Emma's graduation. Somehow this little person who I walked to her last day in preschool in a mermaid outfit, is graduating from elementary school on Friday. How can this be?
It's like all those talent shows where she sang Ray Charles, and danced, and danced, and did gymnastics, like they all happened in a blender on high speed. All those classes, all that time, all those recesses. Now that we look back. What happened to her entire fourth grade year? That seems like it would take a really LONG time? Now fifth grade is almost done.
The problem is, our school has been so comfortable, like a nice pair of old shoes. We've been slipping her into them for 6 years, and now it doesn't seem right that she has to just walk away.
That little Emma. I know she thinks I don't see her, because she's wedged between the bigger boy and smaller girl. But I remember her. She had alot of balls, even as a little kid. She was smarter than all of us. Nathan and I, and Barry, bumbling around. Trying to just make a PATH for her bright light. And Lilly's jetrocketing right behind her, Lilly's like INVENTING the light or making a formula for whatever magic it is that Emma has, that she just offhandedly creates. Like instant pudding. No big deal, except it's delicious, and here, she's giving you some. And then here, she's goofy too.
It's hard to look at Emma because I miss her already, I miss her WHILE SHE'S HERE, she's so bright. She's thick in me, it's hard to understand, but I'm just grateful she's still here. Needing a sandwich occasionally. It's okay that she likes to try on high heels at the thrift store. It's okay that she would like to try on make up all the time, or that she likes doing nails or friendship bracelets. She can play a mean game of basketball. She can play piano (gotta get her back into lessons, I'm sick of hearing "Greensleeves," why did we quit at Christmastime?). She is a good friend to her people, and she loves babies. Her brain is intricate and her spirit is laced, like finely at the edges, like that handstitched lace my grandmother's mother made. She's a linen girl.
I just hope for her, that she knows we see her. I hope for everything for her. She was just born, wrapped in that little patchwork quilt on the bed in Santa Monica, and I was so happy, I had never had a girl, and there she was just handed to me. I thought she was just for me, but it turns out she's good for everyone.
So she can go ahead and get taller, I dare her, and she can go ahead and keep graduating from things and playing on her ipod incessantly, because she is going to keep mattering. There's no getting out of it. I've hiked up mountains with this girl. We've swum in a shark tank. She reminds me, every day, when she has a fever that it's best just to lay on the couch under a blanket, watch something funny, and snuggle.
I thought I was getting the baby, and here she is giving me this whole life.
ps. I don't recommend watching a sweet class of graduating 5th graders singing "Lean on Me," unless you have a very reliable handkercheif with you.
