Tomorrow

Dear Ella and Aidan,

Tomorrow, you start kindergarten. 

It feels like your dad and I have been counting down to this moment since you were born: “Can you believe in three years they will go to school?” “Next year at this time they will be in school.” “Only two more months until school.” But now, in time that’s felt less like a marathon and more like a 50-yard sprint, we’re buying markers and pencils, big backpacks and colored folders.

As with every other step along this parenting journey, friends, family, even strangers have offered opinions on how I’ll feel tomorrow. I haven’t a clue but I do know that when the door closes and I get that last glimpse of you for seven hours, you’ll crowd my thoughts: what you’re doing, what you’re thinking, if you’re ok, if you’re eating your lunch and using your manners, if you miss me.

Being a parent has been interesting, frightening, rewarding, and frustrating - sometimes all at once. On the day you were born, you were babies so welcomed and wondered over - a perfect set of twins. You were so tiny and ready to meet the world. From the first time I held you both in my arms and saw those little fists balled up and your sweet little red faces when you cried, I knew that you would be something big.

I was fortunate enough to be able to stay home with you and spend every second marveling in your development. Like so many parents of our generation, we tried to give you those “must-haves” the experts insisted upon:

Lots of books: Check.

Minimal TV: Check.

Early preschool: Check.

[mostly] Healthy meals: Check.

While we have given you advantages and can buy those school supplies and pack your lunch, you will now have to go it alone. And as the days draw nearer to the start of school, I notice you both testing the waters, asking questions, imitating imagined conversations, thinking aloud what this strange new world will be like.

Ella - my gregarious little social butterfly, you are still very cautious, watching and learning before truly jumping in. You will rely upon Aidan as your sounding board throughout the coming years.

Aidan - just a step to the side of shy, yet always sporting a bruise or a cut — you will soon be cliff diving, yet relying upon Ella to check the ropes.

Not long ago I expressed my hesitations about school to a teacher acquaintance. Her advice stuck with me: The hardest part of releasing you both to elementary school — or any new experience — is realizing that I must give you up to the less-than-perfect world that awaits you.

While the world has been and always will be imperfect, I too have been an imperfect parent. But I was always willing to learn, to say I was sorry, to try harder the next time. And now I’m willing to release you, with the knowledge that school, like parenting, will be rewarding and frustrating and I cannot change that. Despite all those fortunes of your early life, you will have sad days and lonely days and days when you just don’t want to go, when your teacher doesn’t notice you or your best friend won’t play with you or another kid is mean to you.

And those days, my loves, will break my heart.

If there are a few thoughts that carry you through, let them be this: While your dad and I have to let you go, no matter what you think or do or become we will always be there for you and listen. Dive off that cliff occasionally (check the rope first). And know that in our imperfect world, with all of our imperfect ways, we have been given the two of you - the two most perfect gifts one could ever imagine.

Love,

Mom and Dad