Down the Rabbit Hole

Another Little/Big Moment

We woke to rain this morning. It was the dark and dreary variety that muted all colors of the changing trees and set the mood to melancholy despite the upbeat pop songs pumping from the radio. It was the first day back to school following the long weekend and my first drop off since returning from a four day business trip. Jaden was quiet the whole ride listening to the music. I suddenly remembered that our umbrella was still in Daddy's car so I told her I was going to get us as close to the school as possible. Jaden sat up. "You could try dropping me off in the drop of line?" I looked up at her in the mirror, surprised. I realized it had not really been a question.

Since the start of school I've been parking and walking her in, not just to the door of the school but all the way down to the classroom. We have done this every morning since she started kindergarten. It has been a solid routine. I park, upload her and she slips her hand in mine and we are off. Some mornings I stay until the first bell, sometimes I leave her off with her friends in the line outside her classroom. I knew the day would come when she would be ready to walk in on her own, I figured I would let her decide when that was. I had not expected it would come along so quickly.

Her little face was unreadable in my rear view. I couldn't tell if she was nervous or excited but then she smiled and I just thought, "okay, here we go...she's ready." I didn't want to put any pressure on her so I told her if she changed her mind to let me know when we got closer.

The rain had stopped when we rode up the hill to the school. I looked back and she nodded. I joined the drop off line that marched through the middle of the parking lot and eyed the flagpole where the aids stood waiting to help the students exit the cars. She unhooked her seat belt. I told her to be careful crossing in the bus lane. I realized with dismay that this new arrangement meant our farewell hug got skipped. The principal was already stepping to the car only to find Jaden's door locked. I fumbled with the locks, apologizing that it was our first time in the drop-off line. The principal leaned down to peer at me.

"Well then, welcome to the melee," She said smiling. Then, to Jaden, "Good morning honey, be careful in the crosswalk."

Then like that, the door closed and my daughter was off making her way toward the doors of the school, so small in her bright pink hood. I watched her for as long as I could easing through the parking lot and catching one last glimpse of her shrugging the straps of her pink leopard print backpack onto her shoulders like she'd been doing it for years.

I pulled away, my throat thick with the mix of emotions. I was proud that she had taken this step but sad to know she had grown up just a bit more. I was crying a little, missing our sweet hugs and last minute kisses, but also impressed that she had simply just decided she was ready. Just before she had left the car she had said, "we can still park sometimes Mom", and I knew she meant it to comfort me. She had embraced her new kindergarten adventure, wholly and completely at each step, this was simply the latest one.

These little moments are the ones I most need to commit to history. If I fail to pay close attention, to document them in anyway I fear they will be lost in the momentum of her evolution. Missing out on memorializing them would be a tragedy because I want to remember everything, all the sweet and bittersweet. I want her to be able to read my words one day and know that I couldn't have been prouder or loved her more through all the moments in her journey to becoming who she's meant to be.