The last time I wrote my sweet, sweet girl a letter was the week before her little brother was born. I was terrified of losing her, confusing her, or at 21 months old, her not truly understanding that I was doing this for her, for us as a family….and that I loved her so much.

I feel similar as I write this as she starts her first day of public school kindergarten. The “losing her” part most of all…because, well, I will. Physically I definitely will. She will be gone over twice as long as she was any year that she spent in pre school. She will be spending all of that time with someone else. When I was teaching first grade (in my former life), I marveled at the fact that I saw these sweet children more than their parents did on a weekly basis. How important I was to them! I took that job very, very seriously, and my goal was to make that year, that TIME with them, beautiful for the kiddos in my class.

Now I find myself aching to make every second with my daughter as beautiful as I can, because I feel the letting go. It’s inevitable. If I had to pick a metaphor, it truly is like holding onto a tiny hand and feeling it sweaty and slipping away very slowly, very gently…. It is sweet, but sad.

I am proud of who she is. A thinker. A lover. Quiet. Pensive….but a sponge. Empathetic. Silly (I swear…she is–the child does speak and laugh and act like any other 5 year old). She has a soft spot for tiny stuffed puppies and such and adores playing school and writing in her “journals.” She will love school. School will love her.

She has dimples at the corners of her nose that means she really thinks something is funny. Her hair is the curliest and most beautiful sight I have ever seen (and the rest of the world agrees). Her eyes are a gorgeous hazel color, but my favorite part of them is how she used to tell people she had “razzle” eyes by mistake. When something bad happens to her, or she gets hurt, she likes to ask, “Did that ever happen to you when you were a little girl?” so I can say yes, and she can feel better right away. Her earrings are clip ons that belonged to my dad’s mother, my Mimi. It makes her feel like a big girl, with the choice of deciding to take them off.

Now I sit here trying not to read “Someday” or “I Love you Forever” again just to get in that last good cry. I will be a strong Mama. Marlie has always taken “notes” from me, and right now she is excited and brave about her first day. Why shouldn’t I take notes from her for once?

To all of you moms out there, I know all of this resounds with you. We can do it for our kiddos.

I love you Mar. And…I will miss you. I really will. Your empty big girl carseat in the van is going to hit my heart pretty hard for those first few weeks. Jackson too.

I am PROUD of you. I am proud to be your mom. I love who you are. Don’t ever change.

Well, okay maybe just start talking louder? That’s it.