A Nest’s Edge

A Nest’s Edge


I’m writing this post in my car by dictating to Siri, in the notes app of my phone, after leaving the Kindergarten parent program. People must be watching. Tears stream down my face with concrete confrontation of this milestone and moment. My baby is leaving Kindergarten. But it’s far more than that.

It runs deeper than the heft of the milestone itself. Last child through Kindergarten weighs enough on its own, but this is different. The tears shed hold bits of gratitude, transition, and release.

It’s the brief, but bold, mourning of my children’s transition out of the wee days, but more than that. It’s my realization that third grade seems less of a nest than second, but more than that. It’s my gratitude for the amazing women who have taught and held and carried my children so carefully through the year, and the inevitable ‘goodbye,’ but more than that. It’s the timeline ticking forward notch by notch toward a loose deadline that dictates, to some extent, where my little family lands and the shape of our days together, or apart, in ways that feel uncomfortable to me. It’s the letting go of a source of stability gifted to me daily.

I anticipate transition for myself. I anticipate transition for these babes. Will they resist? Will they understand? Will they embrace? Will I find a steady balance resting somewhere in the middle rather than a perpetual scramble from one side to the other?

There are seasons when our lives are turbulent and we look for the sacred places where we can take a deeper breath, set aside burden. The places where we can exhale worry, where we can inhale love. The days of this year, as we are, keep me tethered to a time where I’m comfortable in my skin and in my role, my purpose.

My children in the care of amazing women, was a sacred place. Teachers – now friends of mine – carried us through with purposeful hands, likely not fully aware (although told countless times) of the heft of their significance. Their presence and consistency provide stability and comfort in lives during times when there is a shortage. In their care, I could turn down the noise of that channel knowing they were safe and loved and challenged while away. Beautiful, mindful teachers, you are so much more…

Where there is change at home, their days are consistent.

Where there is a move, their days with you are familiar.

Where there is loss in family, there is your presence.

Where there are momsick babes, there are extra hugs and pictures gathered.

Where there is insecurity, you foster inclusion.

Where there are squirrely moving learners, there is patience.

Where there are forgotten signed forms, there is understanding.

Where there are strained relationships, there is rich and inspiring connection.

Voids filled, cups overflow.

This slice of life feels a little bit like peering over the edge of a nest, but I’m reminded that we always find a way to fly. Thank you, incredible teachers, for the time we had comfortably inside.

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