One Year Down

Here’s a picture of the first “guys” Harper ever drew.  She was about 2 and 1/2.

Here’s a sample of what Harper’s “guys” look like now.

And here’s a picture of her on some sort of climbing thing.

This is the same climbing thing that Hadley was on last year at this time at her preschool graduation.  Harper couldn’t get to the top of it last year, and she hadn’t started school yet. This year, though, it’s her turn.  She’s at the top.

Harper finished her first year of preschool yesterday.  Here she is with her teachers.

And here she is singing songs with her classmates.

If I remember correctly, they’re roaring in the above picture. You can tell Harper’s really upset about the opportunity to roar.  Actually, all of them seem pretty upset about it, don’t they?

 

Harper finished her first year of preschool about four days before I finish my first year of graduate school. Next year at this time, she will be an in-coming Kindergartner, and if all goes well, I will be able to say I’ve earned an MFA from Seattle Pacific University.

There have been times, at least one hundred this week alone, that I thought maybe going back to school this year wasn’t the right thing. Maybe I should’ve waited until Harper was in Kindergarten and Hadley in 2nd grade.  Surely that would’ve given me more time to work on my assignments.

There have been times, at least one hundred this week alone, that I have wondered about mothering and writing and how impossible they are. There’s so much risk, so much failure. Have I done enough? What more should I do? Am I doing it right? There’s so much more to do, so much more to say, so much more to do better.

There’s a lot that shimmers, too. Don’t you think? In that scary mess of risk and mistakes here’s my girl drawing circles with legs and eyes and hair that doesn’t touch the head. Here she is writing her name, adding hearts, and skirts, and smiles. And here she is climbing to the top of the thing she insisted she could not do ever and ever Amen.

Something tells me that Harper knew she could do all of it.  Something tells me that risk and the failure are just rungs you put your feet and hands on so you can keep lifting yourself up. Something tells me that picking up a marker, then another, and another to make a new thing, this time adding eyelashes, fairy wings and a perhaps some socks, teaches her that risk and failure are what make the thing shimmer in the first place.

I’m proud of my girl. I’m excited to see what she’ll do next.