My husband and I dropped off our firstborn son today for his first day of kindergarten. Since my mind has been racing non-stop over the last 24 hours, I decided to keep a running diary of how my life turned upside down in what seemed to be a blink of an eye.
The Night Before The First Day
5p.m. - I left the house to make one last mad dash to the store to buy groceries for the week. As I circle the store parking lot, pleading for a parking place to open up, I am angry as to why I waited until the night before school starts to fight the crowd to do shopping.
My five-year-old heartbreaker of a son and my very busy, uncooperative 21-month-old rush around the store trying to buy last minute lunch items since he wants to take his lunch in the morning. I sit in awe at all the different brands of Ziploc bags, praying that I make the right selection this time. Last week, I accidentally grabbed snack size instead of sandwich bags and now I also need a gallon size bag to include a change of clothes in his backpack, according to school policy. Why am I making this such a dilemma? I go with the cheapest and forgo the fancy labeled ones.
I watch as my son begs for item after item and I, being the responsible, sappy mom, give in on each thing because, after all, he is starting kindergarten tomorrow. All the while, I am feeding my baby a five-course meal of samples to keep her calm through all the extra detours in the store. Along with a new Barbie lunchbox, since her brother has a Batman one. When did she even find out who Barbie was?
6 p.m. - Finally make it home and begin to cook dinner, after almost breaking down in tears while looking at my son, I decide the best course of action is to stay busy and try to keep my mind free of the snatching of my child from my arms that is to occur in the morning. As I cook, I get out one of the shiny new gallon size Ziploc bags and pack an extra outfit. I label his backpack, water bottle and anything else I can get my hands on. I put his required towel in the dryer that he had to have for his 20-minute rest period. I set out his clothes for the morning after making promises he can wear other shirts later in the school year. Then I call an older friend whose son is also starting kindergarten and whose daughter is starting intermediate school. She tries to calm my nerves, but fails miserably since she is feeling the same way.
7 p.m. - Whew! My husband is home. Some distraction … or so I think. We scarf down spaghetti ( I think I ate enough to feed a cow) just to keep from crying in front of my son.
7:30 p.m. - Bath time for the one who won’t desert her mother tomorrow. With a bribe of lotion and painted toenails, bath time is short and I am feeling gypped because of how fast my kids are growing.
8 p.m. - One asleep and the other getting out of the bath, maybe this routine stuff is finally catching on with my kids. After pajamas and a book, I am finding myself wishing the night would never end.
8:30 p.m. - My son is asleep and my husband and I are left to are own confusion as to how he grew up so fast without us noticing. We pack his lunch for the next day and write out a card for his lunchbox. Label and pack the towel and we should be on our way to bed.
Midnight - After a bowl of ice cream and a stomach full of nerves, we finally fall asleep.
3 a.m. - Wake up. Did he set the alarm at the right time? Convince myself I can make it through this and fall back asleep.
6:15 a.m. - OK, I hate it when I wake up 15 minutes before the alarm. I am making myself go back to sleep.
6:50 - OK, turn it off! I am getting up!
7 a.m. - My husband and I go to wake up our kindergartner for his first day. He awakes with total excitement and actually applauds the new day. What, no “I am going to miss you mom?"
8:30 a.m. - We are walking through the door of his elementary school. Of course, stopping every five feet for a picture pose of his first day. He goes into his room like an old pro-putting his backpack up and sitting down to read a book. I go to kiss him goodbye, but he puts his forehead out as if he is embarrassed. My heart could have been swept up off the floor. He kisses and hugs his sister goodbye, but dad gets the same treatment as mom.
We wait in the hall with a few other parents, waiting for our kids to need us. My son turns around to see if we were gone (my hope was for a last minute hug or anything). He waves goodbye as if telling us to go.
8:45 a.m. - I make it out to the car before the tears begin to show.
At this point, I could bore you with the details of my day, but I will spare you. It went between curiosity and wanting to drive and peek in at the school, to counting hours, to swallowing back tears to looking at the clock.
3:30 p.m. - Drive to the wrong line to pick him up. Have to turn around and get behind a mile long line of cars. School lets out at 3:40 and we are still not moving.
3:50 p.m. - Still sitting in line, singing songs to entertain the baby.
4 p.m. - We start to move forward.
4:10 p.m. - My grown-up, independent boy enters the car. I am once again trying to hold back the tears. The conversation that followed was as frustrating as a hang nail. I wanted details, the kind of details women want: minute-by-minute replay of his day. I get yes, no answers, one name people, “oh, and there is a folder and homework for you and dad."
4:30 p.m. - As I drive, I am trying to unzip a backpack to find out any information at all for what went on in my child’s life today. Oh, I almost hit a car at the red light. It would be excusable, right? Oh, an apple that saids he was an “awesome helper." What did you do to get this? Just helped tie shoes. Cool, so some of the kids didn’t know how, I ask. I don’t know, Ms. Poland just told them I knew how to and I did theirs.
What followed was a few hours of my husband and I trying to think of every question imaginable to pull out information about his day.
Dinner came and went. Bath times, story times, and dessert. Along with a break-down by me, begging my husband to not make me take him back tomorrow.
The angel is asleep, in anticipation of his second day, while my husband and I do our homework and I am awake dreading another day.
Oh and by the way, he says before retiring for the night, “I want to buy my lunch tomorrow. They have chocolate milk."
What about my Ziploc bags?
