Because now I know...........A Mother's Last First Day

The day is nearing.  It is a day I have both looked forward to and held with trepidation.  No, I am not a first timer as you might assume.  I have actually done this three times before.  Instead of making me a pro, my previous experience has left me vulnerable and tender.  I know what can go well and I see the excitement and anticipation in those little eyes.  But you see, I know now

what can go wrong.

 My youngest child is going to kindergarten.

     When my oldest child made the leap into schooldom 14 years ago, I was a young and still naive mother.  I didn’t cry at the front door like many moms, why cry?  She was excited.  I was excited.  I photographed her every movement and waved maniacally as she marched happily away to the astounding destiny I was sure awaited her.  I was certain all teachers would automatically see the exceptional child I knew and loved.  She would be revered and adored throughout the 13 years of her education.  I only had one child at the time.  I knew nothing yet!  School is a magical place of learning and growth – right?? 

     There are certainly days they rush home filled with stories of triumph and success.  Those days when your eyes blur with the tears your child doesn’t understand.  “Mom, today was awesome!  Why are you crying?”  The truth is however, most days are just normal.  “How was your day?”  “Fine.”  They eat their after school snack with little to share of their daytime escapades.   They may list off some minutiae of the day and you listen warmly because minutiae means it really was a good day.  You see; now I know about those other days.  For the most part “those other days” are usually few and far between but those time periods can be terrible.   

     Let’s face it.  Kids can be mean!  When my now 12 year old son was in kindergarten he came home from school one day, got every single one of his dinosaurs, placed them in a protective circle around our dining room table, and then hid under the table.  After joining him in his protected lair and waiting patiently for quite a long while – I finally managed to wheedle the story out of him.  A boy on the bus told him he was going to come to my son’s house and shoot him.  His little tear stained face was so scared.  My daughter who is now in college was called “bucky tooth beaver” on the school bus daily until we got braces on; well I will admit it now, her rather protruding front teeth.  Additionally her entire 7^th grade year was just brutal!  This list could go on and on and my children have been very lucky in the “kids will be mean” category.  There is some terribly bullying that goes on out there in the world. 

     Then there are the lists of potentially embarrassing situations that can occur.  I have a distinct memory of standing in a bathroom stall in 1^st grade, desperate to call my mother for clean clothing but equally desperate to stay in said bathroom stall for the rest of my life (it was a whole tights and too much clothing to take off thing).   Entire children’s book series have been written based on the humiliation of the school years.  What in the world are we thinking, sending our children off to these torture camps? 

   The point is, I am not the young (really really not young) naive mother I used to be. I’m a little scared now.  I have learned over the years that not every school year is a wonderful, enchanting one.  It’s my baby’s turn.  He is our trailer baby.  I thought I was done having children and we had a surprise, tag along baby at the end.  We all adore him.  I don’t think anyone has ever been mean to him ever in his little life and now I have to send him off to the barbarians? 

     In many ways it will look exactly the same as it did 14 years ago.  I will photograph his every movement.  I really am pretty sure once again that he has an astounding destiny awaiting him.  His teachers will adore him – how could they not?  The difference can’t be seen.  It lays hidden in my heart.  I know the possible perils ahead.  I know there will be days that my little guy will come home with tears and tales of sadness.  I know that it is my job to help him frame those experiences in ways that make him stronger and more resilient.  I also know, that I can’t do anything about it.  It is the helplessness that will cause my tears.  The tears that I will hide.  I will smile.  I will hug him and wave energetically but as I walk home after leaving my baby boy in the hands of his capable teacher, I know the tears will flow in a way they didn’t 14 years ago.  Because now I know…….