As a child, I remember being excited and nervous as the new school year began. I loved back-to-school shopping for clothes and school supplies. Each year, I would search for THE perfect “Trapper Keeper.” Then I would cling to it as I walked into my new classroom, butterflies in my stomach as I entered.
My oldest son started first grade this year. A big transition, I would find out, from kindergarten last year. My husband drove him to school on his first day, at my son’s request. Sure, it was a bit hurtful for me. I tried to tell myself that he spends all day with me and being with Daddy is a special occasion.
Still I can’t help hearing the voice in my head that screams, “I quit my job to be with you! I give up eating warm meals, private bathroom time, and showers that last longer than six minutes! And you want your Dad instead of me?” Of course I would never say those words to him. I just smile. I hand him his carefully packed lunch with the sandwich, minus the crust, snacks and note inside that says. “You are special! Have a great day!” Then I hug him extra tight and watch my little boy drive away, growing up before my eyes.
Before we get into the school routine, the days seem longer than usual. My four year old asks me every hour if it is time to pick his brother up yet. The baby crawls around looking for him and making kissing noises. It seems like the summer was too short and we miss him.
Starting school seems to be hard on everyone. My son has a new class and doesn’t know any of the kids. We have many mornings of tearful goodbyes. I drop him off at school with big hugs and a cheerful “See you later!” I watch him hang his head as he slowly walks to the playground. It is heartbreaking for a mother to watch her child being unhappy as he walks into school. As sad as it makes me, I remind myself that it could be worse, way worse.
When I started kindergarten, my Mom tells me that I cried every day. She used to walk me into the classroom and run back with my baby brother, holding the door closed behind her as I screamed and clawed to open it and the teacher held me back. Some days, she would leave me at the playground and drive off as she watched me running after the car. She would accelerate and watch me stop at the corner of school grounds, sobbing in my hands.
Then there was the boy that I affectionately called “Ralph.” When my son started school last year my cousin was in town, helping me with my new baby. We observed several children that walked to school with their parents but “Ralph” was different. Each day, as he neared the school, he would throw up next to a tree, outside of school grounds and his Mom was equipped with a roll of paper towel under her arm. That poor kid. That poor Mom. Our hearts went out to that duo. My cousin started referring to him as “Ralph” and from that day on we hoped that things would get easier for him.
What I have realized is that many kids struggle with returning to school and separation anxiety seems to be normal. There always seems to be a period of adjustment. Best of luck to all those back-to-school kids and back-to-school parents.