Tag: 8 kids

Last week my oldest daughter curled her baby sister’s hair and took her to a nearby reception center for some pictures.


Some of them capture this little (or not-so-little) personality so well…


They also give me a glimpse at the artistic eye of the beautiful girl behind the camera, and it’s fun to see her experiment.  I look at these photos and think, “She’s growing up.”  Both of them.  It’s wonderful and painful all at once.




This last picture is SO. HER.
As I type this, I sit in a quiet room with her on the couch nearby.  She seems to be sound asleep, but if I move to leave she wakes to insist that I stay.  I think of the things on my list for today and sigh inwardly, but it’s nice to be needed.  It’s nice to have someone who still wants me here.  I know the common feeling is that the youngest in every family ends up spoiled, and I suppose in some ways they are.  But I watch her sometimes and ache for her, setting aside things she should love because everyone else has grown out of them, trying so hard to live the schedule of the older children in a body that needs much more sleep, trying to understand their worlds so she won’t be seen as ignorant, trying to be older than she is, and on these mornings I see what the keeping up costs her.  She is adorable, clever, funny, sweet, mischievous, and exhausted.   In the quiet of just the two of us, she can be who she really is, a tiny, growing four year old.

So I guess the housework will wait while we sit, my precious little girl and I.

Second day of Kindergarten report:


“Mom, I made a friend today.  Her name is Stella.  She was making a pile at recess and I helped her.  And when it was time to go in she said, ‘So do you want to be friends?’

And I said ‘Sure.’ ”

I love kindergarten.

P.S.  She is obsessed with our neighbor’s dog.

I have never had a child so anxious to get to school as this sweet girl has been.  When I woke her up this morning I said, “It’s here!  Your first day of school!”  She immediately replied, “You mean second?” and then sat up, looked around and realized she’d been dreaming about it.  Her backpack has been packed for a week, her clothes carefully set out for days, her heart running full speed ahead.


On our way to school she informed me that she didn’t need me to walk her in.  Her sisters could do it.  So, in spite of the tear that pricked at the corner of my eye I reminded myself that this is about her, and agreed.  We said good-bye at in the car at the curb and she was off.  As I drove away I looked in my mirror and watched her race ahead of the other three children.  I don’t think anyone walked her anywhere.  She was a little rocket that knew exactly where to go.  I’m excited to pick her up and listen to everything she will tell me about her first day of kindergarten.


I knew I would only get one shot at the traditional back to school photos, so we let the kids vote.  They all agreed to do it today so their sister could have it on her first day.  You can see how thrilled they were to keep their word.  With four different start times this year we had to do it pretty early.  It’s interesting that as they get older beginnings like these feel a little messier.  This school year hasn’t started like they used to, with everyone smiling, new backpacks on their shoulders like big bows wrapping the day up as a gift.  It’s ok.  Like so many other things, this beginning has evolved into something a little different and my efforts to preserve it are generally greeted with little patience and eventual – grudging – surrender.


I had big plans for my schedule but they quickly changed with the hysterical sobbing of my youngest.  She’s been dreading this day and refuses to be happy.  I know she’ll adjust and come to love the time we spend together, just the two of us, but today she’s mourning the loss of her best friend for part of the day.  We’ve read stories, snuggled and tickled her.

As I finish typing this, I realize what is different.  For my five year old today’s beginning was a milestone, a landmark on her life’s path.  For our family, and especially for the older kids, it’s more a continuation of things.  My heart stands back, looking for the landmark and what I find instead is the steady over and under of a familiar thread on the loom.

Seven of them in school.   I honestly didn’t think this day would ever come but here it is.

And it’s ok.