Yesterday was Solomon's kindergarten orientation.  My husband and I got Solomon ready, packed his brand new bright green Veggie Tales backpack with his supplies and headed out.  I admit I swayed him towards the fluorescent backpack because I worry he'll got lost and strapping a glow in the dark item on him gives me a little piece of mind.

So off we went to the same exact school I went to some thirty (yikes) odd years ago.  Often the panic I feel when entering this building has nothing to do with Solomon. It's my own anxiety of losing my lunch box, or forgetting it was picture day and wearing worn overalls - all these experiences seem to have been absorbed into the brick of this building lurking and waiting decades to jump out and resurface. It takes effort to focus on the small hand in mine and I tell him what a great time I had here when I was his age.

My husband, Sol and I walked to the Cafetorium (isn't that a great word) which has the distinct and specific smells that all elementary school kitchens have, a combination of sweet tomato sauce mixed with perfumed industrial cleanser.  The walls were covered with a happy mural and the room is bustling with kids and parents, nervously twitching and remarking on the large screen that displayed CLASS OF 2020!  2020?  Can it really be?

We sat patiently for announcements and then the kindergarteners-to-be were called up by their birth month.  When Sol's month was called there was a moment's hesitancy and then he was there, a blur of flouresence on the stage. As the kids separated from their parents, a rainbow of emotions arched the stage. Wide eyes, smiles, giggles, bordem and then a few quivering lips that turned into all out sobs.  Not from Solomon, though. He joined his teacher when his name was called, went on without us for a story, made two new friends, took a sample bus ride around the block and called it a day.

"Fun," he said. "How many days until I can go again?" and he was serious.

Okay, tonight I'm saying some gratitude prayers as I try to let it sink in that it really will be 2020 when my little guy graduates…

This week is the big county fair. It's very exciting, cows, pigs, funny chickens and RIDES. (You can see a pic or two in 'my photos'.)

My five-year-old has a strange reaction to rides. It begins with desire, peaks at anticipation and ends with complete utter fear and denial that he ever wanted to do it.

Over the last three years, my husband and I have bought ride tickets, waited on line, and walked him away in tears, his shoulders hunched in defeat, as we explained changing his mind was okay.

So this year when Sol jumped up and down in anticipation in front of "Quadzilla"   I reminded him of this pattern. Are you sure, I asked. You really want to go. We don't have to? We're here to have fun.

He nodded. "This will be fun!" he said.

We waited. This ride was a solo one.

"Sol," I said. "There's only room for you. You'll have to do it alone."

He nodded. My stomach sank. What if he cried in the middle? His turn came up. He gave the ticket taker his ticket, climbed in and went. The whole time he laughed and smiled. At the end, he looked at me and said, "Can I do it again?"

Never, would I have expected this. Odd how they change so quickly, right before our eyes. Like a flower blooming one second they're closed the next spreading their arms in the breeze.

How does this happen?