I expected tears. A little bit of sadness at the very least when I crossed the threshold of my sweet girl's kindergarten classroom. But there was none.
Not from me. Not from her.
Unlike most other days when I came to pick her up, she didn't linger in the room to check out one more thing on one of the busy tables; she didn't ask to spend a few more minutes with friends.
Instead she took my hand into hers, and I immediately noticed the shift; it is usually me who takes her tiny hand into mine. But here she was, strong and powerful and full of so much confidence.
"Ready?" I asked.
She smiled and chirped, "Ready!"
We wrangled her little brother and headed out into the lovely sun. As she buckled herself into her carseat she beamed at me, "I'm all done, Momma! No more school!"
"No more school," I murmured back.
H requested to go to school last year. J and I were both slightly apprehensive because it wasn't really a part of our plan, and our #1 choice school was simply out of our budget. But H insisted, and we've always trusted her.
I've been told by numerous people that we give such a tiny girl so much power over herself. We let her make the big decisions that "children shouldn't be allowed to make." Maybe so. But we feel confident that this is the right choice for our children.
When H was learning to back float last summer she was a bit apprehensive of sinking. She had it down, but was still lacking the complete confidence that she was an absolute rock star. She shook her head at me when I tried coaxing her to try again.
"H," I had said to her, "Do you trust me?"
She stared at me hard with those large, wise, know-all eyes that are beautiful windows straight into her timeless soul, and nodded her head.
I held my hand out of her and she took it. As she floated on her back, my hand barely holding her there, she sputtered at me, "Do you trust me?"
"Always," I replied.
"Let go!"
And I did.
And she floated.
When she asked to attend kindergarten, we made it happen. J and I were her biggest allies and most enthusiastic supporters. We kept any thoughts or opinions that maybe didn't fully line up with school to ourselves and we rallied her on throughout her quest.
But I won't lie. When the time came to enroll her into school for next year, and I mentioned it to her, I wasn't an ounce disappointed when she said, "I'm all done, Momma. I'm doing kindergarten. But that's it. I just want to be home with you for now."
When it is her choice, there is no sadness when things end. She is so fully confident. She accomplished what she'd set out to do, and now it's time to move on. Her assuredness in herself is amazing. She always looks forward to the next task, the next goal, the next adventure. And she will complete and conquer them each time. There is no "try" in H speak. Because H always succeeds. Always.
I trust her so unconditionally that it surprises me at times. We are taught that children aren't to be trusted. That they're not capable of making the big decisions. We were taught that when we ourselves were untrustworthy children.
But fortunately we do trust her. So completely. Because look at her. At that sweet, amazing girl. I'd like to take credit for all she's accomplished and become in five short years thus far, but that would be selfish. Sure, I've been there to guide and support, but ultimately, it's all her.
I don't know what the future will hold for her. I couldn't even begin to try and fathom it. For now, she says no more school. And for now, that's what we shall do.
But like all things, we will let her lead the path of her own life while we simply encourage and guide her. And trust her. Always, always trust her. Wherever it may lead.
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