Middle school child

As I walked away from a crying Quinn this morning at school, I reflected on the quite opposite reaction I received from my first born an hour earlier. 

Devlin is now in middle school (when and how did that happen? Wasn't it just yesterday that he was learning to ride a bike and crying his heart out at the kindergarten gate??). Middle school which means new teachers, new classmates and a new school much further away. All week, he's woken up at 6:30 and hit the showers. He's left the house before 7:25am to walk to school. I've been impressed. Today, on my last day of vacation, I offered to walk with him halfway before finishing my morning jog. Even before we were halfway, my firstborn told me he was fine, and I could run home. I offered to walk a bit further. He declined. I insisted on going another block, only so that I could catch the trail home. He reluctantly agreed. I swear he slouched a bit more and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

The sidewalks were deserted.

"What's wrong? Are you ashamed of me? Do I embarrass you? Am I cramping your style? I mercilessly queried.

"Stop mom...it's just that, you're a small person, and it looks like I'm walking with a girl..." came the muttered reply.

This, from my first born who is still smaller in stature to his younger sister.

And no, there were no fond hugs and kisses for his mom when we finally parted ways. I think I laughed the entire way home.

At least my daughters are still happy to be seen with me in public.

Another school year begins...

Yesterday I felt a lump in my throat and tears gathering as I walked away from dropping off Quinn at the kindergarten gate. Was it only a year ago that I had to peel his arms off my legs and hand over the sobbing tot to the kindergarten teachers? Was it only a year ago that I had to walk away from his heart wrenching pleas to not leave him behind?
Now, he was walking confidently to his spot in line and waving me a cheery good bye.
Another milestone reached. Over the summer, he's learned to swim a little, managed to start wiping his own bum after being bribed with a new lego set, and no longer wets the bed at night.
He's been looking forward to hockey season all summer. Soccer, we learned from many tortourous sessions, is NOT his thing.
He carries around a notebook and laboriously prints his name whenever he can, and his drawings of his family are beginning to look more like people, and less like alien stick creatures.
And so, I felt a tad emotional realizing that my baby was growing up. I saw other families with new additions in strollers and felt the tiniest bit sad, knowing that part of my life has truly ended.

And then, this morning, I felt exasperated as I walked Quinn to school. He clung to my leg, crying about his legs being tired and begging to be carried. Then he switched to wanting to stay at home.
At the kindergarten gate, much to the amusement of the other parents, I dragged a sobbing tot to the line. And peeled his arms off of me, several times as he buried his face against my back. As he cried,  I handed him off unceremoniously to his teachers and walked away, my heartbreaking a little.

And so, it goes...