Endings are hard. Always. Even looking at how much the boys have grown and learned and changed over the past year, it’s hard not to be a tiny bit sad that they are being promoted. Can’t Oliver be a kindergartener forever? And third grade is too big for little Simon.
It’s a cause for celebration, I know, and we’re going to do our darnedest to celebrate (movie and milkshakes are on the agenda), but underneath the celebration, I’ll be mourning just a bit.
Some things we’ve learned a bit about these boys of ours this year:
This kid proved to be a good speller. And to be completely undisciplined about his homework.
This kid learned to manage his time so he wasn’t always the last one done with an assignment.
This kid was unofficially voted cutest in his class. We’re not sure if the girls see him as cute in a crush-y way, or in a baby way, but whatever. Everyone wants to be his friend.
And this kid was, apparently, a shining example of good behavior in a class that sometimes/always struggled in that area. One parent said he “brought out the best” in her son. Gold star for Simon.
They’ve had a great year, and I am thrilled at what excellent human beings they are becoming. I suppose that even if they are growing up and moving forward, and that makes my heart hurt a little bit, I should be (and am) very grateful that I’ll still be there to watch the whole thing happen, the entire way.
She learned how to do this before school one morning. We stood by to spot her several times until we were confident she could do it on her own. And then, an hour or so later when she was at it again, three members of the school’s administration approached Micah and I, who were talking to another parent a few yards away, to see if it was our little daughter who was giving everybody heart attacks by climbing on top of the monkey bars.
Yes, yes it was.
That’s just her, we told them. She’s been doing that to us for nearly 3 years now and we’ve learned that she’s actually pretty good at what she does—which is to climbing and swing and flip in ways that most children her age wouldn’t dream of and most parents can barely tolerate.
It is very rare, I’ve found, that you are able to get the perfect balance on a Saturday. Too many activities and you end up feeling wasted and tired by the end of the weekend. Too little and you feel like life is running away from you. And then you must factor in the necessity of actually “getting something done”: working on a project, cleaning a week’s worth of dirt from off the kitchen floor, that sort of thing.
Having said all that, I humbly submit that yesterday, we did it right. We found the balance. We won at Saturday.
Sleep in? Check.
5-mile run? Check.
Project progress? Check and check.
Birthday party? Check.
Chill time at the park? Check.
Anyway, just thought I’d let you know. We did it right for once. (Next week, not so much.)