{motherhood is not for sissies.}
I am having a harder time than I anticipated with Luke beginning kindergarten today. In theory, today shouldn't really feel too much of a change from preschool last year. But it sure does.
My reaction to this has actually snuck up on me a bit. I did surprisingly OK the first two days that he went to school. They were shorter days with only a portion of the class and they were very spread out time-wise. Each time I got a golf-ball sized lump in my throat, but held it together pretty well considering how I handled Gracie's first day of kindergarten (though, in my defense, I was very pregnant at the time....)
But last night when I went up to the school for Kindergarten Parent Night, it all just hit me. My baby boy is really not a baby anymore.
First, at the PTA meeting beforehand, the PTA President gave all of the parents a speech/lecture about dropping off the students this morning. "Don't walk them into the building! Drop them off and leave and trust that we will get them to the right spot. They will be scared, but it will be OK. There are tears every year, but we handle it." and so on and so on. Not exactly the pep talk I needed about dropping my five-year old among the six hundred other kindergarten students at the school. (Yes. I did say 600 kindergarteners. I try not to think about that number too much.)
Then I went to Luke's classroom and was met at his desk with a special art project for me- Luke's cute purple handprints stamped next to a poem about babies growing up, leaving their Mommy's sides to start school and be big. Maybe the general population can handle that sort of sentimental assault, but not this mama. It was just mean, if you ask me. :)
But the real emotion hit last night after I put the kids to bed and had two backpacks and lunch boxes to pack and place by the front door. Not sure why this was my breaking point, but it was. I had a good cry in the kitchen while making Luke's PBJ. Poor Ben got round two a couple of hours later. He was great, but I know he just doesn't quite understand it.
The only way I can explain it is that Luke is my little shadow and has been for the past five years. He sits next to me every morning as I eat my breakfast. We play and run errands and read and do art projects all morning. He helps me get lunch ready. We have mommy school time in the afternoon while Drew naps and then sometimes curl up on the couch together to watch a cartoon. We do puzzles, play games, and take walks together. His constant chatter is the background noise of my daily life. He is just fun to spend my day with.
Luke starting kindergarten is just the end of a really nice era in my life. And while I look forward to sharing the same kind of special time with my other sweet little guy, I still tear up typing this.
In about 45 minutes I am going up to the school to attend a Parent Volunteer Meeting and it is going to take every ounce of self-restraint that I have not to walk down to Luke's classroom to peek in on him, just to make sure he is doing OK. The couple scared tears that he shed on the drive to school this morning just won't leave my mind.
Motherhood is so not for sissies.
My reaction to this has actually snuck up on me a bit. I did surprisingly OK the first two days that he went to school. They were shorter days with only a portion of the class and they were very spread out time-wise. Each time I got a golf-ball sized lump in my throat, but held it together pretty well considering how I handled Gracie's first day of kindergarten (though, in my defense, I was very pregnant at the time....)
But last night when I went up to the school for Kindergarten Parent Night, it all just hit me. My baby boy is really not a baby anymore.
First, at the PTA meeting beforehand, the PTA President gave all of the parents a speech/lecture about dropping off the students this morning. "Don't walk them into the building! Drop them off and leave and trust that we will get them to the right spot. They will be scared, but it will be OK. There are tears every year, but we handle it." and so on and so on. Not exactly the pep talk I needed about dropping my five-year old among the six hundred other kindergarten students at the school. (Yes. I did say 600 kindergarteners. I try not to think about that number too much.)
Then I went to Luke's classroom and was met at his desk with a special art project for me- Luke's cute purple handprints stamped next to a poem about babies growing up, leaving their Mommy's sides to start school and be big. Maybe the general population can handle that sort of sentimental assault, but not this mama. It was just mean, if you ask me. :)
But the real emotion hit last night after I put the kids to bed and had two backpacks and lunch boxes to pack and place by the front door. Not sure why this was my breaking point, but it was. I had a good cry in the kitchen while making Luke's PBJ. Poor Ben got round two a couple of hours later. He was great, but I know he just doesn't quite understand it.
The only way I can explain it is that Luke is my little shadow and has been for the past five years. He sits next to me every morning as I eat my breakfast. We play and run errands and read and do art projects all morning. He helps me get lunch ready. We have mommy school time in the afternoon while Drew naps and then sometimes curl up on the couch together to watch a cartoon. We do puzzles, play games, and take walks together. His constant chatter is the background noise of my daily life. He is just fun to spend my day with.
Luke starting kindergarten is just the end of a really nice era in my life. And while I look forward to sharing the same kind of special time with my other sweet little guy, I still tear up typing this.
In about 45 minutes I am going up to the school to attend a Parent Volunteer Meeting and it is going to take every ounce of self-restraint that I have not to walk down to Luke's classroom to peek in on him, just to make sure he is doing OK. The couple scared tears that he shed on the drive to school this morning just won't leave my mind.
Motherhood is so not for sissies.
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