We start the day with the outfit that had been picked out for weeks, and then curl, and curl, and curl her hair. Oh, we had a plan, you betcha. But, about halfway through the curling process, Leah goes as white as a ghost and says "Mom, my tummy hurts. I'm gonna throw up" and starts to cry. I tell her "It's just butterflies, Boo. Take a deep breath and settle down, because if you're sick and throw up, you probably can't go to your first day." She tries taking deep breaths but she's too far gone already. After a few coughs and chokes we finish up her hair and she sits down for a bit and is fine. Phew. Hurdle one: cleared.
She's still a bit pale, but she made it.
Her friends come to pick her up and we start the walk. She's excited and chatty and happy the whole way there. The big kids drop her off at the Kindergarten playground and it's just me and Boo and about a billion other shrimpy excited kids. The bell rings and the teachers come out to help the kids line up. And the panic returns. "Are you coming in with me?!?" "Yes, Boo. You and me", which eases the panic, and we walk in holding hands. Hurdle two: cleared.
In we go to class and have a few activities to do together. Color in a pink person shaped paper and tape it to the wall to count the girls vs. the boys, color a canning jar lid with her name and a picture of her to use as attendance, and find her name tag and spot at the table.
Then, her teacher calls for the kids to gather around her on the rug for a story. That's when I start to panic as I hoped and prayed that it wouldn't be the story that I thought it was. It's a story that I've had to endure 2 times already, and wished I would never be subjected to ever again. It's the absolute worst story in the history of all stories. Really. It's ridiculously terrible. Torturous, I'd say.
But her teacher goes ahead and pulls out the most evil book to ever be published. The Kissing Hand. That darn Kissing Hand! Oh, how I hate The Kissing Hand. Why do Kindergarten teacher insist on inflicting that horrific Kissing Hand on parents every single year?!? WHY!!! Just the anticipation of that book, and then seeing its miserable cover sends me over the edge and I start to cry. I had been so good up to that point! My neighbor who has a boy in Leah's class starts to laugh and calls me a ninny. She's right. Curse you, Chester the Raccoon. Curse you, your mother, and your night school with the owl teacher.
Can you see it sitting there on the desk? Of the devil, that book is.
Leah has no idea what she's up against. Her teacher tells the kids that after she reads the story, the moms and dads are going to get a red bag from her desk and then it's time for them to say goodbye and go. Leah turns to look at me and sees me trying to pretend I'm not crying, but knows that I am crying, and begins to freak out. She gets wiggly during the story and I can feel her heart beating out of her chest all the way to the back of the room. Then the teacher closes up that evil book and says "Let's turn and wave goodbye to our parents! It's time for them to go!". Leah stands up to come and give me a hug and is in tears, just like her wimpy mom. "You're going to do great, Boo! It's going to be so much fun, you'll see!" But nothing is going to work at this point. She's the sobbing, snot all over her face, hyperventilating Boo we know and love. So, we go out to the hall and try to calm each other down. "I don't want you to go! I want to come home with you!" she cries. Darn all this grownup junk. I want the exact same thing she does. It takes everything in me to not swoop her up and do what both of us want more than anything right then. "No, it's going to be so boring at home. I'm just going to be working, and the boys are going to be doing nothing. It's way more fun at school! Look at all the friends you can make! And if you come home you'll miss out on recess and coloring and reading! You can do this. You are so brave, and you can do this, my sweet Boo" I say through my tears. I don't know who I was trying to convince; her or me. I tell her to stand up against the wall so I can take a picture of my brave girl on her first day.
After a few more hugs and stifled tears, she agrees to go back in. I grab my dumb red bag and race out before she can change her mind. She waves to me as she is wiping her eyes, and I go. Hurdle three; crash and burn.
Oh, how I hate Kindergarten. Really, really hate Kindergarten. I cry all the way home. Once I pick up the boys and head in the house I open up the lame red bag. Inside is an apple and a poem from her teacher. A poem just as evil as that junky Kissing Hand book. Brace yourselves.
The First Day
I gave you a wink and a little smile
As you entered my room today.
For I know how hard it is to leave
And know your child must stay.
You've been with her for five years now
And have been a loving guide,
But now, alas, the time has come
To leave her at my side.
Just know that as you drive away
And tears down your cheeks may flow
I'll love her as I would my own
And help her learn and grow.
For, as a parent, I too know
How quickly the years do pass,
For one day many years ago
I took my own child to class.
So please put your mind at ease
And cry those tears no more.
For I will love her and take her in
When you leave her at my door.
- Jamie Solley
And then it says,
An apple for the teacher
Is really nothing new
Except when you remember
Parents are teachers, too!
See? Rotten! Evil! Terrible! Isn't that the worst poem in the history of poems? Man!
We count down the minutes until it's time to get her and run to the door she'll be coming out of. It feels like forever until we see her sweet round little face again. When she finally comes out I tell her "See? It's not so bad. You had fun, right? You can do this again tomorrow". To which she shockingly replies "I have to come back tomorrow? Is it, like, every day?!?".
The rest of the week is heartbreaking. Every morning when her friends come to pick her up she tells them "I'm not going to cry today!", and I really think she believes it. She spends the walk giving herself a pep talk saying things like "You can do it. You're not going to cry. It's okay. You can do it". But every time that terrible bell rings and she has to line up, her grip on my hand tightens and the tears begin to fall. I'd tell her "You can do it. You are so brave, Boo.", but every day I have to send my crying girl in the school without me. So, so sad. Oh, Kindergarten. How I loathe you, you big jerk.
After that first week her grip began to loosen. She started allowing me to wait outside of the playground instead of lining up inside with her. And one day she actually walked to school without me. I knew she could do it. Anything she sets her little mind to, she can do. We just have to work on that little scaredy cat's nerves. Or maybe I'll just start keeping them home with me, which sounds like a pretty good plan after a week like that.
