He said – First day of kindergarten

Well. I WAS sleeping. And then Mama came in with the camera and was taking pictures. I said, “NO!” and I meant it. I went under the covers. It looked like it was still night time outside.

“Good morning, sweet baby,” she said. “Let’s get up. It’s the first day of Kindergarten” I don’t care. I’m so sleepy. I say again, “NO!” and try to go back to sleep. But then I remembered something important. Today IS the first day of Kindergarten. Now I CAN’T go back to sleep, cause I don’t want to go and Mama is still taking pictures of me.

Mama feeds Garlic. That’s my fish. I wanted to name him after a spice. I feed him every day. He’s my fish. But today Mama fed him. That means we are in a hurry. I get out of bed. I don’t want to brush my teeth because after I brush teeth we have to go downstairs and get ready for kindergarten. I don’t really want to go to kindergarten. I like my stripy toothpaste but we are out. I don’t like that at all. Mama goes to get the Aim out of her bathroom. I like that even better. That’s DADDY’s toothpaste. And it’s awesome.

I have to put on school clothes. Mama says it’s called a uniform. I don’t like it. It itches. It has a tag. I don’t like tags. I tell Mama again that I want to wear sweatpants. She’s putting my shirt INSIDE of my pants. I don’t like that either. I try to pull it out. Mama gets that look on her face like she is starting to get mad. So I just stop and ask for sweatpants again. Mama is really tucking in that shirt real good though, so she doesn’t hear me.

Then Mama wakes up my little bother. I call him that just like Olivia on TV calls her little brother that. Only, he’s too little to know what that means. When I call him that he just says, “Yes, I AM!” That makes me mad.

I got to pick out my own cereal from the store yesterday and I picked out Life because that’s my favorite. Actually I really want to get one of the cartoon cereals but Mama never lets me. She says she’s not feeding me dessert for breakfast. Then she tells me that we don’t need to eat things with colors in them. Like colors are BAD. But I LIKE pink hearts in my cereal. At the store, I told her, “When I’m a grown up I’m going to eat Lucky Charms for breakfast every day.” She said that was fine, but she wasn’t paying for it. That doesn’t even make any sense.

I don’t want to eat my cereal. My tummy feels like I’m going to throw up. I tell Mama that my tummy hurts and she says it’s ok to have butterflies in my tummy. I get real quiet when she says that. She says some other stuff too, but I don’t  hear cause I feel like I’m going to throw up. I wait on my little bother to finish his breakfast. He’s eating MY cereal. But I don’t hit him, because I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Mama takes more pictures. We get in the car and go to my new school. The whole time there Mama is talking so much about how I’m going to love Kindergarten and how much fun it’s going to be. She’s acting really happy that I’m going to kindergarten. She’s acting real weird.

We get into the parking lot and Mama explains that she’s just going to drop me off. I want her to go in with me, but she says she can’t. She says it’s the rules. I have to take off my seatbelt while the car is in the parking lot. “THAT IS NOT EVEN SAFE!” I tell her, but she says it’s ok so I do it anyway. I get to stand in front of my seat while the car is moving in the parking lot. I really like that part.

When we stop the car a lady comes and gets me out. I forgot to give Mama a kiss like she said I had to and I try to get back into the car, but the lady won’t let me. I yell, “I LOVE YOU” real loud so that Mama hears me. Then I blow her one hundred kisses and the lady takes me away from the car. Just then another lady comes up to me. She’s acting real happy too. She tells me how cool my Scooby Doo lunch box is, but I don’t answer her. I look back to see where Mama and brother are going. And they are LEAVING.

I don’t cry though. I’m a kindergartener now. I am amazing. And Mama is proud.

 

She said – First day of kindergarten

I know, I haven't been writing. Actually that's not true at all. I've been writing. Like crazy. I haven't been POSTING is more what I want to say. I miss writing my Dear Connor and Tristan, but I think I was burned out for a while. Now that Christmas is over I a little more time. I've been trying to get some things off of my plate, things that I've started but are ready to pass on, (like my SPD group), one of the newsletters that I do on a volunteer basis and anything else that I don't really NEED to do, but takes up my time anyway. I've been writing but not posting because last semester I was taking a creative writing class which is where all of my writing energy went. I have a ton of stuff from the class that I've been meaning to post so I guess I'll get to it. Prepare for an onslaught of completely random things I have written. Here's the first.

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It’s 6:45am. I am standing in a dark room, watching my five year old son sleep. He stirs slightly as if aware of my presence. I lift the camera and hope for the best. It’s not easy shooting in darkness. The red-eye reduction will be the only light I am able to focus with. I press the trigger and the flash illuminates the room like an impending storm. Connor groans and rolls over shielding his eyes from the light. I shoot again. He opens one eye says, “NO” and pulls the blankets over his face to hide himself from the Mother that’s surely come to wake him.

“Good morning, sweet baby,” I croon. “Let’s get up. It’s the first day of Kindergarten”
He says again, “No”. And tries to ignore me. I take another picture.
 I coax him out of bed with the promise of an exciting day at school. He is leery. It takes forever to brush teeth. I tame the rooster hair that curls in a salute to the sky while he is sleeping. I make more promises about how much he is going to love Kindergarten and how fun it is going to be. I try to sound light and happy but I am afraid for him. I hope he can’t see it. Please don’t let him see it.

We try on his new uniform and I try to be positive when he complains and says he doesn’t understand why he can’t wear sweatpants and a t-shirt. I explain that all of the other children will be wearing the same and that it’s the rules. He complains again. I pretend to be absorbed in the tucking in of his shirt and do not answer.

We wake up the brother. The element that adds chaos to the morning. Connor is so distracted that he doesn’t even pick a fight with him. He doesn’t argue about who goes down the stairs first. His head is so full of anxiety and expectation that he doesn’t care.

His appetite is scant. He likes the cereal that he picked out at the store yesterday; it’s his favorite, but can’t eat because his tummy is a jumble of nerves. I empathize. He tells me he feels sick and I explain to him that it’s ok to have butterflies in his tummy. He doesn’t have to eat if he doesn’t want to. It’s going to be ok. He’s going to love it. Mama will take him and pick him up. Mama loves him. Mama is proud.

He wanders around the kitchen in circles, pacing. Waiting. We drive.

I explain to him how the drop off works on the way. He will get out of his seat belt when we go to the parking lot. He will have to give me a kiss. He will get out of the car and a teacher will take him to another teacher who will take him to his class. I remind him that he has lunch. He has snack. He is amazing. Mama is proud.

We pull up to the drop point and I stop the car. I turn to look at him and he’s staring out of the van door at the person that’s coming to take him away from his family. She opens the door and Connor hops out forgetting the kiss rule, but remembering as soon as his feet touch the ground he turns to get back in the car but the teacher pulls him away. He yells, “I LOVE YOU!” and blows me about ten kisses in a row. I smile, tell him I love him too and watch as he walks away staring wide eyed at the teacher that’s gushing about how cool his Scooby Doo lunch box is. He is not fooled. He looks back at the van, leaving him alone in this strange new place.

He looks so small. His backpack is almost as big as he is. He looks our way as we slowly pull away from the drop zone. As he turns to walk into the building a tear rolls down my cheek. There will be no inconsolable sobbing from me. I’m not a mother that will sit in the parking lot and cry for an hour lamenting the loss of my child. I can feel the knot in my stomach begin to untangle and but I know I still won’t be able to relax until I pick him up at the end of the day. Mama loves him. Mama is proud.