I sat down at my computer last night and went to upload a billion and a half photos from my iPhone and SLR. Unexpectedly, the following video showed up in my Flickr stream via my iPhone:
(please excuse the vertical frame. sigh.)
I probably watched it 8 times, the entire full minute of it, wishing I would have just let the camera roll a little longer. This was taken during one of Jack’s first preschool classes almost exactly two years ago. Just a teeny clip of them just being while I captured it unbeknownst to them. My oh my, what a couple years will do to a toddler, moments that just fly by so fast you wonder if you skipped them entirely.
Jack started Kindergarten last week. Though there was some certain apprehension about what was to come, he was brave and confident, everything I wished and hoped for him.
Me, well, I didn’t do as well. There were tears shed, and they weren’t his. He has worked so hard for this confidence and ease of just being in his own skin, unafraid of the words that he speaks not sounding the way he intends them to, because he knows he is smart. He is smart and kind and probably the most shocking to me: He is a leader. He raises his hand, voices his ideas, embodies this big beautiful spirit that I was so fearful of being cloaked in self-conciousness relating to his speech delay.
We won over this thing. Though there will be at least a year more of sessions with therapists, we’ve overcome hardest part: His confidence. I’ve never seen something so glorious as watching my child believe in himself.
He has earned this, and I am truly beyond proud. The two of us have made it this far together, five years of learning how to be a mother and he has been there all along with me as patient as ever. We’ve tackled this great journey with it’s various challenges of moving, a speech delay, nut allergy complications, and now most recently and difficult, asthma.
Jack’s first day of Kindergarten brought with it a slow and sneaky asthma attack. Perhaps it was residual cold symptoms or the stress of this new adventure, the triggers are unknown at this point, but we spent a large portion of that night at the doctor. We’re still learning how to manage this facet of his life, but one thing is for sure: He is the toughest kid, and he will be just fine.
This morning on our third walk to school together, past the East River and through the busy streets of Manhattan on this new routine that brings just the two of us together, I started to get really excited. We have had very little time to spend just the two of us up until now, and these are the times that he chooses to really talk with me. I got so excited in fact that before I knew what was happening, I was skidding across the sidewalk on my hand and knees. My other had was still firmly interlocked with Jack’s hand as he stood over me wondering what I had just done. As a parent, I planned on having struggles but I never thought I would count on my children to teach me to overcome them. I need just as much hand holding, as it turns out.
I know that this is certainly the beginning of a new road of childhood, the commencement of his formal education. I like to think of it as a brand new record fresh out of it’s crisp sleeve, ready to play the songs that though we haven’t heard before, we know and trust the band will play a gorgeous soundtrack.
It’s time to put the needle on the record and watch it spin, steadily and smoothly though the crackles and pops, and even an occasional scratch.
I’ll try not to skip a beat, baby.