This morning, while lost in a sea, filled with parents sitting alone in their cars, some trying to hold back tears while others were in a full panic attack... I was reminded of just how much one small person can make an impact on your life.
When I was a child myself, I remember thinking how awesome it would be if I grew up and had 9 sons... to create my own baseball team.
When I was a teenager, I remember thinking how awesome it would be to NEVER have kids at all.
When I was in my early 20's, I remember thinking how I wasn't entirely certain children would be a reality for me considering the way my life was so "up in the air." And if I did have a kid, it would have to stay a small baby because all the "kids" I knew at the time were brats.
And now, I'm lost in a sea of parents who look at their children and wonder how I ever thought any of the things I thought before meeting my child.
Today, as she begins her first day of VPK and will inevitably begin the journey of her school life, I, too, am in tears over just what this day means.
After jumping down from her car seat and into the morning sand just outside the parking lot, she walked up with pride and fear both present in her eyes. Proud of her Dora the Explorer lunch bag. Proud of her "tap shoes" that aren't tap shoes at all, but merely her plaid, beat-up strapped shoes from Target. Proud of the way I fixed her hair and left it long in the back so she could swing it around and show her friends how the length of her hair is comparable to that of Rapunzel's in the movie "Tangled."
The pride I can handle. It was the look of fear and uncertainty that I can not quite seem to get under wraps. What do you do in a situation like this? She's been in pre-school a few days a week prior to this, but going full time, 5 days a week... in a new room, a new teacher, new "friends," new cubby, and new class name.... was a bit scary for her, I'm sure.
After taking her picture in front of the school sign to document this "wonderful" occasion, we walked in the door where we were immediately overwhelmed with what felt like THOUSANDS of parents, kids, and teachers jamming the entrance, halls, and rooms. It was loud as you heard kids crying, kids laughing, and parents arguing with each other in confusion. Her hand in mine, I guided her in the direction of where her new classroom would be and reminded her that THIS would be her new room. I showed where her new cubby would be, and she quickly placed her lunch bag into the small 12" x 12" shelf hole, labeled with a blue bird and her name, and continued to look around for signs of familiar life. If I paused for a split second, I could see other parents hovering or leaving quickly depending on their situation. You can always tell the first-timers because of their inability to either leave their child's side, or the room, or even the hallway. The parents who have done this before or have kids used to being in a pre-school type setting, are the ones who are in and out the door in less than 3 minutes as if they were dropping off mail at the post office. But the feelings are the same for both parties involved. If you're a first timer, you hate the thought of leaving your child. If you are a pro, you hate it, but you've developed a "survival mode" button that you push just before getting out of the car to take them inside.
Once we placed Eeyore into her cubby, we were ready to find her teacher and classmates located in another area of the school to prepare for "Circle Time." This is where the exchange is made. I hand off my daughter to the teacher, and in return, the teacher gives me a "look." This look is the most important aspect of the exchange, as it's a promise to you that your child will be safe, cared for, and educated while you're away. I, as a parent, have my own "look" to give the teacher just after her look is thrown my way. My "look" goes a little something like this:
"I have just given you the heart of my soul: the tiny hand of my child. While I'm away, I expect you to protect her, feed her nutritiously, hold her if she's frightened, care for her wounds if she falls and skins her knees, put the hair tie back in if it comes out, teach her to be kind to her classmates, educate her and encourage her intelligence, make her feel loved and appreciated, and remind her that I will be there soon to pick her up. If you cannot perform these duties or if you hurt her in any way, I will hunt you down and kill you."
That look only lasts about a millisecond. But it's there. And she knows it. So it's all good.
Once I'm certain that look has been understood and there aren't any questions, I can leave.
And so I did. I walked out with a mission. My mission was to get the hell out of there before I completely lost it in front of everyone and made myself look like an asshole. While doing so, I completely forgot to pick up the paperwork I was instructed to take with me. I suppose my horse-racing blinders were in full effect, allowing me only to see the front door and from there, my car. "Why did I park so far away" I thought to myself. But as I flip-flopped down the path toward the car, I couldn't help but notice I wasn't alone. I saw other parents forcing their kids to stand in front of the same sign, taking their picture. I saw the "pros" practically shoving their kids to the front door in a hurry as the little ones rubbed their eyes, signalling they had just woken up. I saw the "first timers" with the look of "huh?" on their faces. And then, as I approached my car with my keys in my hand, I saw a woman sitting in her mini-van, just staring toward the school. I could tell the way the sun was reflecting off the tears rolling down her cheek, that she was feeling the exact same way as me... And even though I consider myself a "pro," at that very second, I once again felt like a "first timer."
It was kind of like when you see or hear someone vomiting: When you see someone else doing it, suddenly you feel the urge to do it, too. And so, once I got in and started the car, I tried to drive away quickly as to let her have her moment. But when I glanced back at the school with it's little fence, barn-like appearance, and kids running and playing on the playground... I found myself needing my own moment. Traffic streaming down the road allowed for me to begin crying... And of course, eventually I had to pull out onto the road... But nothing stopped me from allowing those damn tears to fall down MY cheek.
My only consolation: Knowing that I gave her teacher "the look."
