a letter to my crying third grader
I hate seeing you cry.
And I hate that you witnessed me laugh at your pain. Really, I do feel bad.
But today's the first day of third grade. And I know you will rock it. Cursive writing? You'll be messy, but I will adore it. Multiplication and division? Hello? I'm your Mom. No problem. And I hear rumors you'll do some algebra. Yay. Algebra! And no, I haven't changed my mind on the bumper sticker, but it'll be fine.
Now, distinguishing the difference between science and technology? You're gonna have to find someone else. But we'll get through it. You'll get through it. Because you're bright. And talented. And amazing.
Today marks a new day in your educational journey. Third grade isn't a milestone. But it is a new school. With lockers.
You're a big girl now. Last year, your school supplies sported adorable puppies and glitter topped pencil pouches. Now, your folders adorn Rachel and Finn from Glee and fashion accessories.
So remember how you cried not 36 hours earlier when I read to you the student handbook verbatim? How your shorts were a wee bit too short? And how your tank tops were a bit too revealing? All of a sudden, the frightening jitters of the first day became secondary. And now, you are learning all of the interesting and wondrous idiosyncrasies of your school.
Amara, I let you "go" when you were just six weeks old to daycare. And no matter what you think, I will always be there for you, even if I snicker or mumble under my breath. Bean, I love you. And remember, no matter what you're wearing, I know you'll succeed and kick @ss. Because you're my daughter. And that's what we do.