Firsts

My firstborn son is in the middle of his first day of kindergarten.
...And, yes, this post is going to be ALL about me. :)

(I'd feel bad about that, but actually, I'm the Mama and I'm allowed a few such days in the life of the boy. Today is a red-letter one of them.)

Oh, I'm doing pretty well, thanks. Handling it all. Accepting the drop off/pick up hassles. Feeling out my stride. Judging myself to be reasonably calm. And yet. And yet...

He just seemed to grow so much between 6:58 and 8 a.m. this morning! At 6:50 a.m., Miles' dad left for his school and I stopped outside the boy's closed door, wondering how much longer I could possibly let him sleep. The rustlings on the other side told me Miles was already awake, all on his own.

I knew he'd be prepared for today. After a year of full-time preschool, this kid is ready! Plus, we've done our homework (so to speak). Practice runs. Meet the teacher. Pre-packed, shrink-wrapped school supplies delivered to his desk. Clothes and lunch all laid out the night before.

So, when I heard the familiar mutterings and shaking off of the bedclothes, I had SOME inkling the child would emerge from slumber an Eager Public School Beaver. But when his door opened at 6:59 and a half-grown boy appeared at the edge of the living room-- fully dressed down to the sparkling white socks and silver & blue Sketchers, flashing me a thumbs up & big, posed grin -- the transformation left me stunned. I felt like a dad in a Hallmark commercial, just before time to give away the bride.

This is my boy, you see. My rag-tag, unmatched play clothes, barefooted boy who lately likes affect baby talk as he squints his eyes, stretches out his arms and garbles, "Mom-MEES! Dad-IEEEES!" (This is code for "come here & give me a hug, you big lugs!") This is my boy who loves nothing better than to hang out at home in his underwear all weekend, who spends HOURS playing with action figures in his rooms, who still asks for Spot books, who follows the words to Cat in the Hat with his wee little index finger, who still wads his security blanket in his mouth when tired or in need of comfort.

This is MY boy, you see. Mine, whom I greatly love. But today I had to loosen my grip and give him, my son, into the world. Or at least into the world of Rice Elementary School. (Lordy; how many kids go to this place, anyway!? The cars! The children! The sheer number of backpacks and strollers to dodge!) Despite the crowd, despite the steamrolling, teacher-monopolizing parents, despite my inherent dislike of the over-efficient PTA Squad policing the halls... I think it's all going to be JUST FINE. In fact (and I fight the urge to whisper this next thought, for the irrational fear of jinxing it), things are probably going to be better than fine.

For lack of time, I'll close with a bit of an email exchange my very dear, extremely indulgent & understanding mom friends started. They made it OK for me to unload all about MY day, as they shared their perspectives on their own. And, they showed me, even as the kids get older, we Moms are a lot the same....

----- Excerpt From Original Message ----
Shea wrote:

Ginger, I want to hear from you after school today.

-------- Excerpt From Reply ----------- ----
Ginger wrote:

Yeah... I want to hear from me, too! I'm curious to see how I'll be doing by then. :)

I still have to process a lot of this "big kid school" stuff. Miles was fine with the traffic and hordes of parents/ strollers/ siblings -- at first, anyway -- because as he said, "Well, kids do go here until they're 10, Mom. And that makes a lot of kids!" But I noticed how much harder he squeezed my hand the deeper we walked into the building, the more bodies we had to dodge to get into his room.

He was so calm and so much the Young Man when I walked him to his table, though. He let go of my hand as soon as I let go of his... and he hardly ever lets go in new places. He asked me to "handle" his backpack, and when I turned around again, he was already coloring, head down and wearing a name badge on a string around his chest.

I hope I'll always remember what he looked like in that glance -- one of only two kids at the yellow table so far, his summer haircut growing out a little shaggy, his new polo shirt buttoned to the very top hole, his intense concentration on a coloring page quarter-filled -- yellow crayon only, and all within the lines. He seemed bigger than the last time I looked down.

And I was very proud of him.