(Wild Kindergarten Graduation Boogie)
All sweet things must come to an end. Last Tuesday, the boys graduated from kindergarten. And I cried. I cried through the graduation wiggle dance (see above). I cried through the diploma presentation. And I cried through the ceremonial ingestion of bomb pops on the playground. I was crying because in the space of a year, my tiny boys morphed from mere nubbins of people into "big kids." They read books. They ride their bikes without training wheels. They roll their eyes at me. And I feel this sense of being at the perfect moment of their lives, at the place where childhood wonder and an increasing competence exist in equal measure.
But truthfully, the graduation itself didn't work out so smoothly. Blue and Green's teacher decided that she would present the diplomas in alphabetical order. And then, to create a sense of metaphor, each child and his/her parents were to leave the room and symbolically head to first grade. This worked well for Adam, Anna, and Ashley. By the time it was Green's turn, the room was seeming a bit empty. And Zachary? When it was time for him to get his kindergarten certificate, his mom was the only one in the room to deliver the applause.
(Blue receiving diploma while teacher does "sign language clapping.")
Of course, the kids didn't notice the sloppy execution. They didn't notice my tears, either. All they noticed was that SUMMER! VACATION! IS! HERE! God knows that all those kindergarten craft projects and field trips and playground games were EXHAUSTING. Time to kick back with a juice box and wait around for the ice cream man to show up.
(Green, with post-graduation refreshment. If you look closely at the background, you can see the sign that tells students that they can't bring their potbellied pigs to school. I am not kidding.)
But, wouldn’t you know it, six-year-olds relax a little differently than I do. On the first day of summer vacation, the boys made an elaborate bad-guy-catching system throughout the house. They used string to zigzag booby traps between furniture and across rooms. On the second day of summer vacation, they brought in all of the rocks they could find in the back yard and piled them up in the kitchen. Apparently this was supposed to be a construction site. On the third day of summer vacation, they pulled out some toy police vehicles that blared the COPS theme song at top volume (Bad boys! Bad boys! Whatcha gonna do?) and played the tune over and over until I screamed. Then they made houses for their penguins out of Cheerios boxes (paper, tape, markers everywhere) and created a series of menacing signs for their room ("No Adults Allowed"). When they had a little friend over last week, I overheard one of them say, "I know! Let's make a flood!" And here's what I learned: little boys + running water + dirt = cosmic mess.
When I was a kid, summer was all about staying cool. As a parent, I’m finding that summer is all about keeping my cool as the kids tear through my previously serene space and destroy it. Remember the picture that my neighbor gave me when the boys began school, the one with the lady in the living room smiling happily as her kids leave on the bus? I get it now! I get it!
Summer vacation. One week down, ten to go.
