Two Down, None to Go

This past week saw the summer draw to a close for both L and N.  L started her first day of kindergarten on Wednesday; N, who is kicking off a twice-a-week preschool stint, started on Thursday.  For L Wednesday was old hat.  A year of preschool and a year of developmental kindergarten had made her quite the jaded scholar.  She decked herself out in a spiffy new dress, tastefully appointed with a Little Mermaid backpack - the hautest thing this season in Paris - at least the Paris at Epcot Center.  A few turns for the adoring camera and she was good to go.  Even though he had yet one more day of summer bliss to burn, N graciously agreed to accompany L and Mommy on the ceremonial excursion.

L's kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Fadale

The next day was the boy's turn, and the excitement was palpable.  Up at the crack of dawn, a rather squirrel-like N insisted on wearing his school backpack over his pajamas at breakfast.  L, the consummate pro, had worlds of advice which she proffered unsolicited, and pretty much unattended.  I had decided to ease into the holiday weekend a little early and took Thursday and Friday off, so I got to accompany the budding collegian on his initial sally-forth.

I vividly remember L's first day last year and the quiet desperation that imbued her face; there was no parallel to be seen here.  N was all action.  Once we got to the school, he could not be contained in the family pack, but required the assistance of several border collies and a lasso to keep him from rushing headlong onto campus.  If anything, L seemed anxious on his behalf.

We were to drop L off at her class first.  L sat placidly in the courtyard while we waited for the door to the class to open, her previous confidence seemingly having crested; N, meanwhile, ran around introducing himself to all the myriad adults and students walking by, explaining to them most seriously that this was, indeed, his first day at school.  The more kinetic N became, the more withdrawn his sister.  Finally L's bell rang and it was time for her to go in.  Before she slipped in I was treated to hugs worthy of a wartime deployment.

Finally it was the moment we'd all been waiting for, some more spasticly than others - N's introduction to his classroom.  We got there before any of the other kids were there, so he could secure his territory.  Like a dog sniffing out new terrain, he was everywhere poking.  He immediately found his cubbyhole, then was off exploring all the other nooks and crannies.  (And there were plenty to explore.)

Before we left we walked him out to the playground where all the other kids were playing.  We didn't get so much as a "Bye Mommy & Daddy."  He was off like lightning and from afar we could faintly hear "Hi, my name's N; today's my first day at school..." repeated over and over.  It may have been a little hard to see at first, but we were able convince ourselves that he was, in fact, devastated to be separated from his loving parents.

We left the classroom, threaded our way back through the building, and headed back to our car.  As we walked we went along side the fence to the playground where N was socializing.  We spotted him off in a sandbox digging with a dozen newly-made bosom buddies.  "N," we cried, knowing he would be glad to see us again in his grief.  He looked over in our direction, spotted us, smiled and threw a little wave, then he was back tending to his sand toys.  Sometimes sorrow is best addressed privately.