first days of school

By this point you've all heard the stories of how well Emma and Sam are doing in school.

But now, finally, here are the images that can provide some visualization for all of it. These turned out pretty well, and I think you'll all agree these two are among the cutest kids on the planet.

Emma's day went without a hitch. She's an old pro at this stuff by now and she's cruising along and doing well and will one day be finding the cure for cancer in mice. Sam's first day ... Hmmm. Well, I thought I'd spend the day in an emotional hurricane, tears aplenty and wondering for hours where all the time had gone, lamenting why I hadn't spent more time with them, appreciated more the days when he was still the wee one who I sang Raffi songs to each night after Amy nursed him and he was drifting off to sleep. But it didn't happen. Everything was such a blur that day and, unlike when Emma went to Kindergarten, when I actually was a puddle, Sam's first day seemed so ... familiar.

It was the same way when they were born. When Amy went into labor with Emma, we were both terrified and absolutely certain we were going to do something catastrophically stupid and ruin the child for life (truth be told, i think Amy worries on a daily basis about me doing something catastrophically stupid, and I'm not so sure I don't every now and then ... whatever.) But Emma's birth was a torrent of fear, apprehension and angst. It took her 18 hours to come out. It was slow and painful. Or at least that's what I'm told.

When Sam was born, on the other hand, it was a like a stress-free day at the park. Everything was familiar and swell and non-threatening. After a few hours of labor, there he was. A real spur of the moment kind of birth for a real spur of the moment kind of guy.

Their births echo their personalities. Emma is cautious, deliberate and exacting. Sam is spontaneous and free-spirited. That's kind of how his first day of Kindergarten was. He marched right in there and didn't have a care in the world. And when it was time to go home he came right out to us and declared "every part" was his favorite part of Kindergarten.

And I didn't cry at all. At least not right away.

About a week later, in the middle of a four-mile run, it hit me. While trotting past Spinners bar on a Taco Thursday, the truth of what it meant for Sam to be in Kindergarten became clear: He'd crossed a line and, no matter what anyone can say about eternal youth, he can never go back.

There's a definite point of no return when he goes to Kindergarten. After five years of living in our constant care, or the care of a responsible licensed daycare provider, he enters a world where he must explore on his own, where all the intellectual groundwork has been laid and now he must begin to build upon it. He will see new faces, hear new words and be influenced by new people, and all we can do is react. Sure, you can be proactive and try and prepare your child for what's coming, but in reality, all you can really do is hope you've done your best to create a brave little man who will always lead with his heart.

Good luck Sam.

Brush with fame

I'm posting today a photo taken just the other day when Emma and I went to the Blue Earth County Library for a reading by children's author Kate DiCamillo.

About a year ago Emma and Amy read this amazing book called "The Tale of Despereaux." Cutest book ever about a mouse who becomes a hero.

On Tuesday, Emma got the chance to meet Kate, who read a little bit, answered questions for about 30 minutes and then signed books for 6 hours. We, it seemed, were in the middle of that line, and it seemed like it'd be forever until we finally made our way up there.

But up at the table where Kate was signing books sat a more familiar face. Our good friend Christine was there, too. She works for the county and helped coordinate Kate's visit, and she was sitting next to her while she signed books. Emma, who absolutely LOVES Christine, decided to go say hello to her for a few minutes instead of standing there with dad waiting ... waiting ... waiting. And maybe, just maybe, she'd get to say hello to the woman whose story of cats and mice and good and evil and soup captivated her for so much for a few weeks.

Christine noticed her right away and introduced her to Kate, and told Kate about Emma's pet mouse, Whiskers. I wasn't there so I didn't hear any of this firsthand. But I did see the smile on the little girl's face when she came back to where I was standing in line. It was one of those smiles you get as a kid after you've done something extraordinary, although you may not be exactly sure why.

But the real proof of how much she enjoyed that night came later that night at bedtime. Each night, Amy and I alternate spending a few quiet moments alone with each of them before they fall asleep. And for Emma, that is often when she reveals her true feelings about life and the world and sometimes her brother. Her emotions become quite raw, and it is at this time of the day when she'll tell us things that have been on her mind or have been bothering or whatever.

So that night, just before she fell asleep, she put her hands on my face and said, in her quietest and most sincere voice, "Daddy .... I had a lotta fun tonight."