I think what just occurred was an out of body experience.  We waited outside for twenty minutes for the bus to come, just in case it was early.  We waited and waited.  I’m only having Brayden ride the bus because it’s literally a one minute ride.  We live in a cul-de-sac directly across from the school, and he is the very last child to get picked up–four minutes before school is supposed to start.  And he’s the very first child to get dropped off after school ends.

While waiting, I took a million pictures.  The mailman came.  Brayden and Carter raced up and down the driveway.  Carter fell twice.  Two cars drove around the loop.  My friends texted to ask how I was doing.

And then seven minutes late, the bus came down the street.  The rest is a blur.  The bus driver said hello and knew his name because of his tag.  I think I asked if I could go up the stairs and make sure he was okay sitting down.  I think Carter cried while I was doing all that because he wanted to go on the bus.  I think Brayden was nervous and not sure if he was supposed to put on his seatbelt.  This was his first time on the bus since we weren’t able to do the practice run.  And then I somehow went down the bus stairs, picked up Carter and realized as the bus was pulling away that Carter was sobbing because he wanted to go on the bus and go to school too.  Still in a daze, I made it to the house, and put him down for his nap.  I was sweating.  I was in a stupor.

My first born child is off to school.  Last night I spent some time going back into the early days of my blog and looking at pictures and videos of Brayden when he was two.  His little voice, something that I don’t remember.  His first days of talking in sentences are gone from my memory.  I don’t remember him much as a baby, besides what I see in the pictures that I took.  And here he is–five.  And at school.  What happened to my little sumo-newborn?. . . spitting up and eating little diced up finger foods?  Crawling army style and saying his first words?  What happened to the toddler who wanted to play with balls all day long and could swing a golf club at two like no other little child I’ve ever seen?

Now he’s this tall, kind-hearted little boy who no longer loves sports, but art.  Who has some body part touching mine every chance he can get.  Who tells me he loves me twenty times a day and kisses me all the time.  Who eats anything we ask him to, and who needs constant entertainment because he doesn’t know what independent play is.

It’s amazing.  And it’s all still a blur.  But I just looked at the clock and he’ll be home in an hour.  2.5 hours of school seems like something I can handle.  Especially when I can see the school nearly from our backyard.  Makes me feel a little close to him still.