Kindergarten is killer

“Mommy, I really like school, but I am just missing you…”

-Elizabeth during our bedtime snuggle after the third day of kindergarten

On the third day of kindergarten I laid in bed and couldn’t help but indulge in a few mommy tears. It was 5:30 am and both Josh and I lay in the bed awake, yet not quite ready to get up and moving yet. Day #3 of kindergarten was upon us, and I wasn't quite ready to face it yet, so I closed my eyes and allowed my lids to rest for a few moments more.

I remembered my first years of teaching, before children of my own, feeling baffled by the emotional mothers sending their kids off to kindergarten. The mothers stood, Kleenex in hand as they watched their little ones trot off, mini students, a backpack half their height strapped on top of their delicate spines. I shook my head and vowed never to be that parent and headed down the hall to my own fresh batch of second graders. My goodness, it is just kindergarten, not college I would think to myself. It is funny how your own words and opinions are the ones that settle in on your forehead during the early morning hours.

“I’m so happy and proud of her,” I told Josh, rolling over to face him. “You should see how happy she is when she gets off the bus. She literally runs up the driveway with a huge smile across her face.” I pushed my face into the down comforter breathing in the cool weight of it. Those first days I braced myself for the moment she stepped off the bus and cried, saying she just didn’t want to be at school, didn’t like her teacher, and it was all just too much. So far, no sign of that, and although I felt such a surge of pride in her smooth transition to the full day kindergarten program my heart dropped anchor in sea of maternal longings thinking she is already so able to leave mom behind.

When trying to decide on whether we should send her to full day kindergarten or not, I discovered that moms around here hold very strong opinions one way or the other, the 5 year old breast feeding debate of sorts. I was not a breast feeder, my first parental flaw. Breast feeding left me feeling isolated and trapped. So I let it go. I would be lying if I said that the first bottle feeding from Josh did not fill me with a sense of delight to be sharing the responsibility of feeding our baby, all the while, keeping my boobs secure in my bra. There are moms that believe so strongly in breast feeding, that if you chose not to, it comes close to child abuse. The same is true for full day kindergarten; many feel it is too much too soon. As with so many things, it all depends on the individual child and the situation. We felt that for Elizabeth, full day was the right choice.

“I miss her Josh,” I admitted, my words as a pre-child teacher floating around my head like white flecks of backwash in a water glass. “I just didn’t realize how hard it would be for me to put her on the bus every day of the week.”

“She loves it though,” Josh reminded me gently.

“I know it. Still, it’s so hard. She is just such a neat little girl.” I stared at the whirling ceiling fan above our heads and wondered if calling her in sick was totally out of the question.

When I say Elizabeth is a cool little kiddo, I mean it. This is the girl that cried for two days after overhearing the story of the woman who died in the emergency waiting room a few months ago. She is the same girl who stood up for the little boy who said he liked purple while the others teased and laughed at him. “Purple is a color for boys and girls,” she explained. The laughing stopped and they all moved on. The same girl who worked for weeks to learn to ride her bike without training wheels, never once throwing a fit, and instead calmly stating, “Well, I will get it soon. I just have to trust in myself.” I would love to say she got this all from Josh and I, her courage, kind heart and happy spirit, but I believe much of it is just how she is.

So I pulled the covers back, threw my feet to the floor, shook off the morning moodiness and we all managed to start our day. Breakfast was consumed, lunches were made and packed, everyone managed to dress themselves in appropriate outfits, and a little before 8am, Elizabeth hopped on the golden flat faced bus.

Late on that night, while putting her to bed after another successful school day, she asked for another “snuggle”.

“My love tank is pretty empty,” she said. This is a term I introduced to Elizabeth to help her understand when she feels like she needs a little extra attention and TLC.

“Ok, “I said snuggling up to her on top of her lavender and pink fairy quilt, “let’s fill ‘er up then.” She curled her back up against my chest and I wrapped my arms around her, knowing that my days of such all encompassing snuggles would not be infinite.

I played with her hair for a few moments, still damp from her bath, when she shifted her weight to look up into my face.

“Mommy, I really like school,” she paused, “ but I am just missing you,” she continued, seeming somewhat confused by the contrast of this statement.

I realized she was saying exactly what I shared with Josh that very morning.

“I am missing you too kiddo. But you know what, I am also so proud of what a great job you are doing in school.”

She nodded and turned towards her lavender wall, curving her back a silent invitation for the nightly “back tickles”. We lay together for a few more minutes, and then I kissed her goodnight, leaving her to burrow down deeper into her pink sheets.

As I walked down the stairs to our family room, I remembered the day she was born, looking at her smashed little pink face and realizing that I knew absolutely nothing about this little person. Five years later, I've got a great idea of the person she is, and feel so incredibly blessed that she was born to us. We are the lucky parents along for the ride.

My foot hit the first floor and Elizabeth called, “Night-night mommy. I love you!”

“Night-night sweet pea. I love you too.”