Today was Alden’s first day of school. She awoke and filled Robbi’s hair full of barrettes and clips, explaining that they would help Robbi “remember” her while she was gone.

Alden didn’t realize that her first day of school was to consist of an hour-long orientation during which both of her parents would be constantly present. There didn’t seem to be any point in refuting the gesture, which was, apparently, altruistic. She knew that the present change would be hard on us, and she was doing her best to ease us through the transition.

Alden to school meant another big change in the family. For the past two years, Alden and Kato have been heading across the street to spend days with our good friend Ann. With Alden’s promotion to pre-school, August got promoted to Ann’s house. He didn’t seem to have much trouble adjusting.

Once the boys were delivered across the street, Robbi, Alden, and I headed off to school.

Once inside, she quickly found her name tag.

And her cubby.

I lost it when I saw the cubby. The nametag I could handle. The cubby pushed me over the edge. I was a mess, and looked to Alden for comfort. But Alden was determined to show us how unfazed she was at the thought of spending every day, all day, without us. She marched right up and introduced herself to her teacher.

Then she marched on over to the shelf and picked out an activity.

And then she sat herself down and proceeded to execute said activity with a seemingly well-honed nonchalance. As if to say, “I don’t need you, Papa, and I probably never did.”

When the hour was over we left. Tomorrow is a half day, and Thursday, she’ll be there all day. I suspect this transition is more for the parents’ benefit than it is for the kids, who all seemed to be having a fine time.

At 4:00, we collected the boys, who had an excellent day, apparently. Together, we all drove over to the Western shore to drop me off at a hotel near the airport. I have an early flight in the morning. Before my family left, we shared a picnic on the floor of room 505.

August somehow got the idea that spending the day at Ann’s means he is now ready to eat chicken.

After dinner, my family drove away. I could see them from my window.

I am altogether too full of sentiment tonight. These things happen, of course. Children grow up and go to school. Babies grow up and start to gnaw on chicken. Things change, and ultimately, we want them to. But does it have to happen so fast?