Dear Grayson,
Well, here we are--the night before kindergarten. You are already asleep, not very far from me. In fact, after you fell asleep tonight, I laid next to you, molding your hand around my finger to grasp it just like you did when you were small.
You're still small. Even though you're six.
Today was special. We spent the day together--just you and me--and because I know that things are changing a bit tomorrow, I couldn't help but think a lot today about how we've had so many of these special days--and yes, we'll have so many more. But I wish I could rewind and feel a few of those baby days again. Maybe even if we only had ten rewinds in our entire lifetime, and we had to choose carefully when we could use one. Well, today I would have bought a vowel. I would have cashed in one rewind and cherished every second of its replay. I would have held you tighter, read one more book, kissed one more cheek, snuggled you in that rocking chair one more minute before I laid you in your crib.
This isn't the way it works though. Hindsight builds with time which means, baby, I'll be the best grandma ever to your kids. But this week I'll forget again. I might get frustrated or tired or a little impatient when you take fifteen minutes to tie your own shoes in the back seat when I'm trying to get out of the driveway to make it somewhere on time.
Let me tell you something though. This feeling I'm feeling right now the night before kindergarten? It's going to come again and again and again. In between the days that parenting is challenging, through the exhaustion, even after teenage arguments. My heart will always hurt loving you.
I can tell you're nervous. I am too. And I have replayed in my mind so many times what tomorrow will look like. I want you to be happy. I want you to run into that classroom and feel the opportunity that exists between those walls, in those books, through those friends. You might not feel it right away, and that's hard for me. Because I won't be there to hold your hand when you're feeling a little bit insecure, reminding you of your strengths and the happiness that exists around you. And I have been there the past six years.
But I'm here in a different way (Baby Boy, I am always here...you can't get rid of me). Thinking of you at home. Looking forward to your stories. Knowing that we're both stretching and growing together.
The parts about my character and my own story that I am most proud of? They came with uncomfortable moments when sometimes I had to step out on my own and recognize that I am strong, I am capable and I am full of potential. It exists inside every one of us, and I know you're going to discover so much of it this year.
I left you an "I love you" note in your lunchbox today...I hope it makes you happy and not embarrassed when you see it.
I am sad that you won't be here every day with me, but mostly I am so excited to watch you soar. It won't be long before you'll be running to the car, excitedly rattling off the days events, who you met, what you made. You'll pull projects from your backpack, and we'll proudly hang them on our walls. You'll correct us when we call your friends by the wrong name, and soon you won't need to hold our hands through the school hallways because you will own them.
Maybe not tomorrow...but soon.
Gray, the world awaits. Go paint your colors. xoxo
Dear Grayson,
Well, here we are--the night before kindergarten. You are already asleep, not very far from me. In fact, after you fell asleep tonight, I laid next to you, molding your hand around my finger to grasp it just like you did when you were small.
You're still small. Even though you're six.
Today was special. We spent the day together--just you and me--and because I know that things are changing a bit tomorrow, I couldn't help but think a lot today about how we've had so many of these special days--and yes, we'll have so many more. But I wish I could rewind and feel a few of those baby days again. Maybe even if we only had ten rewinds in our entire lifetime, and we had to choose carefully when we could use one. Well, today I would have bought a vowel. I would have cashed in one rewind and cherished every second of its replay. I would have held you tighter, read one more book, kissed one more cheek, snuggled you in that rocking chair one more minute before I laid you in your crib.
This isn't the way it works though. Hindsight builds with time which means, baby, I'll be the best grandma ever to your kids. But this week I'll forget again. I might get frustrated or tired or a little impatient when you take fifteen minutes to tie your own shoes in the back seat when I'm trying to get out of the driveway to make it somewhere on time.
Let me tell you something though. This feeling I'm feeling right now the night before kindergarten? It's going to come again and again and again. In between the days that parenting is challenging, through the exhaustion, even after teenage arguments. My heart will always hurt loving you.
I can tell you're nervous. I am too. And I have replayed in my mind so many times what tomorrow will look like. I want you to be happy. I want you to run into that classroom and feel the opportunity that exists between those walls, in those books, through those friends. You might not feel it right away, and that's hard for me. Because I won't be there to hold your hand when you're feeling a little bit insecure, reminding you of your strengths and the happiness that exists around you. And I have been there the past six years.
But I'm here in a different way (Baby Boy, I am always here...you can't get rid of me). Thinking of you at home. Looking forward to your stories. Knowing that we're both stretching and growing together.
The parts about my character and my own story that I am most proud of? They came with uncomfortable moments when sometimes I had to step out on my own and recognize that I am strong, I am capable and I am full of potential. It exists inside every one of us, and I know you're going to discover so much of it this year.
I left you an "I love you" note in your lunchbox today...I hope it makes you happy and not embarrassed when you see it.
I am sad that you won't be here every day with me, but mostly I am so excited to watch you soar. It won't be long before you'll be running to the car, excitedly rattling off the days events, who you met, what you made. You'll pull projects from your backpack, and we'll proudly hang them on our walls. You'll correct us when we call your friends by the wrong name, and soon you won't need to hold our hands through the school hallways because you will own them.
Maybe not tomorrow...but soon.
Gray, the world awaits. Go paint your colors. xoxo
Well, here we are--the night before kindergarten. You are already asleep, not very far from me. In fact, after you fell asleep tonight, I laid next to you, molding your hand around my finger to grasp it just like you did when you were small.
You're still small. Even though you're six.
Today was special. We spent the day together--just you and me--and because I know that things are changing a bit tomorrow, I couldn't help but think a lot today about how we've had so many of these special days--and yes, we'll have so many more. But I wish I could rewind and feel a few of those baby days again. Maybe even if we only had ten rewinds in our entire lifetime, and we had to choose carefully when we could use one. Well, today I would have bought a vowel. I would have cashed in one rewind and cherished every second of its replay. I would have held you tighter, read one more book, kissed one more cheek, snuggled you in that rocking chair one more minute before I laid you in your crib.
This isn't the way it works though. Hindsight builds with time which means, baby, I'll be the best grandma ever to your kids. But this week I'll forget again. I might get frustrated or tired or a little impatient when you take fifteen minutes to tie your own shoes in the back seat when I'm trying to get out of the driveway to make it somewhere on time.
Let me tell you something though. This feeling I'm feeling right now the night before kindergarten? It's going to come again and again and again. In between the days that parenting is challenging, through the exhaustion, even after teenage arguments. My heart will always hurt loving you.
I can tell you're nervous. I am too. And I have replayed in my mind so many times what tomorrow will look like. I want you to be happy. I want you to run into that classroom and feel the opportunity that exists between those walls, in those books, through those friends. You might not feel it right away, and that's hard for me. Because I won't be there to hold your hand when you're feeling a little bit insecure, reminding you of your strengths and the happiness that exists around you. And I have been there the past six years.
But I'm here in a different way (Baby Boy, I am always here...you can't get rid of me). Thinking of you at home. Looking forward to your stories. Knowing that we're both stretching and growing together.
The parts about my character and my own story that I am most proud of? They came with uncomfortable moments when sometimes I had to step out on my own and recognize that I am strong, I am capable and I am full of potential. It exists inside every one of us, and I know you're going to discover so much of it this year.
I left you an "I love you" note in your lunchbox today...I hope it makes you happy and not embarrassed when you see it.
I am sad that you won't be here every day with me, but mostly I am so excited to watch you soar. It won't be long before you'll be running to the car, excitedly rattling off the days events, who you met, what you made. You'll pull projects from your backpack, and we'll proudly hang them on our walls. You'll correct us when we call your friends by the wrong name, and soon you won't need to hold our hands through the school hallways because you will own them.
Maybe not tomorrow...but soon.
Gray, the world awaits. Go paint your colors. xoxo
Love,
Mom
