It’s Monday morning, and I find myself flabbergasted on the eve of registering my daughter for kindergarten. She will be five years old this month. She will go to kindergarten in the fall. She is starting to say things like, “Dad, I’ll be there in a minute!” and “Booorrring!” She used to just lie there and gurgle! Really, I have photos! This growing up nonsense is killing me. Every time I look at her I see more and more of the woman she is becoming.

Parenthood is being both proud and dismayed at the same time. Agh!

So. Kindergarten registration is this week. We’re sending her to a public elementary school. We’ve been trying to prepare her for the transition for some time, discreetly. Yesterday, I quietly mentioned that we’ll be registering her for kindergarten and tried to explain what that meant. Whenever she hears the word “kindergarten” she gets momentarily panicky. She’s not keen on the idea of starting at a different school.

I think she’ll be upset and put off at first, but she’ll be eating it up by the end of the first day. In that respect, kindergarten promises to be not entirely unlike a tuna fish sandwich.