My son on his last day of kindergarten in May.
I didn’t cry when my son started kindergarten.
I did boo-hoo and mope a bit, knowing that another year meant another year of him getting bigger, older and definitely more independent.
While my daughter is constantly in my lap, tugging my ear, asking for a hug and a kiss, my son - now 7 - is a more reserved.
Except when no one else is looking.
Last night in the pool at my parents’ house, I grabbed him and tickled him and kissed his neck.
“Ah, MOM!” he squawked as he squiggled out of my arms. Too many other people were around.
But in the mornings, when he comes downstairs where I’m cooking breakfast, he reaches up for an embrace and doesn’t want me to let go.
Maybe it’s a boy thing. But I like the idea that it’s just he and I in those moments. Those stolen hugs before his sister tries to claim me all for herself.
He starts first grade next week and I wonder how long those hugs will last. He’ll certainly be taller than me in a few years - not hard since I’m only 5-foot - but I hope those hugs last long after that.
He’s my baby, the first child I read to every night, “The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry and the Big Hungry Bear.”
He has it memorized and so do I.
I’m excited for him to start first grade, but also a bit sad.
My brother said he didn’t cry at kindergarten, but he did at first grade… something about the fact that the classroom looked more like a classroom and less like a play area.
I know my son is ready, but I also wonder how he’ll react to that.
I hope he knows that no matter how that first day goes, I’ll be there, waiting in the wings with that hug of reassurance - when no one is looking.
