Kindergarten to College in two seconds flat or how to survive the day you realize your child is no longer into cartoons and crayons

On your first day of kindergarten you were assigned a green square to sit on while your teacher took roll. Your Grandmother drove over four hours to be there and capture the moments of her first grandchild on that monumental occasion. Together she and I stood in the back smiling, and wiping away tears along with all the other parents that day.

You wrote your name for the teacher, your first assignment, by first going across the page with vertical lines. It looked like a row of sticks on the page, confused I began to nervously look around and bend down to whisper the directions again thinking you had not heard correctly. Before I could say anything you went through and filled in horizontal lines, left to right, between those vertical ones and created the letters that became your name. Brilliant. My son is brilliant.

You came home and we filled in the days that turned into the years that led us to this moment of me standing in line for fresh Orange Juice and a banana so you could have brain food and I could feel like I am still a part of something you need to get through your day. Where you now stand, inched taller than I, with the face I kissed a million times as you slept, now barely recognizable through the face I see next to me.

I have my mommy moment and gasp at all the days in between that led us here. From kindergarten, to first grade and beyond. From the days of Babe and Blues Clues (with Steve!), to the weeks you insisted everyone call you “Ash” (from Pokemon). I am beside myself remembering in a flood of emotion all the moments, suddenly so fresh, that are actually years old. How can I have forgotten the crazy obsession you had with the collectable cards you carried in that three inch binder you took with you wherever you went or the “hit clips” you would listen to and sing along with swearing to me that the Backstreet Boys were “the bomb”? 

From that first day in September with the backpack bigger than you to where we now stand today, where I will leave you with your two freshly sharpened pencils and a calculator as you take your first test for college. College. My son. Brilliant.