7 years ago, a little fair-haired girl in white velcro Keds, and the cutest pigtails you've ever seen, started school. But, that day, she sat at our dining table--legs dangling--and I sat next to her, teaching her how to hold a pencil, and write her name, and line up plastic butterflies for counting. That day, we snuggled on the couch and read a book together, and took turns eating M&Ms for correct answers.
Today, she puts on skinny jeans and a t-shirt, and sparkly Tom's shoes, and wears her fair hair down, straightened, and looking much older than she should. Today, she gathers her backpack and clarinet, and rushes out the door, nervous and excited. Mostly nervous. Today, she sits in a classroom, and another teacher gets to see the sparkle in her eyes as she "gets" the new concepts. Today, she prays that friends will want to sit by her in class, and in the lunch room, and that her mom doesn't make her wait too long at pick-up.
Today, my girl--my sweet, smart, beautiful, crazy funny, and creative soul--spreads her wings a little wider.
It's a bittersweet day for her mama. I'm nudging my reluctant girl to the edge of the nest a bit. My heart hurts for her insecurities and anxiety. But, I know this is right. This is the right time, and the right place.
And I know she is going to spread those beautiful wings, those tentative and lovely wings, and she will fly.
