Graduation Day

Some things are inevitable, I suppose, and watching your children grow up right before your eyes is one of them. As parents, our kids see us as superheroes. We make every boo-boo feel better and can heal a broken heart. We fix nearly every broken toy, wielding Super Glue as if it were a magic wand. We know how to sound out every word and impress young readers by finishing 400-page books in a single bound. We can both run and pedal uphill -- fast. In their eyes, there is little we can't do. As we see it, we have to fix everything. They learn lessons from us everyday. What do we learn from them?

Reluctantly, I woke up and faced this day. When my alarm went off, I didn't want to open my eyes. Laying there, I knew that there was one inevitable thing that would happen, a ticking timebomb of sorts, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It was stunningly apparent to me: I am not a superhero. I cannot stop the clock.

On the last day of preschool with his teacher, Ms. Janet.

The ways in which my children awake to face the day are so completely different. The First Little Nguyen is exactly like me. He inherited my morning grumpiness, my need to proceed with caution and start slowly. I have learned that a hug and a nuzzle for him first thing is as good as greeting him with a doughnut or a warm cinnamon roll. He needs cuddles in the morning, not words, for about 10 minutes. After that, his mood improves, he accelerates quickly and he doesn't stop until his head hits the pillow. Once his engine is running, there is no turning him off and he doesn't apply the brakes. The Second Little Nguyen is exactly like his daddy. He springs from bed with a smile and is ready to move. He is full of giggles and joy, and he could walk out the door to face the day just five minutes after rolling out of bed. That amazes me. When I climbed the ladder to the top bunk to wake him up this morning, he was already awake. His head popped up out of his blanket and he said, "I'm graduatin' today!"

May 28, 2010

Daddy took the day off, and after delivering his older brother to school (reluctantly), we headed to preschool for the big event. I couldn't even bear the thought of going in the preschool, so I left delivering the Second Little Nguyen to his teachers up to Chi. Somehow, if I didn't have to go there, it wasn't going to happen. Even though I knew it was a don't-even-bother-to-apply-mascara kind of day, it was clear that I would still need tissues...lots of them. We all would.

Processing into church...

Walking like a little man...

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen."Biting his lip...a little bashful in front of all of those people!

The sight of twenty-one preschoolers processing down the aisle at church was such a precious sight. They were dressed in a range of outfits -- everything from sundresses to suits to khaki shorts and a polo. But they all wore a smile and sort of danced their way down the aisle to the sweetly tinkling ivories in the background. The sun was shining brightly on all of them. After a welcome from the preschool director and Fr. Mark, the musical portion of the program began. Who knew my child could sing in Spanish? But he did. Singing in Spanish...
I spy YOU!
I managed to keep my composure until that song came on -- the one I hear playing on the radio in the car, the one I hear and have to pull the car over because my tears are obstructing my vision. I just can't keep from sobbing when it plays. And here my sweet child is singing it! Commence the Great Flood. "I can only imagine...." (I'll have to figure out how to upload that video...) sob, sob, sniff, sniff, blow, blow Again, thank goodness I wasn't wearing mascara. The sight of my Second Little Nguyen singing this beautiful song in our church really hit home. Thankfully, it was a cathartic kind of cry, a shoulder-twitching cry, and I was glad it came since it made me feel much better. Rather than dwelling on the sadness and pretending the day wasn't happening, I was instead thankful for the gift of this sweet child and the blessing of being able to see him grow up these past five years. Five years. A proud smile from the graduate.

I realized something while watching him this morning. The Second Little Nguyen loves life. He doesn't count the days. He is happy with his family and what he has. He doesn't know real disappointment yet. He looks only for the joy in his day and equates happiness with those he holds dear. He loves our church and has learned to be a faithful follower of the Lord. When he prays, it melts my heart. And he loves to pray. He loves for us to hear him pray. Clearly, there are many, many lessons that I need to learn from him. If we watch carefully and listen, we will see that he is a very good teacher. His lessons are ones that we have forgotten we ever learned. It was a blessing that he was given to us, and this is one reason why. With Daddy, after Graduation.
A happy smile by the hydrangeas.

That's a powerful lesson for a special day.