A New Day

Before it went bad
(and then good again)

As you well know given my post from Wednesday, yesterday was James' first day of preschool and, I'm sorry to say, it didn't start out as well as I would have liked. Or, actually, it started out fantastically, with James thrilled to be going to Pine Village, posing for first-day-of-school pictures with his "dot blanket" (which, unsurprisingly, is a blanket that has dots on it), his Monsters, Inc. lunch box (my husband refuses to acknowledge that Monsters University is a thing), and Duckie. We dropped Will off at his school (day two for him), then headed to PVP. 

Everything was fine as we pulled into the parking lot. The smile began to fade a little as we got out of the car; the look in his eyes not quite so excited as we walked into the school. We were among the first ones there (we are big proponents of getting in before the crowds of kids descend) but it was already too late. By this point he was well aware that this was an entirely new experience and that saying he was going to preschool and actually doing it weren't quite the same thing. 

Ours is the smallest of the PVP locations, but it was a loooonnnngggg walk to classroom #3, with him clinging to my husband's neck just a little bit more with each step. (And, for some reason, trying to hand over his lunchbox to everyone that he saw.) By the time we got to his cubby, he was in full-out crying mode. Within a few minutes, Kelley (my husband) had sent me out of the building so that I didn't start crying, too. Because I have to say, for as much as I knew this was the right thing to do -- for as much as I knew that this was a temporary state (which brought to mind the words of PVP Porter Director Morgan Antonell who at one point said something about September being the month of crying thanks to all of the transitions taking place) -- my instinct was to gather him up in my arms, carry him out to the car, and say that we'd try again tomorrow. (Or maybe the day after that.) 

"Happy as a clam."

I told myself that I'd give it an hour and a half before I called the school to check in. I mean, I've been here before. I know it takes some time. Yet it still took everything I had not to pick up the phone and call. But then, about ten minutes after I got home, an email appeared in my inbox. It was from the Director, sending me a message. "Happy as a clam," it said. And there was a picture of James doing a puzzle and smiling.

There were several more emails throughout the day -- a picture of James napping, a picture of the whole class at circle time, and a picture of James and Denise together, with the following note: "By the time circle time came along, he was all smiles again! I was taking a picture of a another child, and he tapped me and said, 'How about me?' So, here we are, smiling for the camera!" Having these little bits and pieces of the day was beyond helpful and amazing. I can't thank Denise enough for thinking of us and keeping us updated. I'm sure that we weren't the only ones she was in touch with. It was just another one of the many reasons that we love PVP so much.  

When I went to pick him up, I had hoped that I'd have a little bit of time unobserved to watch him in the playground. Even though I felt so much happier after all of the notes, I wanted to see him for myself. Had he made friends? Was he connecting with his teachers? Was he too shy due to the newness of it all to start to make his own way in his new place? He saw me drive into the parking lot (or, I should say, he saw Lucy in the front seat -- "Luce!!!!!!!" he yelled across the patio), so I thought that I'd have to wait another day to see how he was fitting in. (Although I have to admit, having him run at full speed into my arms with a humongous smile on his face was something that I would happily have happen every single day. [Good thing that Lucy stayed in the car; otherwise he would have run straight past me and into her arms. Alas, it's happened many times before.]) 

Denise and James

But then he took me into the school and said that he had to have his snack, which, apparently, he'd been waiting to have until I got there. Lemonade, too. 

As he ate, I got more details about the day from Denise and Karina, his teacher. Being on the tinier size (his late August birthday pretty much guarantees a lifetime of being the youngest/smallest kid in his class), the other kids in his class thought he should be in with the younger toddlers. He apparently then opened up his (not tiny) mouth and explained in a very detailed way that he was three -- not a baby (bringing to mind Will's many years of yelling, "I am NOT little!") -- and that he was supposed to be in this room. Then, being used to playing with his ten- and thirteen-year-old siblings and their friends, he saw the even bigger kids (i.e., the pre-kindergartners), and took off to play with them. I guess I shouldn't be worrying too much about his ability to make his way in the world. 

"Did you set the timer yet,
Mommy? Did you?"

It took us a full half hour to leave, during which James insisted that he had to finish his snack, play in the playhouse, and, of course, poop. I was told that I needed to put the timer on, because only then would he be ready to leave. ("Did you do it yet, Mommy? One minute. Put the timer on. PLEASE." [It was not a request.]) And although I don't think I'll be able to spend that extra half hour at pick-up time every night, I have to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed it.

So when we have our next drop off time, even if he cries, I think I'll manage just fine. Because this is what I was waiting for. And tomorrow we get to do it all over again. 

Transition Time

No, I am not ok.

  

I am sitting here, dissolving into a puddle of tears as we drop James off at Zovic's for the last time. Don't get me wrong -- I am thrilled that he will be starting at PVP tomorrow. I've been anticipating this day since before he was born. (Yes, I love PVP that much.) But today isn't tomorrow. Today is the last day of this moment in time.

It's the last day we will drive by the little digger that sits on the corner behind the Arsenal Mall.

It's the last day we will drive by the tow trucks parked in the Watertown Towing lot, the last day we'll drive by the rent-your-own bobcats in the lots next door. 

The last day we'll drive by the boats sitting in their "blankets" at the marina on the Charles. The house that used to be an empty lot is now built, the excavators and backhoes gone off to somewhere else.

And my little baby is now a big boy.

We've had good-byes before. Thanks to the logistics of the Boston Public Schools we've said good-bye to more teachers than you can count. But we always knew there was another kid coming along; we knew we'd see Pine Village and Winship and Edison again. 

Odds are we won't see Zovic or Endza or Takouhy again. Sure we might stop in to say hi but that's not the same. They've helped me raise my babies; I've seen their children grow up. When Will was at Zovic's, her son, Sebu, was a 12-year-old playing basketball in the back yard; he's a college grad now, laughing with James as they wear their WVU t-shirts on the same day. How on earth did we get here?

How is it possible that James is 3? That Will is 10? That Lucy is 13?????

And, yes, I know I'm supposed to stop and savor these moments lest they slip by. But, honestly? Today? I can't. As it is I'm still sitting here with the tears streaming down my face. If I stop for even a second you'll have to peel me off the ground.

This morning James just turned to me and said, "Will Scarlett and Rhea be at my new school tomorrow? They are my favorite friends."

“No,” I said, trying to keep a smile on my face. “But tomorrow you'll meet a new set of favorite friends. And you'll be so excited to see them every day.”

Logically, I know that is true. As sad as it makes me that a year from now he might not even remember Scarlett or Rhea or Zovic and Sebu, I am fully aware that is likely to be the case. I will remind myself transitions are hard no matter how good the thing is that they're transitioning to and that part of what these amazing Pine Village teachers and directors are ready for tomorrow is a new set of parents and kids – and a whole lot of tears. They are ready for kids transitioning out of the daycares they’ve known since they were babies, for kids who have spent every day of their time on earth with their moms and dads or grandparents or nannies. And they are ready for moms (and dads) like me who aren’t quite ready for this next phase, no matter how much we know it is time.

Because it doesn’t matter if he’ll make some new favorite friends tomorrow, or, for that matter, if we’ll be driving by the Arsenal Mall and Watertown Towing and all the bobcats sitting in their lot again. This house is built. Today is about good-byes.