first day of school: a letter

dear lucy,

today was your first day of kindergarten. i wasn't as sad as i thought i would be, watching you walk onto that big school bus. mostly because you've loved those cheesewagons since the day you could talk. but mostly because there was so much confusion and running trying to catch the bus in the first place.  it was so neat seeing you at the school, all eager, all ready all excited.

i hope you remember how sad your sister was that you went to school that day. and the days after. i'm proud that you two are such good friends. i'm also intrigued at how lost she is without you, yet starts fighting with you as soon as you are home. i hope you know that i was lonely that day too. i never realized how much of a talker you were before (in a good way, well, sometimes).  the house was eerily quiet, and i paced around cleaning & thinking about what you were doing at that moment. it almost felt like the stories of amputees. you'll learn about those someday, but basically even when someone has lost a limb, they still feel the itch on it, and want to scratch. even though you weren't home, i still was wanting to talk to you. will it feel like this when you are in high school? out on dates? in college? married? living thousands of miles away?

even if it is, i think i'll be ok with it with a few conditions.  as long as you still smile when we see each other, like you did today when you came home. as long as you sit down at the table and tell me all about your day and friends and teacher and m&m's that you got. as long as you feel safe telling me anything and everything. as long as you are still excited to learn and grow and be a kind person. then, and only then, will it keep being ok for you to grow up and leave. 

you will always remember that first day of school and all the new things you experienced. the wrinkles in your new clothes. the squeak of your new shoes. how the bathroom smells like clorox and swiss cheese.  but i hope you will read this and know that i missed you. that i love you. that i'm extemely proud of you. and that i'm always thinking about you, especially when you are gone.

love, mom.

ps: you should know that your dad called 4 times that day to check in on your status. and that's saying a lot; your father hates phones. maybe you can teach him how to text in about 13 years? but don't expect a cell phone any sooner. you got it?