Having sent an older sibling to Kindergarten many years ago and this child to half-day preschool last year, and considering that summer stretched through five-hundred weeks packed with activities and expenses and ohmigodsomuchwhining, I thought I would have no trouble dropping my middle child off to her first day of school. No trouble at all.
If anything I worried that the other parents would cast scandalized eyes upon the one mommy who didn’t even stop but merely slowed as she drove past the school; or at least upon the part of the mommy they could see, which would be the foot, connecting to the child’s fanny, as she was booted without warning out the minivan door.
But then summer’s final weeks dwindled down to days, then hours and minutes. The child, dolled up in an outfit selected weeks in advance, vibrated day and night with barely-suppressed glee. Superimposed on the image of her beaming in a hand-me-down fancy dress and bright-white shoes was another from six years in the past when this child’s sibling started school and I, for the first time in years, was left to my own devices for hours every single day.
For ten weeks I did everything I could think of to find a child to adopt short of setting out with a dowsing rod. So convinced was I that I’d never get to raise another small person that those ten weeks felt like eons; until finally on a frigid November morning her mother signed paper after paper, weeping, and then handed over to me a fat blond infant. If those ten weeks were decades then the past almost-six years have been minutes, and standing in front of the school seeing my little girl and that round newborn all at once yanked unexpected tears from my eyes and from my chest a sob that every other bleary-eyed parent must have heard, were they not each immersed in their own ruminations on the plastic nature of time.
Given the uncontrollable seepage from my eyes at the departure of this child, I will hold out no hope that next year, which will bring the send-off of the last little fledgling from the nest, will be any less tearful.
I remember those days and how it somehow always pulls at our heartstrings as they walk into the building starting the next chapter of their lives.
I hate to tell you this but……
The last one going to kindergarten is the most difficult. My only advice is just enjoy those few hours of peace and quiet because Christmas break will be her before you realize it.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
:)
My oldest started middle school Monday and as I watched her climb the steps on the bus I remembered how tiny she was in her pink lacy dress the day I brought her home from the hospital…but hell…who am I kidding…I can’t even sing happy birthday without rememembering their births and getting teary-eyed…lol
You had me crying as well. 2 of my three started back today, with the younget starting pre-school next week. It does seem like just minutes since I held them at birth. Thanks for a great day starter!
I sent my baby to middle school this week. Ouch.
My baby started Kindergarten on Monday. I can’t tell you how grateful I was to be walking out of his school (without him) with his eight month old brother.
What I’m going to do when said brother goes to school…. I don’t want to think about it!
I still remember the first day schooling of my daughter. She cried a lot and at the end of her day in school, she ran towards me with both hands stretched apart with so many wet lines inher cheek. Now she is 10 years old.
A fellow dad just sent his oldest to high school last week for the first time. He looked like he was completely adrift as a result.
Mine is 10 and already almost as tall as me.
Indeed, it’s amazing. They all start so little, and now look at ‘em!