Kindergarten and Kleenex

Breaking News!
Breaking News!
Breaking News!

We interrupt this vacation to bring you two breaking news events!

1) L got her hair chopped off,

and

2) She started pre-Kindergarten today!

Mommy was all misty-eyed and cranky this morning and it took me a little while to figure out why. I retraced the last 24-hours' worth of things that I'd said to her and couldn't find anything particularly insensitive - at least not any more than usual. Then it hit me - separation anxiety - the first chick was leaving the nest. OK, the first chick was heading over to a nest two branches away and would be back home for worms by dinner, but she might as well have flown the coop.

We had been talking up how much fun it would be for a week or two, knowing that L would get more and more anxious as the day drew nearer. Last night you could tell she was a little out of sorts, but she was quite positive about the day to come and was looking forward to it. You could tell she was a little stressed though - any little thing would bring on tears enough to drown a cat. But after a good night's sleep she seemed all buzz and excitement as she had breakfast and got dressed.

The plan was for me to take her to school in the morning and for Stacy, Aunt Claudia and N to pick her up in the afternoon. (She goes full days, 5 days a week now, though today was an early dismissal day.) As we headed out to the car for the big trip L insisted on a pretty thorough photoshoot.








As we drove to school L chattered non-stop, giving me driving direction updates at 1/10 mile intervals. Her nervousness was obvious, but it was focused in an excited and jittery sort of way. The mouth ran unhindered. When we pulled up I walked her to her classroom. The further we went the more I noticed her pace slowing down and slightly more of a drag on my hand. But the detail-deluge didn't slacken. When we got to her classroom the door was still shut and a couple of other students were milling around. L immediately pulled me over to the sign by the door with her teacher's name on it (Mrs. Ellis) so I could get a picture. Her chatter never faltered, at least not until the door opened and Mrs. Ellis stepped out and greeted the crowd. All of a sudden L went stock-still and grew noticeably pale. Her lips buttoned and her eyes got that glazey I'm-going-to-be-brave-but-I-sure-am-terrified look to them. All the kids and their parents started filing into the room but L hung back and I almost had to steer her by the shoulders to direct her in the door. All the other kids had dropped their backpacks in their cubbyholes and were already racing around finding their assigned seats in the center of the room. Not L. She clung to my leg, backpack still fully engulfing her.



I managed to get her unfolded from it, and stowed the massive piece of luggage in her marked spot, but L was in no hurry to go join the other kids. She stood hypnotically silent in the shadow of my leg. I asked her if she wanted to go sit down; the most minimalist head-shake of a "no" was the reply. "How about if I go with you?" I asked. The head creaked a fraction of a degree up and down this time. I shoulder-steered her to her chair and pulled it out for her. She looked positively ill at this time, pale and all but trembling. Knowing that my continued presence there would only prolong the agony (for both of us), I quickly slipped back over to the door, half expecting her to bolt after me. But she sat cowed in her chair looking from face to face as if trying to figure out which was going to attack her first. I waited by the door until she finally caught my eye. I waved and got a timid little hand-jiggle back. We blew each other kisses and I slipped from the room, afraid if I stayed much longer I'd be the one bolting to her side.



My drive to work was more difficult that I anticipated because the neighborhood seemed to have gotten a lot foggier that it had been earlier.