I get approximately 6 hours a week, two hours three mornings a week, that my older children are in school. It's nice not having to worry about them and knowing that they're more than likely having fun.
Every morning I drop David off and every other morning after I drop him off I take Fiona to school. I'm usually late dropping David off, and this is partially intentional so that I don't have to park, take the girls out of the car and wait for the teacher to come. Usually by the time we get there the teacher is already there or she's just taken the children in. Regardless of what time we get there, there are always a slew of the pre-k parents still standing around chatting. But I won't do that. There are a couple of reasons why I don't: 1. I will not lose sleep so that I can shower, dress, and put makeup on to show my face in public when it's not necessary. 2. I do not have the time, patience, or stamina, to stand there with my two younger children just to watch David stand in line. 3. Lastly, when David started the 3-year old program at preschool he cried every morning, hysterically. I always walked away knowing that he would be better once I left. By the time he started the 4-year old program he cried one day and the next day he said: "Mom, if you walk me in I'm going to miss you and cry, if you don't walk me in, I won't cry." So I made arrangements with the teacher to say "Hi, David!" loud enough that I would here her from the door and know that he got to the classroom... and I never walked in with him again. And he never cried again. So when it came time for him to start at a new school, he was totally fine with going by himself. And it kills me.
So every morning I pull up to the curb as close as I can get, I open the door, he jumps out, I put his school bag on him, tie his shoes and he runs all the way down the sidewalk, through the pack of parents and either gets in line or walks into the school. His schoolbag bounces as he runs and I can see his red shoes through any crowd as I stand by the car... I always wait...just in case he looks back.... and he never does... and as proud as I am that he is so smart, and independent, and confident...it breaks my heart a little every morning.
Remembering how much I loved staying home as opposed to going to school, I'd think that Fiona would be thrilled to come home with me... but no. She cries when she doesn't have school. Every time we pull up to the house she asks me to take her to her school now... "dough my dool now mom?"
When David went to preschool, I dressed him like a little model most days, I'd layer him and he'd wear his button down with a nice sweater and his chukka boots... I loved dressing him like a little man. As he got older, I let him dress so that he could be comfortable, but the teachers always noticed and commented on how nicely he was dressed; it just validated my belief that well-dressed children are better-liked and treated more kindly. (I also believe that a polite, well-behaved child is liked best, but well-dressed and well-groomed are a very close second).
In Fiona's case, being that she's still very difficult to understand, I always dress her in little women clothes, because the teachers respond well to it. I've confirmed with some teacher friends that it is easier to be patient with a well-dressed child. Think about it... When a well-dressed child approaches you, don't you first smile?!
So every morning I walk her up to the line of aids waiting to escort their assigned children to their classrooms... and all the aids start smiling and commenting when they see her... so she looks at everyone and says hi and she's immediately distracted from the fact that I even exist. Once I pass her hand to the aid, I start walking backwards towards my car... because I don't want to turn away from her. She's always big smiles when she's walking into school and waving to the other aids. And she says "bye, mom!" without even looking back... her school bag is as big as her body, she's holding someone else's hand... and she's excited to be going towards the day ahead, it doesn't even phase her that she's walking away from me. I'm so proud of her... she's so social and resilient and persistent in trying to work with the limitations she's been dealt, she's outgoing and confident and communicative despite everything.... and the fact that she knows her limitations and seeks help to overcome them... I'm so proud of her.... and watching her accomplish these things and walk into school... it breaks my heart a little every morning.
My mother is not an outwardly emotional personal. I cried every morning of first grade, and always wished she would come back for me... I didn't understand why it was so easy for her to leave. As I got older I walked to school and I'd think "couldn't she just drive me?" Or when we went wedding dress shopping, we never had that moment when she saw me and cried. I never understood why my mother was like that, except that I knew her mother, with whom I was very close, was the same way. It took me a long time to accept my mother for who she is and not dwell on or resent her for who she isn't... I still struggle with it sometimes... but lately, she gets mad when people refer to her as "cold" and she tells me "I am emotional"....
Well, I am emotional. People know this about me.. sometimes I'm a little too quick to share my emotions and most times I'm too quick to embrace my emotions... but when it comes to my children, masking my own emotions, encourages them to determine their own. I'm glad they don't turn around, if they did they'd see how much I miss them already. If they only knew how much I missed them before they were even out of my sight... if they really knew how I feel... what a drag that would be for them, to concern themselves with my feelings would only hold them back... so naturally, I have to walk in faith and be proud that they feel so loved and confident in themselves... that they don't have to look back... that they can smile as they walk into a different territory... a territory they've established without me... and it breaks my heart a little every day.
