Berkeley Rose Garden, May 2013

It’s okay to bring bread to the potluck.

It’s okay to decide that, for the last week, school starts 15 minutes later than it really does.

It’s okay that he’s moving on from kindergarten. He’s ready for this. You’re the one who feels like she’s always playing catch up.

We were in the car, and he said, “3 days of kindergarten left.”

And I said, “How do you feel about that?”

After thinking a moment, he said, “Kind of happy and sad at the same time. Happy because I get to be in first grade, but sad because kindergarten will be over.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”

It’s okay to feel happy and sad at the same time.

It’s okay to let them stay up too late, too many nights in a row. We’re only animals, after all, responding to light and heat like all the other critters.

It’s okay to bring bread to the potluck. Again.

It’s okay to feel overwhelmed and totally in it – the goodbyes, the sudden coming together of community at the last minute when it feels almost but not quite too late, the realization that you’re going to miss some of these people, trying to be chatty and yet not so familiar that you accidentally offend. And, at the same time, like you’re already out of here, toes in the sand, sea wind in your hair, done with the frantic to do list.

It’s okay to forget something on the list. Accidentally or on purpose. Maybe more than one thing.

It’s okay to bring bread to the potluck. Yet again.

It’s okay to laugh out loud during the kindergarten performance of “Rainbow Fish” over their adorable earnestness, the stereotyped but still-so-true beauty of it.

It’s okay to be overly sentimental about little things.

It’s okay to bring bread to the potluck. The fourth potluck of the week. Bread is totally acceptable.