Growing Up Almost Mormon
Sunday Funny

Back to School

Who knows why it was this morning it hit me, and not the first day I took Kaleb to his new preschool. But, this morning getting him ready I realized:

This is my last year of having a preschooler.

The last year of preschool-type projects like color books and weaving cards and alphabet projects.

The last year of sending a package of cookies along with the preschool check.

The last year of seeing our favorite preschool teacher, Miss Cathie, who has taught all of my kids when they were four except for Nathan (who had to go to a different preschool because I was teaching that year), and who is the perfect preschool teacher: grandmotherly and wise and just so good with kids.

The last year of pointing out shapes, and letters, and numbers, because pretty soon he'll know them all anyway.

The last year of having a small, constant companion two days out of the week.

Sure, next year, when he's in kindergarten, he'll still be home with me for part of the day. But this year still feels like an ending. Maybe because there's no one else coming up behind him who'll also go to preschool. It's that motif that weaves through my relationship with Kaleb: everything he does is the last time I get to experience that thing, too.

So here I am, doing what I always do with Kaleb: taking a deep breath and reminding myself that instead of grieving for the way things end, I need to try my hardest to savor everything. I've set a goal for myself to make every day of this school year count, to find something sweet and good every day to remember.



I think that with Ben all the time. Especially when he lets me hold him, and I realize how small he still is. I mean, not small, small, but still fit-in-the-rocking-chair small. It makes me sad, too.


I like this, Amy (but then, when don't I like what you write?). I get it. I try to allow myself at least a little bit of grief, more or less, depending on what it is. But the cherishing is so wonderful, isn't it?

jamie `

It is so hard. so hard. But I am reminded of something that happened to me once at church. I was in the mother's room with my baby talking to another woman and I held my baby tight and said something like "Oh, I wish he wouldn't grow up" and she looked sorrowfully at me and said "Don't wish that, never wish that." She had an adult daughter with Down's syndrome who would never grow up. I didn't have anything to say to that so I just smiled my understanding at what she was trying to say.

I have thought about that many times in my wistfulness at leaving their babyness behind and so while I am sad, I am also so grateful for their health and that they get to have their own experiences and I get to watch them become wonderful people but...............

Karen B.

That is wonderful advice to us all! What a tender mom you are! Miss ya.


I find myself up in the middle of the night with Breanna again but I find that I am not upset or totally exhausted to the point that I am just counting the seconds 'till I can lay her back in her crib and go back to sleep myself. Instead I find that I love to hold her and watch her and rub her cheak. I am greatful that I get to be there in that moment to love and care for her.

It makes me sad to think that she is my last child that I will be up with, rocking back to sleep, cuddling with and comforting. I am trying to cherish every second I can and am trying to slow down and not ask for her to grow up so fast.

Don't get me wrong... I am DONE having children but it is still kind of sad that this is the end of that part of my life.

I totally understand how you feel, Amy!

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