Pint-sized gowns

I sat through the planning meeting for thekindergarten graduation convinced I must be dead inside because I wasn't crying yet over gowns and tassels and Pinterest party decs or even over my baby, who hasn't been a baby for a few minutes now.

We hustled to the graduation after I barely showered, nearly died of Lego impalement and carried younger one shoeless into the church where I sat in the empty pew for introverts who score low on the parenting small talk test.

The pint-sized gowns filed in, a million iPhones captured their well-orchestrated pairings and twinkling smiles some with open spots where baby teeth once parked.

I sat wrangling my younger and shushing my mate held attention for sweet songs and slideshows, corrected the grammar in my head of speeches and prayers because sometimes I get in my own way, even sitting down.

My mate snapped the obligatory diploma take and transfer; You made it, kid! Except not for first grade looms. Even from here I see sandtraps on both sides of the fairway.

My mate handed me the phone and then I saw it, the worst injustice, solidified, crystallized, preserved there so plain I started to cry.

Children are born each day into abject poverty, to arms that abuse and smother, to homes where hunger is real little feet run bare, not on purpose.

And here is mine, embraced, just as each child betasseled and begowned tonight at the graduation--where I graduated from overprivileged to overwhelmed by the love these shepherds in skirts show our messy pints, cherishing their persons not always so refined, filing in two-by-two, loving them through difficult consonants, vowels, holding their wobbly hands that write names between two pale blue lines that remind me of the two pale blue lines that once changed my life six years ago on a different kind of test.

Virgin Campout

We took our maiden voyage as a family into the great wilderness of the Chilhowee campground with our churchies. Times in a tent were had. Most of them were exhausting. Loverpants spent most of the time feeling under the weather and packing and cooking food over a Charlie Brown -esque stovetop. I spent most of the time telling Little Man to stop showing the other campground inhabitants the full moon before dark (oy). Baby Girl spent most of the time having an absolute ball, and her infectious sense of adventure and frivolity made it all feel so worth the effort. I don't know why it took us six years to camp as a family, but I'm so glad we finally did. Seeing my kids in a whole new environment, outside the comforts of PBSKids on Demand, a pantry full of snacks, and fluffy beds was revealing. I learned a lot. Like how my children have evolved to not need me so much. They can explore and return; they can make new friends and come back to me for snuggles. The helicopter propellers will still spin phdumb phdumb phdumb but the aircraft doesn't have to hover so close. It felt good to be able to sit and read a book. It felt better to still look around and see my favorite 3 people all under one nylon canopy, asleep against the din of a whippoorwill during mating season. I am so tired from the weekend and I can't wait until the next time we get to sleep under the stars. I'm pretty sure we can count on a full moon either way.

***

On the way to the campground, Baby Girl went reeling out to the car with a huge backpack.

Loverpants: What's in there? Baby Girl: You'll find out! Loverpants: I don't want to find out!

We later found out. No one else had packed pillows but the stuffed pig had his own. No Girl Scout badges were earned for that one.