She talked about starting school for months. She planned her lunch and meticulously labeled everything in her backpack. She was ready. We were ready. We were wrong.
She had gone, happily, to a small-group kindergarten orientation. Then, she realized she had to go back the next day.
While changing diapers, braiding hair, throwing lunches into bags, and trying to find cleanish clothes to wear to work, the morning-long discussion started with patience and ended in us wrestling her 40lbs of raging emotion into the van and peeling out of the driveway. We then realized that no one is ever ready with Lucy.
She’d humbled us before:
- insisting on walking on all fours onto an airplane – then barking and growling at the passengers all the way down the aisle to the back of the plane
- wailing unconsolably for entire cross-Canada flights
- screaming for the majority of the first six months of her life
We’ve had our moments, so I guess we should have known.
Lucy is fiercely passionate about everything. And sometimes, that exhibits itself in justifiable rage…
and other times in pure love…
Lucy loves wholeheartedly and loyally. She openly shares everything with her brothers, gives the tightest hugs, and tells me her favourite part of school is getting to ride the bus with Oscar because he lets her sleep on his shoulder.
So it was by some miracle of intuition that Lucy’s kindergarten teacher, seeing Lucy’s stress in Jeff’s arms, picked her up, hugged her close, and won her loyalty in an instant.
It left us all humbled.
Which is why it made sense to me when one morning, while gazing into her cereal, Lucy said to me:
Mom, Oscar is your son, but I’m your sunshine, right?
Yes, Lucy. You are the burning ball of hot plasma that we rely on for the warmth that nourishes and sustains us.
Happy 5th, kindergartener!