First, in the up-too-late hours of the night before, a mama stands back from the table, ready to weep. Maybe it's from exhaustion, or maybe it's from the passage of time. Probably it's from both. She looks at her masterpiece, which is actually an afterthought.
Crud-ola; last year, we had a fancy back-to-school breakfast table. This year is special, too! It MUST BE SPECIAL!!
She kicks it into weepy gear.
I have a first grader. And my baby girl is in her final year of preschool. Tomorrow morning, they'll walk away into the arms of teacher-mothers.
No, they've been staying up even later and lounging on the couch even longer each morning.
The first one to awaken (after the grumbling parents) is Mia. She is bushy-tailed and chatterboxish. It seems like she might have slept in her first-day outfit, but no: she's merely speedy and READY SO READY for first grade.
Later, the preschooler flops downstairs. Lauren is disheveled and disoriented: why are we doing this again? And where is my blankie? And I'll only smile if you give me a Swedish Fish as part of my celebratory breakfast.
They pose. Mama chokes up.
They're so grown. Daddy chokes up.
The day begins to gallop away. Like those pesky years. Mama and Daddy sniffle.
Hint: it ain't the back-to-schoolers.