I was thinking about all my friends who, IRL and in the bloggy land, have kids entering Kindergarten. I do too. My youngest.
And I was thinking about all the sweet and emotional tweets that I’ve been reading. The tears being shed by both Mommy and child.
Which led me to think about Kindergarten experiences with each of my children.
When my oldest son began kindergarten, I was a wreck. I couldn’t believe my baby. My darling little mop of a blue eyed boy was old enough to be in school. This little boy who I knew, emotionally wasn’t ready. I held back the tears and I walked with him to his class. I don’t know who had a firmer grip because we were both white knuckled. I located his desk. I got him situated. Dried his tears. I planted a Mommy kiss on his hand with a bright colored lipstick (a trick I learned when he was in preschool) and a promise that I would be back to pick him up in a few hours. It was a half-day program, which he was used to because he had been in preschool for a couple of years.
Without looking back, because I didn’t want him to see the tears that had escaped, as much as I tried to hold them back, I walked out of the classroom. Leaving my little boy in a room full of strangers, crying for his mommy. Hopeful that he would stop crying and be OK.
Then my daughter started kindergarten, 2 years later. I was extremely swollen with pregnancy as we walked together into her classroom. Her ponytails dancing merrily as she bounced her way around her classroom to find her name on a desk. She was excited. There were no tears. The whole experience was easy with her. I kissed her with an invisible Mommy kiss on her hand that went unnoticed. I left her chirping happily with neighborhood girls, barely realizing that I was leaving. Holding back the tears. Of happiness and relief that she was OK. I waddled out of the classroom without an ounce of worry.
She was. Fine.
But now, as summer is ending and the school year is rapidly approaching (although it seems like it’s taking forever to get here). My youngest will start kindergarten on September 8th.
I will take him back to the same school that he has been going to for the last 3 years as a preschooler. He will join a bunch of the kids that he has gotten to know fairly well and they will begin their kindergarten education together. And as a Mom, I’m so unaffected by my baby beginning kindergarten. Not because I’ve been there, done that, but because staying at the same school where he has happily been for the last three years doesn’t seem that big of a momentous change. It’s a place of comfort and warmth. Familiarity on his part as well as mine. I know he’ll be fine there. We’ll have the same morning routine that has become habit from the last three years. T.V and breakfast. Dressed and teeth. Quickly get into the car because we’re running late, as usual. It’s our thing. We’re used to it. And kindergarten won’t be that tremendous of a change.
He’ll be fine.
Until next year. His first grade year. When he begins public school. When our routine is completely different. When, for the first time in his little life, his Mommy isn’t driving him to school and holding his hand and we walk down the hall to his class. His Mommy won’t be there to hang his backpack and kiss him goodbye.
So for now, his kindergarten year, my tweets will not mirror those who have bittersweet feelings of kindergarten.
This year, we’re fine.
But next year. That is going to be a different story.