Yet, here I sit -- uneasy -- after just dropping off my big boy with a million thoughts running thru the otherwise empty space my brain is suppose to occupy. Last year he was only at school for half a day. This year? all day. In and of itself, that isn't such a big deal, but I'm his mom...and I worry. Simple things seem to really bother me this morning. When I drop him off in the morning, will he remember where his class is? how to get to the playground? which line to get in when the whistle blows? And lunchtime...ack. I sent him with a sack lunch today in a lunch bag that he picked out. I gave him a capri sun -- but can someone please reassure me that someone will help him get the straw in the hole? Will he remember to bring the lunch bag home? I forgot to pack him a napkin, will anyone remind him to wipe off the peanut butter and jelly from his face? And, shoot! I probably shouldn't have made him anything with peanut butter in it, what if someone is allergic to it? Will Dane get bullied? Be a bully? Will Dane be homesick? I wish I would have made him go to the bathroom before the whistle blew..... Will we get as lucky with Mrs. Benson as we did with Mrs. Dawson? Will Dane continue to love school? Will he be challenged and have fun? Is that too much to ask?
Well, it appears that this is what motherhood is like -- and no matter how many kids you have or time under your belt, the questions still pop up. That insane doubt and worry still seem to creep into even the most confidant shells.
I seem to have held it together well. I decided to stay until the whistle blew -- but made a conscious effort not to crowd my growing boy. Cole sat tightly at my side as Dane wondered off onto the playground looking for his friends, old and new. Dane walked around cautiously taking it all in. He was deep in thought -- not really shy -- but not overly social either. He would check in with Cole and I every so often, apparently happy we were there, but just as happy when he turned away.
Then the whistle blew -- and into line he shuffled. His buddy, Nathan, was right behind him. I snapped a picture and then Dane looked up at me and said, "catch my kiss" and blew me a kiss. After it danced circles way up above my head, I jumped and snatched it out of the sky and smacked my lips with it. Nathan and Dane laughed. Cole grabbed my hand tightly and asked if he could hug Dane. SURE! So with that final brotherly hug, and to my utter amazement, Cole started to cry. He wasn't crying loudly -- but he was truly sad. We turned to make our way to the car, when Dane shouted, "MOM" and ran up, opened my hand, and kissed my palm. This is from our favorite book, The Kissing Hand. It's a great book about a little raccoon who is nervous to be without his mom on the first day of school...but the mom teaches him that he can always feel her with him by her kissing his palm of his hand. ith tears in my eyes, I did the same to his hand. He said "I love you" and walked back to line with his hand on his cheek.
Cole and I walked away.
The way to the car was difficult. Cole's tears just kept falling...and he asked for me to hold him. "I'm gonna miss Dane, mom" and with his sadness...I cried too.
But I'm sure Dane's there -- and enjoying his first day. I'm in a class and won't be able to pick him up for the week and I hate that. I can't wait to hear how his first days go....and if there were any bumps and bruises along the way. I can't wait to hear about the new people in his class and new experiences he's sure to explore...I just need to swallow the lump in my throat. It's okay to be worried about this child I love more than life itself -- and it's okay to miss him -- and if you see me with the palm of my hand on my cheek today -- well, maybe you'll know why.
