Mommy's not ready for kindergarten

Guin,

After months of applications and wait lists and research and pulling my hair out, we were finally able to secure you a spot at the school we thought was the best fit for you.  We were pretty fortunate to get you a spot in the art immersion school that we'd been hoping to send you to for the last two years.  The process of choosing your school was more insane than it was for me to choose what University I wanted to attend.  What if we made the wrong choice?  What if you could have done better somewhere else?  What if I'm pushing my own agenda on you by sending you to an art school? What if my decision about your education messed up your entire future?  (If you haven't already learned this about me, you can see that I tend to jump to worst case scenario situations very quickly.)

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about what the reality of sending you to school looks like.  Since you were born I've been with you for the majority of the day.  Every day.  For five and a half years.  So while I'm still sitting in the "I can't believe my baby is old enough to go to Kindergarten already" space that a lot of parents find themselves in, I'm also realizing how strange it's going to be to be away from you for seven hours a day, five days a week.  Again, I know it's silly - it's not like I'm sending you off to boarding school where I won't see you for months at a time... but it's still hard.

I'm also realizing that this transition marks the end of the time where I get to be in charge of what you are learning.  This is your time to start seeing the world without my influence.  And it's scary for me.  Dad and I decided a long time ago that public school was what we wanted for both you and your sister, because you will learn more about real life by being around your peers than we could ever teach you trying to educate you ourselves.  But now that it's here, the idea of sending you out into the world to learn these things is becoming a little harder for me to handle than I had anticipated.

I'm worried about the logistics of things - how are we going to pay tuition, how are we going to get all of the scheduling taken care of, normal worries for me... but really those are covering up the bigger worries.

I worry that you will get picked on.  The truth is, you will be.  And I've seen how easily you make friends on the playground, how eager you are to be with other kids and your strengths as a leader, and I know you'll pick yourself up and be better for it.

I worry that you will be scared.  You might be.  But I know that you have always adapted to change much easier than I ever have.  And I know that you know you are loved.

I worry that you will struggle with being different - working with your food allergy has always been something you've taken in stride, but I know it will become hard for you when everyone at school is having cupcakes or pizza and you know you can't have them.  I know you will learn that making decisions for your own wellness, especially the hard ones, will better your health.

I worry that you will struggle with your family being different, not knowing how to answer the questions about why you don't go to church and why your mom has a rainbow sticker on her car.  I hope you continue to carry the sense of self I see in you every day as you come up against these questions.  I hope you are able to dance as freely as you do now, and you are able to say to yourself and anyone else that you are loved, you love yourself, and that's what really matters.

I'm worried that I haven't equipped you with all of the tools you'll need to navigate this. I know I haven't.  And I know you will learn them on your own.

I suppose at the end of the day, no matter what happens I'll be here to help you through.  I'll laugh with you to hear about your adventures, and I'll wipe your tears when you cry.  It's not going to be easy, but life isn't supposed to be.  So here's to new adventures.  I can't wait to see the person you'll become.

Love,
Mom