Last night, G graduated from preschool. The service was quite nice, replete with slideshow at the beginning set to about 15 different renditions of "Canon". It was at this time that my crabby, curmudgeony eyes squeezed out a little bit of some viscous liquid. There were quite a few pictures of G but it was the first one that got me--her at the top of a slide. I don't know why. Hey, shut up. I'm allowed, aren't I?
I think part of it is that, at that moment, I just realized that there were parts of my daughter's life that did not include me. While kindergarten looms next year and seems like a big step, I realize that preschool was really the first big step--the first time that she's gone off without her Daddy. It's really only symbolic, but once it starts it only gets more prevalent. It starts at preschool and then moves onto more school. Then college. Then, before I know it, she won't let me into the White House because I'm a "shady character." I don't blame her. I wouldn't let me into the White House either.
I went to Montessori when I was a little squirt. I remember many things about it: sandcastles built to the sky, sitting around a circle of red tape, graham crackers and OJ for snack. But I do not remember ever having a graduation. Maybe I skipped out on it, instead choosing to go smoke with the cool goth kids.
Anyway, G, here's to you. Congratulations! Before you (and I) know it, you'll be graduating high school. I can't wait for that, but let's not rush into things, ok?
On a related note, we had a nice little graduation party with the grandparents. We ordered pizza and ate ice cream. K made cupcakes (and a bigger cake) with frosting pink enough to burn holes in your retinas. It was all very yummy.
Two dogs and one cat agree. I'm not sure when we'll learn not to leave food out on the table and them leave the pets alone with it but I suspect it'll be sometime after we're long dead. Thankfully there were not little blobs of pink barf on the rug this morning, unless they vomited discreetly and hid it from me. I know this to be an untruth since our pets all seem very proud of their end product when they yark on the floor. They'd probably wake me up and drag me out to show me if they could.
I see it coming like a wave of orange juice.