’s kindergarten artwork and math worksheets and journal entries (the ones that weren’t crumpled at the bottom of his tote bag anyway), but I don’t have any qualms about throwing stuff away. I used to be quite the memory-hoard. I used to keep every little memento, from classmates’ notes, to my ninth grade prom corsage. (Maybe practicality as a wife and mom and limited space cured that ailment.) For the most part, sentimentality be damned.

But durgit, I want this year back.

Hubs told him this morning, “You will never, ever, ever be a Kindergartner again!” (Thanks, hon.)

If nothing else, Bug’s educational career is off to a winning start – mostly E’s (for Excellent) in behavior (he’s come home with maybe three or five S’s [for Satisfactory] over the past nine months) and straight E’s on his report card (except in handwriting – he suffered an S in that as well…).

But it seems like fifteen minutes ago we were walking out the door on a hot August day, Bug in his ironed polo shirt (so he could be like Dad), confident and excited and ready to meet new friends. And fifteen minutes from now we’ll be sitting in a stuffy gymnasium (or grassy lawn, weather-permitting) for his high school graduation. (Kleenex, anyone?)

I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but I feel like I need to be properly sentimental about the past year, that if I don’t pause long enough and reflect, it’ll be like standing in a wind tunnel with each day swirling viciously around me like a hurricane. I feel like I’ve failed in properly chronicling his Kindergarten year in a way that he will remember it forever. I think I might have documented photographically three? four? events that happened at school this past year: the Family Night Sock Hop, the Spring Walk-a-Thon,  the end-of-the-year Field Day…there’s a whole lot of meat missing from this sandwich.

I, on the other hand, remember the days in-between – the day he came home with his first S and spent practically the whole day crying, the day he announced his first girlfriend (there were three, actually), the days I showed up for lunch (coincidentally, they were always serving square pizza those days…), and the many, many other days that are only evidenced in my memory, and cannot be condensed into one witty, touching, properly nostalgic blog…

I am a little sad that it’s over, that the newness of being in school for the first time (real school, not day-care school, as Bug put it once) is gone, and that one day, Bug will only remember a tiny handful of the past 300-ish days of Kindergarten snapshots.

But a bigger part of me is excited for the pending months of summer, as Bug transitions from fresh-faced Kindergartner to weathered First Grader, and more importantly, from just my baby boy to my baby boy plus Bean’s big brother.

For a moment though, I thought I’d reflect.

First Day of School:

The year begins

 

And to be fair to Bug when he’s an adult, here’s one for the record books. My Kindergarten teacher Mrs. Davis and a few of her Kindergarteners, circa 1988.

(I’m the only black-haired one who looks uncannily like Data from The Goonies. Thanks for pointing that out, Maia.)

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4 Comments

Filed under Family

4 responses to “Sentimentality Be Damned.

  1. Data from The Goonies. 😉 Heh heh!

    Hi Jess!

    First of all, you are drop-dead gorgeous. Second of all, your Bug is adorable. And it sounds like you have a KAH (Kick Ass Husband, to borrow an acronym from Chase MCFadden, Super Dad and Super Blogger.)

    Unlike you, I have hoorayed as Monkey has moved from each grade to the next and I have never looked back. As a secondary and then college educator, the younger years pretty much baffled me. I hated lugging around the sippy cup and diaper bag. I was so happy when Monkey started talking. And then writing. And now, it’s even better because when my technology fails, he can fix everything. In fact, he can fix anything. He can cook his own meals. He can wash his own dishes. He can clip his fingernails. He can shower independently. Basically, Monkey rocks. Like your bug. So congratulations to him for his accomplishments this year. He’s movin’ on up.

    You’ve given him roots. Now don’t forget to let his wings come in! 😉

    • Hah! Me? Gorgeous? You’re too kind, you Knockout with Abundant Bookshelves, you. 😉

      And I do have my very own KAS (Kick Ass Spouse) – he’s tall, dark, and handsome and I have to remind other people not to fall in love with him.

      I definitely don’t miss the days of carrying around a mini-fridge, mini-wardrobe, and mini-bathroom when Bug was 0-2 years (although I do that now with li’l Beanie). And I do love our conversations centering around history and math and the big words he uses, instead of him laughing at the word, “poop” all the time (now it’s just sometimes, but only if the word “underwear” is also in context).

      And Monkey sounds like Superman. 🙂

      Here’s to roots and wings!

  2. I love the word durgit and will steal accordingly.
    You are wonderful at blogging.
    Everybody wore turtlenecks in the 80s.
    The Data line is hilarious so thank Maia from me too.

    • Steal away. Do I get royalties?

      And thanks, I wasn’t self-conscious about the turtleneck until you said something. I was mostly just ruminating on how I looked like a little boy for the first eight years of my life.

      A blog post I can’t wait to get into, once I raid my parents’ house for photographic evidence.

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