Back to school

It was the first day of school for the boy I seemingly just gave birth to yesterday. Everyone seemed excited (on the outside) except maybe for little brother who isn’t starting school yet, but really wishes he was. We all got up early that morning, dressed, ate breakfast, and walked the half block from our house to the school house to send him on his way.

As we left the back gate, the butterflies began their work. We talked as we walked, and he held my hand a little tighter than usual. Or maybe it was me who was holding on for dear life.

We paused at the stop sign, seemingly looking for a reason stand there a second or two longer than what we normally might, admiring the perfectly shaped skid-marks that had strangely enough just appeared in the road overnight. Finally, we were pulled onward by an over-anxious little brother, and we crossed the street and headed to the lunchroom to meet with dad.

The thought of tossing down a breakfast as hearty as the one we were smelling sent the butterflies into overdrive, churning up that early morning, empty stomach feeling, leaving me wishing I’d at least grabbed a piece of dry toast to settle my nerves. But still onward we trudged.

With huge smiles plastered on our faces, we walked the last leg of our journey to the door of the Kindergarten classroom. I fumbled with my camera and begged him to pause in front of the door which read “Hop Into K”. He hesitated at first, but then agreed, somehow knowing that taking a picture might keep us hanging around for just a few minutes more.

We entered a classroom with too many kids to count, some excited and talking, some laughing, some crying. “Let’s find your name and hang up your bag,” I said with as much enthusiasm as my melting heart could muster. He continued hanging on to my hand, tighter still, knowing that in just a moment I’d be walking out the door we’d just walked in, with Brisco alone at my side.

I helped him with his name tag and pointed out his old friends that he’d spent last year going to school with. Still, he stood beside me, eyes wide, watching as children and siblings and mothers with strollers scampered all around him.

“Ok, boys and girls. Everyone find a number on the floor and sit on it.” The teacher had given her first directive. But Cooper simply looked up at me and stared. He knew it was the moment of truth. The instant when the transfer of power went from parent to teacher. The second before I would have to leave. The time had come, and we both knew it.

I walked him to the green line on the floor, as he chose number nine to be his spot for the day. I squatted down until his eyes met mine and said, “Well, I guess I better go, Buddy.” He didn’t say much, but offered a hug even before I could beg for it to be given. A kiss as well, which doesn’t usually come cheap, and a watchful eye as I backed out of his classroom, this new home away from home, waving and smiling with every convincing, albeit contrived expression I could muster.

The three of us walked back to where Brisco had parked his bike, and I kissed my husband goodbye, wishing him, too, a good first day of school, all the while being certain not to make eye contact lest my sentimentality get the better of me. However, as we headed for home, I felt the first ball of emotion begin to well up in my chest. My throat tightened; my stomach churned; my jaw clenched. And suddenly there was nothing that could harness the tears that finally began to flow.

I walked home slowly that morning, shoulders heaving, voice quivering as I tried talking myself out of this sudden crazy, onset of emotions I was under. “It’s is just a part of growing up!” I argued with myself as I trudged nearer to our back gate. But he’s our first child, and my one and only Cooper, and I’m pretty much still a rookie at this parenting gig. So I just let myself cry a little more until I entered the back door to a smiling, angel of a child with a blanket in one hand and a book in the other. And with that “you-can’t-tell-me-no” look in his eyes, he begged, “Momma, will you just hold me on the couch for a little while?”

God sure knew what he was doing when He didn’t stop at one. I’m not sure what would have become of me that sad, Thursday morning if I hadn’t had Little Brother there by my side to cheer me on. And while the two of us are still learning to adjust to a daily routine without our Cooper in it, we’re finding ways to lean on one other. And have a little fun while we’re at it.

Back to school sure doesn’t mean what it used to. And in another year or two, I can only imagine the toll it will take. But I guess it really is just part of growing up…for them and for me.

And that’s All in a day’s work!