I just kissed my first-grader goodbye for the last school morning. When I pick her up this afternoon, she’ll be a full-fledged 2nd grader. I did my best to hold the tears in until I got home. There’s something about this particular transition that heightens the nostalgia ante for me — both Kindergarten ad 1st grade have a certain “beginning-ness” about them, and I’m finding myself more and more having to acknowledge this new phase in my child’s life — something that’s not quite a beginning anymore, but more like a work in progress.
This past weekend, during her dance recital, I was awestruck by this brilliant, beaming, self-assured, graceful young performer. I was equally awestruck by the chasm now separating her from the teeny tiny beginning dancers that were her only a few short years ago.
This growing up thing, it’s been happening like lightening right before our eyes. And if I don’t clear the tears that mourn the passage of time, I might miss out on being able to bask in the beauty of the masterpiece in progress.
You go, girl!
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