Yesterday, we attended L.’s preschool graduation ceremony.

[Technically, it might not count as a “preschool graduation ceremony” because he’ll actually be going to preschool again next year, but still. He graduated from this particular preschool class and there was a ceremony. And we attended.]

Things did not start off well for me. As I was dropping L. off at his classroom, his teacher told me to make sure I picked up our end-of-the-year things, including a small picture album she had made which contained pictures of him from throughout the year. I glanced through the pictures as I made my way down the hall and found myself tearing up — something I had not planned on doing that morning.

Though I don’t consider myself to be horribly sentimental, there is something about my kids and their milestones that can cause spontaneous bouts of emotion in me, occasionally accompanied by tears. And this preschool year has, in many ways, been a milestone. L. has grown in so many ways, he loved every day of preschool, and he had two incredible teachers.

[If you want to get on my good side, just display a tremendous amount of love for my kids. That’s exactly what these teachers did. Their love for the twelve little ones in the class was evident, every single day.]

So, back to yesterday’s ceremony… Looking through the pictures and thinking about what a great year it’s been and what fantastic teachers he’s had rendered me a bit of a mess before I even got to the room where the ceremony was to be held.

Then as things got underway, L.’s teacher read us a short poem. I can’t give you too many details, but it was something about how children are like kites, and we get them off the ground and then it’s our job to let the string out, little by little, as they grow.

I assure you, I am usually unmoved by poems. Maybe I’m missing a poetry gene or something, but I usually don’t think much more than, “Oh that’s nice” when I hear or read a poem.

But again with the kids and the milestones and the sentimentality. As I thought about “letting the string out” as L. gets older, I turned into an even bigger mess. I was holding the camera with one hand and wiping away tears with other and noticing that no other moms were crying. What was wrong with me?

Entering the room and waving to his Grammy.

L.’s class presented a little program to us — songs and Bible verses and tons of adorable preschool exuberance, and then they each received their diplomas. L. was so excited when his name was called that he ran back to the row where we were sitting instead of up to his teacher to get his diploma. Chad gently sent him back to the front of the room and as he ran, he said, “Diploma? Oh yeah, I forgot!”

So excited to hear his name called!

Minutes later, the program was over and we all enjoyed some refreshments. I’m happy to inform you that I didn’t cry any more. I had pulled myself together.

I know that L. will have another great year of preschool next year, but I’m still a bit sad to see this one end. I want to hold on to these good experiences for my kids, make them last a little longer. But that’s not how growth works. We have to enjoy the good things, treasure them, learn from them, and move on to the next stage to discover all the good that’s waiting there.

Letting out that kite string, little by little.