Category: Parenting

This morning, with my husband away on business, I had the honor of dropping off our oldest at school.  This is a rare thing for me, as typically I get to stay home in the morning and eat bon bons.  Pffft.

Actually, those few mornings where I am solely responsible for getting both kiddos out on time for school are always stressful for me.  They shouldn’t be, but they are.  All my mothering inadequacies bubble up to the surface, demanding I take a good hard look at them.

Today, though, was like a fine tuned symphony.  The little guy slept in, which hasn’t happened since both boys started sharing a bedroom.  The big guy moved from task to task without complaint.  Can you imagine asking once for teeth to be brushed and feet to be shod and it happens? We walked out of the door right on time, which, for me, is only a few minutes late.

The boys were chatty as we drove through the familiar city streets.  The sun was shining after a day of chilly rain.  My mood was brightened by a thread from my blog’s Facebook page where I asked readers to post something hopeful.  Turns out, despite all the ick, there is still so much to be hopeful for and about these days.

As we pulled up to the street close to my son’s school, I hopped out to help him get out of the car and give him a quick hug and kiss. There is no drop-off lane or any provisions, really, for kiddos to get out of their folks’ cars, and the street in front of the school is closed off for buses.  We typically pull over about a half block away and I watch my boy as he makes his way to the entrance. Occasionally he asks for me to park and walk with him, but with the little one, that’s never an easy thing to do.

Today my older boy raised his cheek up to my lips for his last morning kiss and I realized how tall he is getting.  He skipped across the street and yelled, “I’ll be brilliant and kind, Mama!,” my typical sign off for him as he starts his school day.  Only today I had forgotten. But clearly, the message has been imprinted.

I watched him run to the school’s door, his backpack flapping behind him. Running.  To.  School.

I know things might not always be this way.  I know there will no doubt come a time when school is not a place that is adored and beloved for him. Heck, there are days like that now.  Gratefully, they are few and far between.  Today is a good day.  Despite the hassle of school drop-off (You know all those lanes so many of you complain about where, without fail, some parent up ahead makes a point of screwing up and dawdling each and every day?  I would kill for one of those.), I am parenting a boy who loves to learn, is in an excellent public school, and looks forward to seeing his classmates and teachers.  So many blessings.

I have been struggling to find hope these days, and choosing to hope has been harder and harder.  Call me a “precious snowflake” or a “libtard” if you must, but I worry.  I am worried.  Thank goodness for a moment of joy, a moment of gratitude, a moment where the only thing that mattered was a little boy and his backpack running to school, running to learn, running to be with friends, and all of the excitement that held for him.

I needed that.

Our youngest started preschool earlier this month.  It’s his first formal stepping stone into the world of learning, three mornings a week for under three hours.  Because his birthday falls right after the September 1 cutoff, this little guy will have three full years of preschool before Kindergarten, so we wanted to start him off slow.  Plus, I just really dig his company and like him with me.

So three mornings a week I have been bringing him to his new school and then pick him up two hours and 45 minutes later.  Snacks and water are provided by the teachers.  Toys are discouraged to facilitate the children connecting with one another and the classroom.  In a nut shell, I have been sending my youngest kiddo off to school with just himself and a sun hat, as each day involves outdoor play and my guy hates the bright sunlight.

The kiddos each have a little cubby outside the room with hooks and small nooks for coats and boots, etc.  My boy’s has remained empty while most of the others were holding brightly colored pint sized backpacks.  I would chuckle to myself seeing the little back packs, wondering what was inside them.  My boy never seemed to notice he didn’t have a back pack of his own, so all was good.

Enter auntie and her generosity.  This weekend she came by for a visit and brought along a belated birthday bag full of treats, the favorite of which was an R2D2 back pack that both lights up and makes sounds.  My boy loves it. Of course.  I mean he loves it.  He doesn’t want to take it off.  He is so damn proud of having a back pack, being a big boy, having a place to go, and it even gives his little cubby some new swag.

How did I miss all this?

As a mom, I was thinking practically, not developmentally.  If there is nothing to put in the back pack, why get one?  Done and done. And if it’s not even offered, how do I know if my little kiddo even wants one?  I never asked, so I never knew.

Parenting is an exercise in humility.  When I saw my little guy’s face light up at the sight of that back pack, I melted.  When our mornings became focused on where the “R2 pack pack” is and what is inside him, I see a boy learning and growing and finding his way.  Even as that back pack hangs empty in its cubby, it has taught me so many parenting lessons.

Being rooted in practicality can be a good thing, but damn, the toddler years are an immersion exercise in whimsy, creativity, and imagination.   Wonder and excitement and living in the moment are just as vital to a life well lived as maturity and responsibility.  I need to remind myself that this is my last time at the toddler rodeo, so I best enjoy it.