Parenthood always presents itself with numerous
opportunities to learn something new. I feel like this week I learned the
quickest way to achieve Ultimate Mom Guilt: Send Your Child to Kindergarten.
The years leading up to the Big Day seem endless and exhilarating
and sweet and exhausting. Milestones of going to preschool are, in a sense, a
badge of honor. “My child is old enough to be left in the care of others and
socialize with his peers. He even knows his colors and no longer drops heat in
his underwear! We are movin’ on up in the ranks of childhood!” The haze of
early baby-raising lifts like a fog and many, like myself, drop those beloved
kids off at the doors of their preschool a couple of mornings a week with a quick kiss goodbye and then RUN
LIKE HELL in the opposite direction to embrace every ounce of freedom there is
waiting outside in the form of a Starbucks date with a gal pal, a shopping trip
to Target ALONE, or simply a few quiet hours at home zoning out to Wendy
Williams. Thanks Teach! They’re your
problem now! See ya in a few hours! I gotta catch up on my Hot Topics!
We completely take for granted that these kids will be in
our total control and care and that these early years will tick away even though
the daily grind of it all feels like we’re stuck in a hamster wheel. We rely so
heavily on our personal routines, our tiny social circles, and the concept that
“the greener grass” of independence is
so far away. Even as June closes out of the preschool days, we parents get
jazzed about the big transition ahead of us. A new badge of honor for the kids
and US on the horizon. “Kindergarten next year- whoo hoo! We’re big kids
now! We know our ABCs and understand that
making eye contact with others when they talk to you is more appropriate than
meowing like a cat! Movin’ on up, I say!” Think of all the amazing things I am going to accomplish now that they are in school all day! I am going to the gym. Daily. I am going to be one of those hot, fit
moms that actually wears the workout pants AND WORKS OUT! I am going to meal
plan, prep, and cook organic clean meals. I will start a Freezer Meal Club. I'm gonna write more. I
am going to start a Book Club. I am going to volunteer! I am going to wear
makeup and dress like an adult! I am going to make eye contact with others in
the grocery store and not use the term “potty” when talking with them!
As summer inevitably drags on and the kids drive us insane, we
look forward to the day we can ship them off!
Is it September yet?!?!?!?
And then Back-to-School Season officially arrives.
I was excited for the teacher assignment to come in the
mail. I was excited for the bus passes to be hung on the refrigerator. I was
excited to add special dates to the calendar and prep the backpacks and lunch
bags and first day of school outfits. And then I walked my middle son into his
Kindergarten classroom for orientation and wanted to burst into tears.
Despite his palpable eagerness and confidence and genuine
happiness to be right there in that moment, I physically felt the memories of
his early childhood years get sucked away into a vacuum of time. A black hole
of early childhood and parenting opportunities that I could no longer retrieve.
My Mom Guilt Meter went off the register as I sat in a tiny chair
in the middle of Room 32. Meanwhile, he sat on a rainbow rug playing Legos with a
total stranger he now referred to as “my new friend”. I didn’t do enough playgroups with him. I didn’t attend enough
storytimes with him. I should have blogged more about him. I should have taken
more pictures of him. I should have signed off Facebook and done more arts and
crafts with him. I should have gone to more museums and parks and hiking trails
in our free time. Every day was free time! Why didn’t I take advantage of it? I
didn’t lay down on our own rug to play Legos with him long enough…
Kindergarten Orientation brought feelings to the surface
that I hadn’t anticipated and the reality of one chapter coming to a close
abruptly snapped shut in my face. I didn’t think I’d feel this overwhelmed by
emotion, but as reality settled in, it dawned on me that when my beautiful, charismatic,
spitfire of a child went through the doors of his first public school, he was
no longer “mine” in the sense of what I had always known life to be with him. For
6 hours a day (essentially half of his waking hours), 5 days a week, he was in the care of other, albeit capable, adults that I didn’t
really know. He would create a social life outside of the friends I chose for
him because I got along with their moms. He would wake and eat on a different schedule.
He would not have me there to tie his shoes or open his juice box or guide
through unknown territory. He was my little fledgling taking his brave first
flight and I would have to sit there and wait in my nest, with bated breath, to see how far
he soared. It was a rite of passage that he so well-deserved, yet my unplanned
heartache and regret filled the space in our home right where his absence was
felt. I have loved him so deeply. But
have I utilized and appreciated my time with him enough?
Perhaps I feel this form of grief and guilt more strongly
with Ryan because when I sent his older brother off to Kindergarten, I had two “backup
kids” at home. Ryan was in his first year of Preschool and I had a 6-week old
baby literally attached to me. The sense of freedom and “greener grass” wasn’t
even on my radar at that point. I was in a sleep-deprived state that welcomed
any reprieve of being responsible for the older ones. And with Caiden, being
the eldest, I DID do the playgroups and storytimes, music classes and museums…
because I wasn’t so overwhelmed with being a parent to multiple children.
My middle child didn’t have the gift of being an only child
for a few years. His gift was the companionship of his siblings. His gift was
the opportunity to learn and see what life was like for older children up close
and personal, as well as the hands-on training in being tender and
understanding to children who were younger than him. Sadly, that still doesn’t
completely soothe the sting of the guilt.
He’s so ready for this step, though. So INSANELY ready for this.
For the past few days he has awakened extra early at 6:45am, dressed himself, and eaten
breakfast with a giant fluorescent orange bus tag around his neck. And as I
write this, I get it now. That bus tag, you see, that’s HIS badge of honor.
“You see this tag? It’s my
ticket to an amazing experience, Mom! I have got so many friends out there I
have yet to meet! I can teach them all my crazy jokes and show them all my
silly faces! I can show them how kind and funny and smart I am! I can show my
new teachers how different from my big brother I am. This time away from you is
not the end, Mom. It’s the beginning. It’s the start of the path to becoming
who I really am and full of so many possibilities at every turn! Movin' on up! And, Mom, I am so
happy that you have been here since the beginning to hold my hand. We’re
buddies and nothing can ever change that. Let’s face it, a kid like me really
isn’t created out of playgroups, music classes, and homemade play dough. Seriously, Mom, give yourself a break. Grab a cup
of coffee and take a breath. I’ll be back in 6 hours to give you a giant hug,
tell you all about my day, and maybe, if there’s enough time, we can play Legos
afterward.”
