by Kate Willoughby Hall, Richmondmom.com Founder, CEO, and mom of this-little-DevilBoy kindergartener 
Devilboy, as we call this little guy, is our middle child. Typical middle kid (although I seriously hate stereotypes he truly fits most we’ve heard), he’s feisty, cantankerous, and, well, he pretty much marches to the beat of his own drummer. He refuses to have any food on his plate that he is not interested in eating, he does not like to wait for anything, and he is quick to tell me that I’m not quite getting his breakfast ready for him fast enough. He is most commonly found in his pajamas (see photo below), rainboots (when possible), and jumping up and down like a Mexican jumping bean, not ready to stop for anyone.
So when it was time for him to jump on the ol’ big cheese last week and head off to kindergarten with his big brother the third-grader, I thought I’d breathe a sigh of relief. My most challenging kid, in the hands of another confident, competent soul (I pray) all day while I’m with the little one.
What I didn’t expect was what a non-event going to kindergarten has been. For him.
He grabbed his lunchbox, his backpack, and followed his big brother out the front door a few short steps to the bus stop. He didn’t look back. But I have.
This little guy, who came into our world after so much trying–it took us two years to conceive him–was heading off with his sharpened pencils, freshly-boxed Crayola crayons and a quick kiss on his little blonde head. Would there be no tears? No frustration at this new routine? No acting out?
I waited patiently for the principal to call me with a report that never came. No notes from teachers with stressful scrawls of angst, nada. I guess he was really ready for kindergarten. But as as his little sister asked me where her brothers were, and upon finding they were both at the SAME school that SHE couldn’t attend, it happened. She reminded me that in two short years she’d be tagging along behind them, pink skirt wailing, and they’d all be gone.
And suddenly going to kindergarten became an event. For me. My babies are leaving, one-by-one. And they’ll jump on the big cheese with glee. Then it’ll just be me.
