The First Day

Written Earlier

Well, I wasn't able to stop it. I have distant but vivid memories of soft coos and diapers, first steps and the worry of a Y2K scare that threatened to end the world. Little did I realize how quickly my sweet children would progress into backpacks, lunch boxes, opinionated outfit choices and strides that race to beat the tardy bell. I also thought that last year's half days were pretty good practice for this year's empty nest. Wishful thinking.

What is about parenting that the better you try to do it, the more solemn it becomes? I want my kiddos to become independent, to trust in their choices, and to follow their own adventurous path that God ordains for them......when they are like, 45, or something. I just don't want confidence without even NEEDING a kiss at the class room door to be a part of it. :(

I actually thought I was doing pretty well. We were calm and on time for the first day of school. I hadn't even had a thought about having to try to stave off any tears. There was eager commotion everywhere, but not too much. Just parents and their kids all excited to see other again. Lots of searching for the right spots to put stuff. A few people already making carpool plans. A great first day all in all. Then my new middle schooler got impatient and eagerly pleaded with his facial expressions to let him go ahead upstairs without having to wait for me and his siblings to make our way through the throngs of people he had already dodged through with sleek agility. Oh, well, at least he was excited.

We dropped off my daughter next, who is usually the least enthusiastic of my three children about school. She was so brave and calm. I was at one time relieved that she was keeping such a great attitude and sad that the only comfort she seemed to need was help with her supplies, a smile and a whisper of encouragement. She had her coloring page started before I even made it to the doorway to look back at her one last time.

But what I didn't quite expect was for my bright new kindergartner to altogether miss the importance of umpteen pictures and a half hour of lingering inside the classroom door. He is my last child, after all. Didn't he know how much Mommy needed to hold on, even if he doesn't?! What a fabulous teacher he has for the foray into formal schooling. She knew our mothers' hearts so well. Upon leaving, each mom was handed a sandwich baggy with a cotton ball, a tissue and a tea bag. Once in the car, I opened it to find this note:

"After you have wiped your tears, make yourself a nice, hot cup of tea. Then put your feet up, close your eyes and rub this cotton ball in your hand to remind you of the soft, gentle nature of your child."

O.K. So maybe I'm the only one who can cry all over typing that again just now. But he's my BABY! HOW, OH HOW, do you high school graduate empty-nesters do this?

After I got in my car, I sat and thought about life, my kids, and my new purpose for those few hours a day. Then I realized that I have plenty to keep me busy for the next, oh, say three and half years or so, but it is almost all back at home in a quiet empty house. So I did what so many of us of the female species do in a crisis. I went and walked around Walmart. I didn't necessarily need anything. Except, of course, to sort through my many thoughts and hear the sound of kids laughing or whining, either one. And guess who I saw there? Seriously, no kidding. About five or six other kindergarten moms from our school. Every one them were looking off into space and simultaneously smiling and crying. But the morning chattiness we had so robustly enjoyed was gone. Our conversation now was silent, but clear, and spoken with our eyes. "I'll pray for you and you pray for me, too."