Tonight was the boys' open house to meet their teachers. We went classroom to classroom, turning in supplies and checking out desks. I am so proud of these boys. They were all so excited, wearing their new outfits and sporting their new backpacks.
We did well tonight-- the boys were polite and listened well and I enjoyed seeing their new classrooms. But after I got them to bed, I lost it. I played this song by Hilary Weeks and cried while I did the dishes, remembering how tiny the twins were when we brought them home, and feeling that it just isn't possible for Wyatt to spend an entire day away from me.
I'm going to miss them. Plain and simple. I'm going to miss them at lunch and in the quiet of the afternoon. I'm going to miss them while I'm running errands and while I'm bustling about the house.
In addition to knowing I will miss them, I am anxious about all that this next step brings. Independence for Wyatt, homework for the twins, and above all, the twins' experiences being different.
Tonight as I described the morning drop off for each brother, I thought to myself, "And so begins the separation of the twins." Their lives to this point, have been linear. Here is where their stories diverge. (Cue hysterical sobbing from their mother, and leaps of joy from the twins themselves.)
I am reminded of my absolute favorite first day of school quote, found just days ago on Kelle Hampton's beautiful blog, describing what it feels like to be handing over your littles to their teacher:
“Oh hey, here’s a cooler with my heart on ice. Keep it beating for the next seven hours and then seven hours again tomorrow and then maybe another 180 days after that.”
Pray for me, maybe?