Blame it on the wombat
We had a wonderful day. The last day of school, the last day of JK. Her cubby was cleaned out, we even got some school supplies back! Hubby and I both picked her up – it’s her sense of balance you see – we both brought her to school on her first day of the year so we should both pick her up on the last.
On a whim we decided to go out for a celebratory dinner. (I’m fairly sure she talked us in to it.) A quick dip in the pool substituted for a bath (what? she had to end up cleaner than she started and I got to brush her hair). Yes, she may have talked us in to that too.
Then we were off to a strawberry picking date. A full set of sticky, rosy fingers and a full belly later (and memories of two years ago) and we were home. Perhaps we should have considered the ordering of bath and berry picking…
As usual, we selected 3 books and tucked in to read them. What wasn’t ordinary was that she let me select the books tonight, so I decided to pick some of the oldies we hadn’t read in a while.
And then a favorite wombat brought me to my knees. As I read the start of each page I heard my little two year old finishing the end of the lines. Lines she no longer remembered, as hard as she tried (when she tried). As she fussed and flipped beside me I remembered the little body snuggled up against me, calmly following along. As my heart burst and tears ran down my face she stopped tucking her dolly in and started patting my arm and ‘shh, shh’ing me. And I told her they were good tears, rather than explaining just how crazy her mother really is.
This is kindergarten people, I’m never going to survive high school.