The end/beginning of an era

Today I went to pick up Reed from preschool. Since today is their last day of preschool, they were allowed to play outside for almost the entire day. He was on the swing, going extremely high and pumping his legs. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright, and I stood there trying not to cry. At the beginning of the year, he was afraid to swing. I would push him ever so slightly and he would scream. He didn't know how to pump his legs and do it himself yet. And now, at the end of his preschool year, he is perfectly proficient at this wonderful art. He has overcome a fear and replaced it with progress and bravery. So I waited for a while, just trying to memorize the way he looked, perfectly happy in his hilarious pajama ensemble, blazingly proud of his ability to swing high with bravery and ease.

And all I can think is this: now that the ball has been pushed, it will keep rolling. Next year is kindergarten. Then first grade, and so on and on until he is eighteen and leaving home to go to college and go on a mission and get married and/or whatever else his brave heart will lead him to do. Although I'm more than happy for the progress of my children, all I wanted to do while watching him go higher and higher was stand there and keep watching. Stand there, keep watching, keep smiling at him smiling at me, and never have to say, "Okay! Time to go home." But eventually we did have to go home, and I walked him to the car while he pointed out all the interesting things he sees outside. "Look, Mom! A bird! It's singing!" When he looked at me in concern because my reply was muffled and heavy, I said, "I just have a little frog in my throat." And then I cried and smiled quietly all the five minutes home.

Oh, Reed. You are brave and smart and funny and kind! I'm so proud of you, so proud to call you mine, so honored to have the responsibility of being your mother.

Phill got these socks at the Bodies exhibit in Las Vegas. Reed took a liking to them and hasn't taken them off for longer than a night. He calls them "the bone socks". I think Phill has worn them a total of ten minutes.

This is what Reed wore to school today. You can't see his pants because he's sitting down and his pants are tucked into the bone socks. His shirt says "Got Brett?" which is a reference to Brett Favre of the Green Bay Packers. Obviously Phill doesn't really fit into that shirt anymore--it was my Christmas present to him--because it shrunk so much with the first wash. So it has become some of Reed's favorite pajamas.

Reed and his sweet teachers, Jocelyn Arave and Beth Snoddy. My camera-savvy photo-accustomed child was struck with sudden shyness the moment I asked him to stand with his teachers for a photo.