The Gradulate

Here’s another major milestone for a boy whose life has been blogged about from the moment I saw a positive sign on my Dollar Tree pregnancy test six years ago …

Y’all. MY BABY GRADUATED.

From preschool, anyway.

Yeah, I know this kind of thing totally bothers some of you. I mean, it’s preschool, for heaven’s sake. Do these kids REALLY deserve a cap and a gown and a full-blown graduation ceremony just because they’ve learned their ABCs and can say (in a fashion) the Pledge of Allegiance?

Well, if you’re a parent who has paid hundreds of dollars a month in tuition (EVEN in December, when HELLO! There’s practically NO SCHOOL! Ever heard of PRO-RATING?!), then YES. Yes, they do need a cap and gown. And a Bible with their name stamped on it. And a diploma. And a pony.

Seriously, though, it was totally cute. The highlight was when they announced what each preschooler was going to be when he/she grew up as they received their diplomas. There were a lot of future ballerinas, teachers, police officers and fire fighters. My son, though, has decided that he’s going to be a pilot. At least, that’s what his teacher said. After it was over, he told us that she was wrong, and that he was ACSHULLY going to be a bounty hunter. I’m guessing that his chosen profession was censored for delicate Baptist ears.

The ceremony also marked one of Bruiser’s first-ever special events. For years, he has attended his sisters’ graduations, recitals, plays, games, and performances. But this- at last- was HIS moment in the spotlight, and he didn’t want any of us to forget it.

“It’s my GRADULATION Day!” he crowed at the breakfast table on the morning of the ceremony. “I’m going to GRADULATE!  He sat back in his chair, satisfaction etched in the smile on his face. “Mommy? Daddy?” he asked in a coaxing tone. “What do you say to me?”

Dennis and I looked at him and then at each other, mystified. “Uh, Happy Graduation Day?” I asked hesitantly.

“You say, ‘Gradulations, Bruiser!'”

“Oh, of course!” I said. “Gradulations, son!”

“Gradulations!” my husband repeated.

“Gradulations, Mommy. Gradulations, Daddy,” he responded benevolently.

COULD YOU DIE?

Plenty of people have asked me if I’m going to be a weeping mess when he heads off to kindergarten in a month and a half. I’m the mom, after all, who cried for two hours straight after dropping Punky off for her first day of class.

But honestly, I think I’m okay with the notion of Bruiser starting school. It’s just a totally different experience. While Punky stayed home with me until her first day of kindergarten, Bruiser’s been thriving in three-day-a-week preschool for a year and half and many of his friends from preschool and our neighborhood will join him at his new school. He’s also very familiar with the elementary school, having grown up visiting his sister there, and he counts several of its teachers as his favorite babysitters. I feel like he’s in very good hands. I feel like he’s more than ready.

If there’s sadness, it will be because Bruiser’s kindergarten enrollment marks the end of an era- one I’ll never revisit. I couldn’t have asked for more from the eight years I’ve spent at home with my kids while they were small, and I’m so glad that I documented all of our activities on this blog in minute detail. Looking back at all we’ve done together, I feel like I’ve wrung every possible wonderful moment out of the early childhood experience– and while I absolutely loved it, I’m ready to move on, along with my children. I still plan to work from home, but obviously, I’ll be able to take on more of the work I want to do once they’re both in school five days a week.

I’ll admit my eyes may have watered a tiny bit watching Bruiser “gradulate,” but it was only when I thought of the fact that these adorable preschool photos would inevitably surface again when he prepares to graduate from high school. Right now, that time seems so far away, but I have no doubt that a day will come thirteen years from now when I look at this photo and think…

Wow. This seems like it was only yesterday.

 

Did I say I wasn’t weepy?

Strike that.