Time flies, baby.

At least, that’s the first thought I had when we received the non-descript envelope in the mail yesterday. It had come from Colin’s school – the return address marked ‘Early Education.’ Inside, were the enrollment forms for Kindergarten.

That gave me pause. Where had the 5 years gone? Granted, he’s not five yet, but he is knocking on the door.

As if the admission forms weren’t evidence enough that our little boy was all grown up, Colin issued the following proclamation when I asked him if he wanted his bath first or second last week.

Colin:   First! But I’m not having a bath. I’m having a shower. Baths are for kids.
Me:   Well, what do you think you are?
Colin:   I’m an adult.

So, I have him e-filing my 1040 right now. Hey, his rates beat that CPA that lives down the road (in a van down by the river) – two popsicles and a handful of M & M’s and I got myself a return absolutely guaranteed to red flag me as a Person of Interest.

But kindergarten? That’s the real deal. Hey, when I was applying for college it was my safety school. That and Barbizon. Be a model or just look like one!!! Wait a minute? If I looked like a model, wouldn’t I want to pull down the same coin Gisele pockets?

So my little buddy is going to the Big Show. And these days, kindergarten is an all day affair. It’s the real deal. The nice thing is, the class is in the same school that Colin has attended preschool for the past year and a half so he’s familiar with the environment, the teachers, the routines, etc. I don’t anticipate we’ll experience those early semester jitters and separation anxiety. We got that out of the way awhile back although if memory serves correct, Colin was happy to be in class and rid of us from Day One. There’s just something about the phrase “Daddy – GO NOW!!!” that just warms your heart.

And of course, with Colin on rapid approach to his nickel year, we’ve got Aria ready to hit the trey. In the grand tradition of little sisters following the leads of their big brothers, she’s a world class Myna bird, mimicking everything her older brother does. She already assumes that she should be in his school and often times when Andi and Aria drop Colin off for the morning, Aria does her best to fit in, in hopes that Andi will leave her there. Platform heels. Cinderblocks affixed to her Hush Puppies. Anything to raise her stature and make it look like she’s a year or two older. She’s three going on thirteen.

She’s also learned Colin’s school day routine. If he forgets to check in on the magnetic board and slide his little icon from ‘Out’ to ‘In’, she’s out there trumpeting the fact that Colin forgot “to move his name.” She’ll also follow close behind him barking orders – “Hang up your coat, Colin.” “Get your backpack, Colin.” “Wash your hands, Colin.” “Drop and give me 600 up-downs, Colin.” That’s our little Dora the Drill Sergeant.

She’s also become a little bit of a tattle-tale. That skill has to be innate. Where does one learn to run to Mom and Dad and report from the frontlines? She’s barely out of her twos and already she’ll come running to us with a report of his latest infraction.

My favorite was this little exchange that occurred as I sat in our home office, roughly 1.5 feet away from the two of them. In our house, on the first floor, we have these wide windows that run almost to the baseboards. The sill sits about 6 inches off the ground. Anyway, Colin had stepped up on the wide base of the sill to look out the window at a cardinal that had decided to wing its way North a bit early. Aria was sitting in a chair to my immediate left and spied Colin’s indiscretion.

Aria:   Colin, don’t stand on the window sill.
(5 Second Pause)
Aria:   Colin, don’t stand on the window sill.
(3 Second Pause)
Aria:   Colin, don’t stand on the window sill.
(1 Second Pause)
Aria:   Colin, I’m going to tell my Daddy that you are standing on the window sill.
(Pause)
Aria:   Daddy, Colin is standing on the window sill.
(Pause)
Me:   Colin, Don’t stand on the window sill.

Arguments and tattle-tales aside, it’s nice to see the two of them really forge the sibling bonds. They’ve become more than brother and sister – in fact, Colin refers to her as “his friend.” And you can see the hero worship in Aria’s eyes – that is when they’re not stained with tears because Colin took a Hannah Montana toy fan and applied it to his sister’s curls.

It’s like they invented clichés as tools for parents. You simply don’t want these days to end.

I don’t know if it’s a result of having children and seeing them mature or hitting your own personal half life, but it seems the march of time has accelerated. I know, it’s the old standard lament. We all bemoan the fact that time seemed endless back when we had an abundance of it. Hell, just sitting around on your stoop, whiling away a hot August day awaiting the ice cream man’s blessed return seemed a purgatory all its own. Days stretched for eons back then.

Yet, here I am, almost a full decade removed from that dreaded Y2K that limped in like a lamb and in the past eight years, I’ve seen the arrival of one marriage, two dogs, two homes, two kids and three Oscars (they were technical – you know Sound Design and Cinematography – nothing I really like to brag about).

Of course, none of this is new news. Every single one of us bemoans the fact that our time is fleeting. And most of the time, we don’t notice it unless we happen to linger for a spell in front of the bathroom mirror and spy a new wrinkle on the landscape. Our own personal tree rings.

Back to the boy.

Colin and I had the following exchange last night. I was prepping the shower for his wash down and he came in with a revision to his prior proclamation.

Colin:   I’m not having showers anymore.
Me:   I thought you were all done with baths. What about being an adult?
Colin:   You can’t play with toys in the shower. I’m done being an adult.

You and me both buddy.