Real

My favorite children's story of all time is The Velveteen Rabbit, written by Margery Williams. Growing up I had a tape of this read by Meryl Streep. With the most soothing British accent and beautiful piano music played by George Winston, I would be lulled to sleep dreaming of magical talking toys (Toy Story has nothing on this tale) and the love of a child. If you don't know this story or want to hear it with the beauty of Meryl and George, click here.

Malia graduated from preschool today. I suppose to most anyone reading this, the correlation between this story and my child graduating from preschool makes no sense. Here's the thing. I always said I wouldn't be one of those cliche moms who cry at every little thing that gets checked off on their child's list of childhood experiences. And I suppose I was heartless and callous when I would read their blog posts, thinking I was way above that kind of behavior (if it can be chalked up to a behavior...probably not the right word here). But, as I sat in my living room during Tessa's nap and Malia playing outside with friends I had a moment with all her preschool mementos. A spiral-bound notebook entitled All About Malia, in which, well, obviously it told all about Malia. Complete with documenting her favorite thing to do, setting the table. Tear. Another spiral bound notebook documenting all the wonderful things she had learned through the year on her path of learning and growing. About five more tears. What is this pull of me wanting and delighting in her growing and yet not wanting her to grow one more little bit?

With these mom tears running down my face I thought, "Oh no!!! I'm one of those moms!" But, then I surrendered. And I felt a bit defensive, as the velveteen rabbit must have to the "real" rabbits in the forest. To all the people out there rolling their eyes at my sappy mom behavior I cry out "I am real!!" Or in this case, these feelings are real. This comparison very well may make absolutely no sense to anyone but my little self, and I'm ready to accept this. I just needed to write about this breakthrough and apologize if my posts become more mommyish. Again, these feelings are real and I have nearly completely surrendered to them.

And a Tessa moment. Last night, rocking her to sleep. I remember rocking Malia to sleep with Tessa in my tummy rolling around. Now, my little boy rolls around as I rock my Tessa to dreamland. These moments are so fleeting. And so real.