They showered on their own (mostly) and got themselves ready for bed last night with very little coaching.
They chose and helped lay out their clothes for the next morning with minimal guidance.
They woke up all on their own today -- and even forced themselves to wait in bed until 6-0-0, dressed and made beds without my ever even having to raise my voice once.
They helped pack their snacks and drew good-luck-on-your-first-day pictures on the paper bags for one another.
They were all smiles. Ear-to-ear smiles. So excited for the school day to begin. So ready for their new year. Yesterday, they were just peanuts, sonographic lima beans, floating around in my belly that still pangs in the middle of the night when I hear them whimper or cry out.
Today, they're second graders.
But there was no inkling of stress or insecurity or discomfort or hesitation. They were ready. We were ready. And it was all so easy and comfortable and right.
And then it occurred to me... that this is the first year... the very first year... that they've ever been to the same school in the same town for two whole years in a row.
And that's just a hard truth to swallow for a gypsy.