They ran excitedly up and down the aisles shouting back and forth, “Ben! Look at this one!” and “Nate, I’m getting the blue one!” as we piled the cart high with supplies from our checklist. Markers and glue sticks and crayons. Check, check, check.
New lunch boxes were the most exciting purchase. The ones that were given as gifts on their 2nd birthday have made the rounds to picnics and playdates and preschool. The stickers inside from the days of stickers-on-everything! are half rubbed off. New ones were in order. The adorable monogrammed sharks and fish replaced with “big boy” camo.
Aunt Angie had given each of the the boys a Star Wars backpack filled to the brim with books for their birthday. Nate loved that it was a “big boy backpack” and decreed it would go on to school with him. Yet, last night, Ben stood in front of a minion backpack with large eyes that poked out to create pockets and asked if this one could be his. I couldn’t say no. It was cartoonish and child-like. If he wanted anything that kept him small for just a minute longer, I would have said yes.
As I tucked them in last night, I saw it clearly. The last remnants of my babies had gone. Arms and legs had lengthened and jetted out in all directions, filling their twin beds. Beds that once seemed so big, too big, to hold them. Faces that were once round and chubby, have changed. Slowly transformed into the faces of boys, no longer toddlers or preschoolers. Blankets that once covered all the way to the toes, now held in the hands for comfort, only reaching slightly past the torso. “Babies” once held within clenched fists as he drifted off to sleep, now strewn about the bed in slight disregard.
Friends assure me that kindergarten will be such fun. They will love it. I will love it. It will be a year of learning and new friends and joy. I don’t doubt this to be true.
Yet, I know that in eleven days, they will cross over an invisible line as they walk through the doors of their new classrooms. They will no longer be “BenNate,” my inseparable little guys. They will be in separate classrooms, meeting separate friends, creating separate memories. Since their time together in the womb, they have hardly ever been apart. By choice. They are the best of friends. Their bond is unique and steadfast. They find confidence in the others presence and can happily work independently, knowing the other is near.
They will also go from being by my side 99% of the time to spending the majority of their days in this new place. They will grow and transform and change in new ways. They will learn new things and explore new places. Without me. I will have peeks into their world when I come to help in the classroom or when I join them for lunch occasionally, yet, I will not be in this world of theirs.
These five years have passed in a blink. They have been the most frenzied, exhausting, hilarious, surprising, fun and joy-soaked of my life. What an honor it is to be the momma to these boys of mine.
As we prepare to walk into a new season, I’m intentionally filling their love tanks full to overflowing. I am soaking in each moment. Holding them close. We are seeking adventure together.
When I send them into this new world of theirs, I want them to know that they are loved and valued and known. I want them to overflow with kindness to others. I want their hearts to be secure in Truth. My prayers will surround them and go before them.
They’ve slept in this morning. Now, I’m hearing footsteps coming down the stairs. The computer is closing for another day intentionally focused on being present and creating memories. We need to wash jars and prepare dough for the first honey harvest of the season tonight. 🙂
Go on and have an adventure-filled Thursday, sweet friends.