And Then She Was A Kindergartner


She handed over the bag of Duplo blocks without a second glance.
She’s a LEGO girl now, officially old enough to both connect the small bricks with ease and to be trusted with toys dubbed chocking hazards for the 3 and under set.
She didn’t have to say goodbye so willingly.
It’s been that kind of summer.
First kindergarten registration.
Then a 5th birthday.
Followed up with a dose of pre-school graduation, and a summer of following her 14-year-old babysitter around, soaking up “big kid” like a sponge.
It’s a recipe that’s aged us both, and the helpings are heaping in the last few weeks.
I sat at what may well be the last playdate of the summer last Friday afternoon. Add one month.
I watched my 5-year-old rescue my keys from her friend’s 1 1/2-year-old brother like a concerned older sister. Add one year.
I spent Sunday’s rainy morning in my attic, loading a hand-me-down box with sundresses that started the summer just right and have moved into the stage of indecent. Add six months.
Is it time for Botox yet?
I can feel it settling in my joints.
While a dear friend welcomed a new child into this world this weekend, I was cleaning my office/playroom of the vestiges of toddlerhood. The Duplo blocks. The cloth books. The stuffed animals with rattles bouncing around inside.
Up and down.
Dragging out garbage bags.
Loading up the recycling bins.
The muscles reminding me: you don’t run after a toddler anymore. Time for a new exercise routine. Add five two years.
And then I looked at pictures of the baby. Add five years.
I have an almost kindergartner.
It’s the almost I’m clinging too. I just wish she would too.

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