saying goodbye (it’s sweet, and salty)

I decided a few weeks back that I would send F off to Kindergarten in the same way I sent E off six years ago – with cookies. I planned to make some for all of the teachers and staff at her current former school (sob), and for everyone at her new school as well. I wanted to make the same school house cookies for her new school that I made when E started there because they are big and fun and a little bit over the top, which is a good way to usher in the new school year. But I told F I’d let her dump out the hundreds of cookie cutters I have and pick out some for her goodbye gift. (I also threw in a little fine print to that offer – I reserved the right to veto, if necessary.) She loved looking through all those cutters, but other than gravitating towards the giant copper snowflake cutters (because they are Frozen-like, and honestly “Let it Go” isn’t a completely horrible idea for a send off), she really reserved her final decision for the giant bucket of letters. “I want to make them a message,” she said, and so we did.

F was thrilled this morning when she saw them finished, and I stood on a chair to take pictures as she removed one letter at a time from the table, promising her I’d print out a picture of them and “make them move”. We worked like a team this morning, getting them all organized, wrapped and ready. I made them colorful, like preschool, but I also added a little texture to the icing, rolling a serrated wheel across them to create a subtle quilting pattern. I piped on white icing like stitches around the edges. School has been exciting and fun for both of our girls, but it’s also been a source of comfort and support for our whole family. Bits and pieces of all sorts of experiences and little scraps of tender moments – the image of a patchwork quilt coming together from many hands and many fingers feels like a fitting way to describe the way these eleven years have helped to prepare our girls for bigger worlds.

I know it’s just a little cookie, sweet for a moment in time, and then gone again. It’s not a big thing at all. Eleven years seemed so big and vast and long until it wasn’t, and now it’s small. It’s hard to know how to say thank you for the tiny, patient rows of stitches, holding fast.