Mia’s First Day of First Grade (example memory)

Mia laid out her outfit the night before, packed and repacked her backpack twice, and announced at breakfast that she was “not even a little nervous” — while holding her toast in a death grip. Kevin drove. Maria sat in the back with Leo, who had been promised he could wave from the car window.

At the door she let go of Maria’s hand before anyone asked, marched in, and didn’t look back until she reached her cubby. Maria did the looking back for both of them. Her teacher, Ms. Alvarez, sent a photo at noon: Mia in the front row, hand already raised.

When we picked her up she had a new best friend, a wiggly tooth, and about four hundred things to tell us, none of them in a sensible order. We’re keeping the drawing she made of the whole family. Leo is in it twice.