As kindergarten ended a couple weeks ago, I am once again compelled to remember, reflect, and give thanks.
He went from writing about and drawing trains exclusively to illustrating other stories as well.
From extreme, crippling, terrifying-to-behold anxiety to calm confidence.
From sitting at his desk during circle time to enthusiastic participation on the rug to age-appropriate antics with his best friend.
From “I miss my 5s school” to “I want to go to a college like my school, because I love Perry Harrison.”
From newly six to almost seven.
I never have the right words to thank his teachers. I try and I fail and I hope that somehow they know, somehow they can read through my effusive thanks and fumbling cards and feel the heart of what I’m saying. That “we couldn’t do this without you” isn’t a trite phrase but the most authentic truth. That the fact they see him in all his glory means more to me than all the money, accolades, or praise in the world. That I will never stop thanking God for surprising us with the gifts of people who love our child.
The gratitude is overwhelming.