Okay, you can officially add among my list of previous judgments before having kids “the ridiculous over-the-top graduation ceremonies they do for barely-something-to-celebrate things like preschool.” Because you know what I found out the cutest thing in the world is? Ridiculous over-the-top graduation ceremonies for barely-something-to-celebrate things like preschool.

Can you handle it? Because I CANNOT.

After spending the weekend in Ojai for my Spark Retreat, I woke up at 3:00 yesterday morning to get the earliest flight from L.A. to land just in time to run home, braid my travel hair and grab a new camera battery before heading to Nella’s preschool graduation ceremony.

I should add my dad took one look at my hair and dress after we parked and said, “Wait, I think there’s a separate parking place for covered wagons.” It continued all night with “Where do the prairie moms sit?”, “Is this reserved for the Ingalls Wilder family?” and so forth. Compassionate family, we come from.

But this little thing–this tiny celebration is the beginning of so much more. The foundation of Nella’s education journey began in this sacred place with wonderful teachers and friends and constant accommodations to help her learn in an environment that looked a lot like the world outside its colorful walls–diverse and open. From Day 1, we were told “we will listen, we will love her, we will change things up to help her learn.” And I can carry that nugget in my pocket for years to come.

And last night, as Pomp and Circumstance started playing and I made her out in the procession down the aisle, all smiling and waving, I whispered “Sweet Jesus” and a few other swears under my breath until Brett reminded me, “CHURCH. We’re in a church, Kelle.” It’s just I never forget that day–the one I thought that maybe I didn’t want to do this, that it would be too hard. The one when I forgot that when it comes to your kid, love will obliterate the “too hards”. I remembered the day again and thanked my lucky stars that it fell on us.

Also, we’re totally recreating this picture with all her graduations in life. There will be many.

And if enjoying last night wasn’t enough, a few more we’ve been drinking up. From Gasparilla Island…

Urchins!

The kids gathered floating coconuts and threw them over the dock over and over and over.

Dash started bringing them in twos.

These last two weeks? We’re in The Gauntlet, folks. The recitals, the final projects due, the half-ass efforts to finish this school year with the simple goal of STAY ALIVE. We can do this. Summer awaits. God speed.

So, I went to therapy for the first time late last year–and when you have a child with Down syndrome where therapist could mean anything from speech therapist to physical therapist, I should clarify that by therapy I mean an office with a window and cute plants and a couch where you sit and talk about your feelings. I grew up in a church where therapy was frowned upon–something about “worldly” advice and not trusting God to fix things which, frankly, I think is ridiculous. And I probably could have used therapy a long time ago, but for some reason it took me until late last year to realize I was taking care of a lot of people and maybe I could take care of them better if I took care of myself a little bit.

Since everything I know about what happens in a therapist’s office comes from Dr. Phil and Frasier, I went in with limited knowledge of how these things work. And when I sat down on the couch and immediately got uncomfortable with the two-second silence between me and this woman I had never met (who sounds just like Dr. Marsha Fieldstone from Sleepless and Seattle, by the way), I did what I do in awkward situations: I start talking–mercilessly.

It went like this:

“So, I’ve never done this and I’m not sure how you’re supposed to do this, but oh my goodness, this office is so cute and cozy, and I love that picture on the wall. And you look exactly like what I pictured a therapist would look like–and that’s a compliment, I mean, I love your skirt. This couch is so comfy. So, how do we start this?”

Scribble, scribble, scribble went her pen. I can only imagine what she wrote down. She smiled the warm and nurturing smile of a therapist–or maybe I’m just stereotyping–and went on with a little guidance: “So tell me a little bit about yourself.”

“You mean, like, I was born in Albion, Michigan, in 1978?” I laughed knowing that’s not what she meant, but still, how do you prep a therapist with 37 years of life information to give her enough background to help you with your unique life problems?

Turns out they don’t need much information because, shocker, your life problems aren’t that unique. They all boil down to loving and feeling loved.

Therapy rarely opens up the clouds and imparts great knowledge I’ve never known. But it does make me value my feelings and listen to them so much more. You know that satisfaction you feel when you’re exercising every day? That’s what therapy does for me–whether or not it fixes anything, I walk away feeling satisfied that I’m making efforts to take care of this lil ol heart of mine, the most important thing I can possibly take care of.

Speaking of little hearts, where I’ve found emotional therapy most valuable this year is in child therapists. To help navigate testing anxiety, we started seeing a therapist last year who instantly became a lifeline for us. I’ve always thought I was pretty good at applying self-help book strategies and creatively navigating through parenting challenges–“I’m supposed to know what to say to my kid!”, but I felt I needed more and found it in professional support–so much that I left our therapist’s office in tears, multiple times, those first few visits because it felt like a church I liked. Beautiful life skills and truths about vulnerability, confidence, love and capability brought to life through crafts and posters, aromatherapy bracelets, games and conversations that I know we’ve started at home but, Good Lord, I’m glad there’s someone to reinforce them in a way that reminds my kids “This is the most important thing in the world–your heart, your belief in yourself.”

We breezed through testing this year, equipped with months of encouraging self-talk and anxiety strategies–strategies that are every bit as applicable to you and me as they are to my kid. I’ve taped them to our walls and practiced them in my own life. And even after our struggles were “fixed,” we’ve kept our therapist in our schedule when we can because, as I tell Lainey, “We go to school to exercise our brains, we take ballet to exercise our body, we go to therapy to exercise our emotions.”

It feels so good to fall into the truth that we don’t have to know and be everything for our kids.

And I’ll share my favorite resource our therapist introduced to us. She recommended this site for us, and I’ve found this list to be some of the best parenting advice I’ve ever received–49 calming phrases to tell your children when they might be upset or anxious. It’s highlighted and taped to my fridge and I take it off a couple times a week and study it to get some of these phrases naturally embedded in my parenting repertoire (“Have a battle cry: ‘I am a warrior!, ‘I am unstoppable!’, Look out World, here I come!'” :o). My favorite one is #49 though, and I stole it for myself. I love it so much: “Let’s write a new story: Your children have written a story in their mind about how the future is going to turn out. This future makes them feel anxious. Accept their story and then ask them to come up with a few more plot lines where the story’s ending is different.”

Dr. Marcia Fieldstone, signing out.