Parenting,  Thoughts

My Daughter’s First Day of Kindergarten

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I dropped my heart off at school. At least that’s what it felt like.

My baby—my precious, sing-song of a daughter started Kindergarten. All day. By herself.  I am trying to be thankful for one less child to deal with but to be honest, we’re all reeling from the absence of Ms. Bossy Pants. Our clown car is down one comedian and we’re feeling the loss.

I know I’m not the only mother feeling this agony. I watched the other anguish-stricken faces, anxiously observing their children through the fence or around the corner. I see you, creeps. So many, many moms, sitting in their minivans… violently sobbing and crying that ugly cry for all that they are worth.

I dropped my daughter off with a lunch box that seemed to dwarf her. She had enough food to feed a small army. Her hands clung to the lunchbox and she stood alone in the center of the playground just waiting. She isn’t used to being on her own. Her shortness makes her stick out on the asphalt like someone has eaten half of a crayon and tucked it back in the box with the others.

At home she has a dog and two younger brothers that follow her everywhere. She’s the queen. She rules her domain. But Kindergarten is different—she doesn’t know anyone. She thinks kids are leaving her out because they haven’t specifically invited her to play.

I wanted to mama bear the shit of her. I was tempted to rush the playground like a hormonal, emotion-stricken linebacker, pushing all of the other children to get to my baby as quickly as possible. I yearned to pull her close and rock her, whispering over and over again Mama loves you. You are the best! (This sounds significantly more disturbing when I say it out loud than it does in my head.)

But instead I watch from afar, waiting for her figure out how this whole socialization thing works. I lurk with my stroller, hiding my pain behind my sunglasses.

I’ve been coaching her at home…telling her to introduce herself to people, to ask people’s names. She understands in theory but I see her standing there by herself in the morning just waiting for someone to fetch her. She takes offense to other kids playing without her, as if their enjoyment is a diss specifically aimed at her.

She came home the second day of school and told me that she had eaten her lunch with another girl. “I shared the whole thing with her!” she said. I let out a sigh of relief. The next morning as we walked into school I asked her to point out her new friend. “There! There she is!”

I saw another tiny girl, about my daughter’s size, looking sad and lonely. As she walked by us I said, “Why don’t you ask your new friend to play?”

“Oh, that’s not her,” said my daughter. “That is.” Her tiny finger pointed to a lone, hulking shadow, leaning against the fence. At first I thought it was a sibling, or a misplaced 8th grader. But I was informed by my gleeful daughter that this was a Kindergarten classmate.

My shrimp has befriended the biggest kid on the playground.

I called my husband on the way home and explained.

“Well,” he said matter-of-factly. “At least we know she’d do well in prison.”

Word.

 

One Comment

  • Erin Strong

    Hahahaha! Hubbys response is hilarious. School is a dog eat dog world. You cannot anticipate how your child will do until it happens. Thank God for big glasses to hide the tears! You should be proud of yourself. I still get that last minute panic where I think just maybe we could not go. How long would it take the school district to hunt us down?