There's a Sister for That

Tonight I packed two little lunches into specially chosen Tinkerbell lunchboxes. Made sure each was the perfect mixture of health and unhealth (already fallen for the Halloween treats, to be counterbalanced with extra carrots). Tucked two little girls with hair still damp from their bath into bed. Confirmed that yes, they would indeed like to match outfits tomorrow, and endured the gruesome process of choosing which outfits would suffice. Tasted the cough syrup from London's goodnight kiss all the way down the stairs. Even more potent than a kick of grape splash came the thought: will they remember to save dessert for last? Before I reached the last step I knew the answer: nutrition, the least of my worries. Every mom knows lunchboxes always come back with the child, providing perfect evidence of peanut butter and jelly corpses or lack thereof. It's what I am unable to inspect I worry about.
I can't believe you are already old enough for your first day at Pre-K.
Separated for the first time since birth. I wonder if the first few moments in separate classrooms will not be unlike the moments, fresh from birth, in separate incubators.
We thrive together.
Yesterday in the car you both asked me if you could stay four forever, and I think it had something to do with this separation. Surely if we work together we could indeed take the battery out of the clock that pushes time forward. I love that your logic works that way. My words of comfort are instead, a sharp dose of reality that bursts what hope I had attempted to inflate. You'll see each other at recess, you'll have twice the friends, you'll have lots to talk about...
and while I was at it, I wondered what other words of advice I should send with their lunches.
Don't put your mouth on the drinking fountain.
Remember who you are.
Don't worry what anybody else thinks.

And finally, in a post-dinner pre-bath moment of watching one headlock her sister and attempt to rip her hair out for the second time today, realized we have entered the setting in which these wrestling moves may -finally- come in handy.

Kick the mean boys in the shins.

I zipped up the polka dot backpacks and put them by the door.