no little girl can stop her world to wait for me

veronica started kindergarten today. this is a moment, a rite of passage, a door opening into another stage of life. nothing will ever be the same again. i watched her as the morning progressed, and all the transitions of mood and energy that rushed in and out of her, in the process. she awoke with a smile, bounding out of bed and to her feet, full of questions and numerous "is it time to go yet?"

new uniforms were put on, finally, as she had been waiting and wanting to wear them since we first bought them. the peter pan collar is my favorite, i love the classic feel to it, and prefer it so much to the polo shirts. julia and i tag-teamed with her hair, straigtening it and pinning it back in colorful clips (the key to personalize uniforms is accessories, so says julia).

on the way out the door, with her arms slipped into her backpack, we stopped for the by the front door photograph. i remember taking them as a child, though mine were taken by the daisy bush, or on the front steps. most of julia's have all been by the front door, though. i love the way the door behind them, in each consecutive year, shows the time pass and the changes in age. even if the door changes, from moves to different houses, the door is still a very stable backdrop and i want to continue the tradition.

off to school we went, and i do believe that my stomach was full of just as many butterflies as veronica's was. moths dressed up in formal gowns, the description kate once told me came to mind as i thought of those fluttering winged nervous butterflies, and it made me momentarily smile. veronica was uncharacteristically quiet as we walked up the path to her school, though she did sample the orange juice from the welcome table, but not the donuts (max was the one to take over that tasting responsibility).

her classroom is number nine (number nine, number nine), and the first thing she commented on was her teacher's pretty pink dress and black shoes, and the play kitchen that she wanted to try out. she was given a name tag, and spoke her name out in the quietest of whispers. as the teacher began welcoming the students, and parents, i watched veronica's eyes wander around the room, and widen to saucer size, as the planned routines were gone over. i know she was overwhelmed, and as big as she looked standing by the front door in her new school uniform, she looked tiny and fragile sitting at one of the kindergarten tables.

when the time came for us to leave i knelt down to say goodbye and give her a hug. it was then that i noticed her small hands shaking. she hugged me tighter than usual, and i was the first to finally pull away (she is usually trying to squirm away from my cuddles, off to take on another playtime adventure). she leaned in close and whispered "you could stay if you want, momma". i had held it together until then, trying to stay strong and appear happy to instill confidence in her, but hearing those words i felt my eyes sting with tears. there was that fleeting thought to scoop her up and take her home with us, but i knew that this was a passing fear, and that she was going to be okay. she hung tightly to her papa's legs, hugging him and pleading with her eyes. i am pretty sure he had that same thought flash through his mind. we both said goodbye, though, and crossed our fingers that it would be a good first day.

my nerves stayed with me as the day wore on. i sat restless at my desk, ever glancing down at the clock waiting it to be time to be picked up. i wanted to hear the stories, and i wanted to know that she had made it through. i jumped the gun with my first phone call, catching david still in the line of cars waiting for pick-up. he called me, though, when they finally made it home. told me how veronica and max hugged each other tightly, when they saw one another. and then, he handed the phone over to veronica. this was her first day of kindergarten report:

"we had hangerburs (intention mis-spell to show her pronunciation) and chocolate milk. my teacher is pretty; i liked her pink dress and black shoes; the boy with the red hair and glasses cried when his momma left, but i did not cry; we played outside for a little bit, but it was too hot; she read us the kissing hand about a raccoon who came to school at night. okay momma, i'm done. bye, i love you."

it sounded like she had quite a time.

how you've grown ~ 10,000 maniacs