Last Day of School

 

Daniel’s last day of preschool was one week ago today.  He’s now on “summer break” as we like to tell him.  I’m walking that fine line of letting him be totally relaxed and excited that he doesn’t have to go to school and reminding him that this is just a 3 month break before he has to go back.

You see school has been a little…um…rough.  Like all things with kids, the excitement of preschool took a little U-turn.  After his very first day of preschool, he was thrilled!  That continued for about two months. He LOVED his teacher and the teaching assistant.  He started making friends.  He loved to show me his drawings and glue projects.  He loved music class.  He loved using the school potty (one of my biggest early fears.)

Daniel’s 3 year old preschool program was only two days a week, but after about two months he started to get upset when I dropped him off in the morning.  I had to park and walk him into the small classroom. I liked that.  It gave me the opportunity to see his teacher and watch Bean put his backpack on the wall and sit down.  I felt comfort in leaving him when I knew he was settled.  But it became harder to leave when he would cling to me or cry.

It wasn’t sadness. It was more like a small anxiety attack.  He would ask for water or a tissue and get really upset.  God bless his teacher because she was great at bear hugging him into the classroom and shooing me away.  Then she would always tell me that he was “just fine” five minutes after I left. But STILL. It was HARD.

Bean is my guinea pig.  He’s my first baby.  He’s my first attempt at “crying it out.” My first one to eat the scary solids.  My first one to walk, to talk, to make a friend, to venture out into the big, bad world.  I had no idea what it would be like to send him off to preschool.  It’s been equally rewarding and stressful.

I would always feel better when I picked him up.  He would run to me and hug me and have a huge smile on his face.  It was part glad to see me and part excited to show me a project he did in school that day.   He was doing well.  He was learning new things.  He was happy.

But the morning part never changed.  It would vary in range from small sniffles to those crazy anxiety attacks.  He would worry about the littlest things like if music class was going to be in the BIG room that day or if one of his friends was upset the last time he was in class.  “I hope Madison is not upset today, Mama,” he would tell me.  “Don’t worry about her. She’s fine,” I’d say.  It was a lot of little questions and worry.  But he always went in the room.  He was ALWAYS brave.  “Mama, I was brave today,” he would say when I buckled him into his car seat at the end of the school day. “Yes, Daniel, you are my super brave boy.”

I think I looked forward to the last day of school more than he did.  I was happy to get relief from the anxiety of it all.  The thing is, Daniel is just like me.  I’m a worrier.  I stress.  I over think EVERYTHING. Even as a little girl I would be nervous about the smallest things; especially school things.  Sometimes I feel guilty because I gave Daniel this gene.  But at least I can relate.  Plus, he helps ME.  One example is his first airplane ride.  I was the one who was filled with stress, but I could not let that show so I calmed down.  It’s the same with preschool.  I feel anxiety every time I drop him off, but I learned to smile and sing happy songs all the way to the classroom.   It made ME feel better. (Of course having happy go-lucky little Annabel with us always helped too.  The cute lucky duck got that trait from her Daddy.)

Now, don’t get me wrong.  Daniel made friends.  Daniel did AMAZING in school.  The teacher told me he would speak up and answer questions.  His end of the year “evaluation” was awesome.  He knows his numbers, letters, shapes.  He can write his name.  He can use scissors.  I really have nothing to worry about.  It’s just that he’s my sensitive little boy.  He’s my baby.  He IS a baby.  He was the youngest 3 year old in the class because of his August 30th birthday.  (The cut off for school here is September 1.) His teacher and the Preschool director both think he will do even better next year in the the 4 year old program because of the consistency.

Because it’s EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Okay, I don’t even want to think about THAT right now.  Because school’s out for the summer. YA-HOO.

First Day of Preschool

My baby boy started school today. 

It was his very first day of a three-year-old preschool program. In other words, he left me to spend the morning with a woman I barely know.  I’ve been preparing for this day since September. Back then, I decided to wait a semester since he is a “late” three (August birthday) and I wanted him to be completely comfortable with the potty training. I don’t think I give my kid enough credit.  He was probably ready to go to school back in September.  But, let’s face it, I wasn’t.  His official first day was supposed to be last Tuesday.  But he woke up with a nasty cold, so we delayed a week. 

Today was the BIG DAY.

He woke up a little earlier than usual today.  He was excited.  He had banana bread (his favorite) with a side of bananas (one slice, maybe) and blueberries (three) and a big glass of milk.  He got dressed and watched me put his lunchbox into his backpack and then I think his nerves started to set in.  The difference with Bean now, compared to when he started the Sports Class in the summer,  is that he can really express his feelings so much better.  He can say that he’s nervous.  He told me he might cry, but “just a little bit.”  He wanted to go, but he might want me to stay too. He needed a sip of water so he would feel better. 

We arrived at school a little early so I could show him where to hang his brand new fire truck backpack. He loved when he saw his name above the small hook on the wall.  He saw some Thomas trains to play with so that was awesome.  He tried out the bathroom and hated the loud fan and the big boy seat (no kiddie insert like at home.)  That made ME nervous, but it was time for Mama to leave.  I kissed his cheek, said I loved him, and he sat down at a tiny table.  The teacher tried to distract him with crayons so I could scoot out, but I could hear his small cry and call for me as I turned the corner.  I didn’t cry. I just listened to make sure he stopped crying.  He did.   I peeked one more time  to see him coloring and smiling, so I left.  My baby boy was now at school.  Okay, maybe I cried a little just then.

When I picked him up FOUR HOURS LATER, I got the biggest hug and peanut butter faced smile. Yes, he ate his sandwich.  But nothing else.  He wanted to eat the rest at home.  The teacher said he did GREAT.  Sure, there were some nerves here and there, but overall, just great.  Now Bean is giving up the monumental first day of school information in frustrating bits and pieces.  There’s some fun clean-up song he’s been trying to sing.   He told us he said “Amen” at chapel time.   He sat on big letters on the floor.  There was some type of guitar in music class.  He forgot the name of a friend he made. 

The hardest part is not knowing exactly what he was doing all day at school.  It’s hard knowing that my son was doing things, learning things, seeing things, experiencing things and I wasn’t there.  I may never really know what he loved best, what made him nervous, what made him laugh.  He’s letting go of my hand, one finger at a time.  I hate it.  I love it.   This is what it’s all about.  The first independent step out into the big world.  He did it.   I’m so proud of my little man.