Yesterday was a special day for me. Every year our homeschool co-op has what is called a Celebration of Success. It’s a picnic type thing at a park where each parent recognizes their child’s achievements and accomplishments of the “school” year. Most of us, myself included, homeschool year round, but we all figure that with the coming of summer, this is as good a time as any to celebrate our children’s successes. This year BB has discovered a joy of performance by being a part of two variety shows as well as a student written and produced opera. He’s taken off with his math and reading, and he surprises me daily with his empathy and compassion and oftentimes profound way of looking at life. I can’t imagine being prouder of my kiddo. Hubby seemed to enjoy getting together with the group and talking about BB’s accomplishments, too. He doesn’t really have many opportunities to brag about his little one and I was glad he got that chance yesterday.
If BB were in school, he’d have just finished up his kindergarten year and would be, officially, a first grader. It’s so hard to believe that he’s gotten so big and old. Yet at the same time, he still seems so little to me. I can’t imagine him going off to school, riding the schoolbus all alone yet. Some might think I’m over protective or too attached, but I don’t see it that way. It seems to me that kids aren’t kids as long as they should be, and having been one of those children who was forced to grow up sooner than is fair or right, I fiercely protect my own child’s childhood. I love that he prefers to watch Little Bear over Spongebob. I adore that he feels he’s not ready to read Harry Potter, and I rejoice that he still likes to curl in my lap and hug me.