For J

Our poor, sweet first-grader seems a little under-represented on the blog these days. Since she is at school for a large portion of the day, her shenanigans aren't quite as prevalent as those of the other two monkeys who spend all day around here. 

Little Julia, though she always did really well in kindergarten, really seems to have had an emotional growth spurt over the last couple of months. She is becoming more patient, more empathetic, more understanding, more responsible, and it is both exciting and nerve-wracking to see what a great older sister/student/daughter she is becoming. (Exciting because it is wonderful to see her mature, nerve-wracking because we know this means that she isn't so little anymore.)

I know we are a few weeks into the school year already, but here is a little something to commemorate J's passing into first grade. (In the meantime, I will be trying to get my head around the fact that, in a flash, she has gone from this:

to this:

Julia's First-Grade Poem

'Twas the night before first grade and up in her bed

Laid a little ex-kindergartner resting her head.

Her  backpack was left by the front door all packed

And her sandwich sat ready in its brown paper sack.

The children were put in their beds pretty early,

(With hopes that they’d rise in the morning not surly).

And daddy on his laptop, and I with my pen

Were feeling alright about school starting again.

Yet soon before our bedtime plans had been made,

The panic set in: “Wow! She’s starting first grade!”

(And though we both know that first grade is required,

we still were not sure it was what we desired.)

It seems that this baby we welcomed so gladly

Is determined to grow up (she wants it quite badly).

So while we remember her sweet baby fingers

We sadly admit that her youth cannot linger.

As children get wiser, well, so do their folks;

(yet they do it gladly; ourselves we must coax.)

So off to first grade we did send our sweet girl

Knowing she’ll make a great mark on the world.

  

This growing up business, we may well dislike,

this coming of age of an innocent tyke,

But since we agreed we would raise them up rightly,

We will let them grow up (and in secret, hold tightly)

To all of the joy that their littleness brings

(Begrudgingly cutting those dear apron strings.)

And though it requires an earnest endeavor,

We’re happy to note that they’re still ours forever...

Fin 

(Julia, you are the awesomest first-grader we've ever met! Thanks for being ours.)