Suzy, (soon-to-be) off in the world.

Guys, Susannah is graduating from preschool today.

I know, I know, aren’t preschool graduations pretty much the dregs of a Participation Trophy Society? If that’s how early it starts, then when does it end? (…Never. I’m pretty sure the answer is “never.”)

That said…

It took the ramping up to a pre-k graduation to make me realize one incredibly important thing:

Susannah’s not going to be in preschool next year.

I know, I know. But- you know? She’s always been here. Always been here. Sure, she had morning sessions and then, later on, afternoon sessions, and with each subsequent year an additional day was added to her academic week. But between those times, she was…here.

My morning breakfast buddy, lingering over a second bowl of granola and asking me if I wanted to know what the funniest thing was? The sidekick who, upon hearing we were making a run to the grocery store, would add an extra layer of jewelry and perhaps a tasteful hat. The kid who’d settle in with “work” while I worked on the couch: some screen time, a book she was sounding out, a coloring book poster that took up the whole floor, some Barbies whose hair needed braiding. (“…Can you braid this for me, Mom?”)

The sister who’d request Hamilton songs on the way to pick up Nora, and who’d stare out the window and quiz me on homonyms as we’d race to pick up Jasper. The child whose day could be made if she remembered to pack a quarter for the gumball machine on our travels, and the one who’d make me feel like a million bucks for crafting the world’s most perfect egg salad sandwich.

She was, quite literally, born to be the cheerful tagalong. As her big sis Nora began to have gymnastic classes and playdates, Suzy was my constant (and wearable) pal. And when her baby bro came along, she’d pack an extra notebook in case she had to draw something important in the waiting room. (P.J. can attest to this, too; weekends are errand time, and there’s no better Costco ally than Susannah. She loves the hunt, the excursion, the ability to help, and the sheer joy of being invited.)

And as much as I know she’ll still be my kid and she’ll still be my buddy, I also know that it’ll be different. Tea parties and whole-room rearrangings will be relegated to the weekends, and Play Doh on backyard blankets won’t be a normal Wednesday thing. Strolling to the park? Collecting fistfuls of dandelions? Those are the midmorning activities of little kids. Preschool kids.


Somehow, my beaming buttercup is about to embark on a new era, full of big kid academics and little changes to how she views the world. And she’s ready. (She’s always been ready.)

I’m just not ready to have her spend more of her waking days without me than with me.

But if people had to wait until their mothers were ready for them to do new, wonderful things in the world- then the world would never be filled with new, wonderful things.

So: world? For my part, I’m sending out someone new and incredibly wonderful. Be good to her. (I already know she’ll be good to you; the ubiquitous, global, and soon-to-be best friend You.) Just remind her to head home once in a while, okay?

This picnic blanket ain’t gonna set itself.



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