Halcyon Days...

Dear World,

Tomorrow, my beloved son begins Junior Kindergarten. At month's end, he will turn four. Four years. Gone. Poof.

I was here for all it, World. For every moment, every first, every word, tear, laugh, smile. And still, I ache for more. More time to BE with him - reading, singing, laughing. More time to watch him grow into the wonderful imp that I knew he would be. More time to bask in his cheeky grin and endless chatter.

Summer's end crept up so stealthily - all the special trips I'd imagined, sepia-washed moments I thought I'd capture on film...most didn't happen. I wanted to mark the end of this magical time, when he has been all mine - only mine - indelibly. Wanted to create for him, and for me, a lasting and powerful memory of this moment: when I will carefully hand him out into the universe, a gift.

Instead, I hollered at him before dinner, for shoving his brother. We ate tuna casserole for supper - typical Tuesday fare around here, nothing special or different. Instead of playing a game after Luke had gone to sleep, I hustled him downstairs to watch TV with Daddy, so that I could rush out for groceries. A quick kiss and a "go to bed when Daddy tells you," and off I went.

And tomorrow, off he goes.

I'm happy for him, World. I am. He's ready for school and new friends. Ready to begin carving out his own place and discovering who he is besides Mama's Heart and Luke's big brother. He is lively and engaging and curious - he will, I hope, make his teacher fall a tiny bit in love with him.

But he is also sensitive and sassy-mouthed. Belligerent when it suits him and stubborn when it suits no one. He can be loud and given to ear-piercing shrieks at inappropriate times - just like his Mama. I hope that he learns to curb it before I did.

I hope he dances, like I never could. I hope he sings often and with joyful abandon. I hope someone else can teach him to tie his shoes. I want him to love every. single. moment.

So yes, he's ready. But I am not.

I am not ready to leave these halycon days behind. Not ready to let him falter and fumble through friendships of his own making, not ones orchestrated and organized by me, usually because I like So-and-So's Mummy. I am not ready to hear of discoveries and stories and new sights that don't include me. Not ready for him to fall a tiny bit in love with his teacher, instead of staying entirely in love with me.

Give me the strength to take his trusting hand in mine and walk him two blocks west on Victoria to an entirely new and awesome adventure. Give me the words to soothe his worries and make it a happy day for both of us. Let us part with smiles, not tears, at least until I'm a block away and he can no longer see my face.

Be kind, World. For tomorrow, I offer you my very heart. His name is Matthew.