Miles' 1st Day of Kindergarten...

Miles' 1st Day of Kindergarten

Owen's 1st Day of 3rd Grade

I used to worry about Owen more than Miles.  Owen, so fair-skinned with blue eyes, seemed almost puny compared to my tan and tough ("spicy" is what my Grandma calls him) Miles.  I used to imagine Miles, years down the road, taking up for his older brother in high school.  Miles would throw the first punch at any kid picking on his brother and the school would call, and yep, that's our Milesy. 

Then something shifted.  Gradually, I started realizing that Owen was the stronger, more confident one.  Owen is smart and analytical.  He has a curiousity about life and everything in it.  He puts things together, takes them apart, does it again and again.  He asks lots of questions and weighs the answers.  Sometimes he doesn't believe me, Jim or his teachers.  I guess you'd call him a "know it all" and usually I am not a fan of that, but he's my Owen.  Inventor of gadgets and gizmos, lego builder supreme.  He has big plans for what he will invent when he is older and how it will work.  The kid even has common sense. 

When did all of this happen? 

And then there is my little Milesy.  A smaller fella and so loving.  He's still spicy and he's a fighter, but I am not so sure he gets the big picture yet and I kinda worry about him.  He's reading already - that was the goal of the summer, but can he button his shorts after going potty?  Can he reach the sink in the boy's bathroom?  How will he be able to carry the heavy lunch tray?  These are things that I never worried about with Owen...

We survived the first day of kindergarten, and my little fella fit right in.  He sat down at the table in the spot where the little yellow teddy bear labeled "Miles" was taped.  He started working on his coloring sheet.  Wrote his name at the top of the page.  Bless him.  So studious already and I realized I could go - that he was fine. 

There wasn't much of a chance to get sad or emotional.  There were no tears on his first day (just buckets of them the night before.)  I told him "bye" a few times more to make myself feel better.  I gave him a squeeze.  Then I walked out the door.  I thought I was ok.  I think I am ok.  Am I ok?  Is it me I am worried about or is it him?  Am I having a hard time letting go?

That afternoon, Owen bounded into the car like a tiger.  Nothing phases this kid anymore.  I trust him to be smart, to be careful, to be kind and he does.  Poor little Miles forgot his lunch box.  He wasn't much for conversation in the car or at home. 

I know he will learn and he will grow, but for right now, he just seems smaller than the rest and so I worry, as all mothers do...

Bless these children of ours!  And bless us mamas too!