When I was in 3rd grade, I changed school districts. I don’t remember much about that time other than I didn’t want to go to the new school and my first friend was Marlana (Hi, Lana!). In 4th grade, my family moved to a new house in my new school district. I remember loving how big the pine trees in the backyard were and how they seemed to be custom made for climbing.
But 5th grade? 5th grade and on- I remember. I remember who I sat with at lunch (Hi Hillory, Karen & Lana!), how our desks were arranged in a square, laughing so hard at lunch that milk came out my nose and the bracelets I got that Christmas from a boy in my class that my parents made me give back. I remember hanging upside down on the monkey bars, the way the gym smelled and how exciting it was that we were the oldest in the school.
5th grade was old– almost grown up. I remember trying to convince my father that I was old enough to curse that year- old enough to be the boss of what I could and could not say. He flatly told me no. But I remember that feeling of independence and growth- it was intoxicating. From 5th grade on, my memories- or at least the important ones- are crystallized in my head.
This past week, the Bean started 3rd grade and Scorch stated 5th grade.
When I started this blog 6 years ago (!!!) the Bean wasn’t in school – she was 2 and home full time with me and our nanny, Mary. Scorch was going to preschool part time and my babies were challenging and crazy-making. But they were babies. Even when they were 3 and 5 and both in school full time- her in preschool, he in kindergarten- they were still babies. I mean…look at those little feet and clean shoes!
Now my son has feet as big as mine and my daughter has a very strong fashion sense – my opinions are no longer welcome.
This year is going to be an astounding one for them, of that I have no doubt. They have wonderful teachers, the best friends and the Hubs and I cheering them on. I’m excited to watch them learn and explore and grow this year, I am! But…does summer really have to be over? Do my kids have to get another year older?
I don’t regret not having more babies- I think our family is pretty much perfect the way it is. I just want my babies to stop growing up. Stop getting so big. Stop inching their way to adulthood. I want time to slow down.
But, time stops for no (wo)man. So instead, I’m going to hold on for the ride. I’m going to practice my father’s quick, emphatic “NO” that brokered no arguments. I’m going to listen to my kids share their days — days that will soon fill their memory banks — and I’m going to try not to react too badly as I learn that my kids know more words than I’d like them to. I’m going to advocate for them, discipline them and love them like mad and hope that when their kids are this age the good memories way outweigh the bad.