Kindergarten

My neighbor gave me this picture. I think she thought it could be a model for what my time today should be like. But, alas, there are a few differences between my life and this woman's life. First, there's her neat living room. Where are all the toys? The dust bunnies in the corner? The milk stains on the coffee table? Was she really able to get her house clean during those long, late-summer days when the kids were wrestling and throwing plastic food at each other? And of course, there's also her face. Doesn't she look serene? I, by contrast, am pale and blotchy from the epic crying fit I had in the car after the parents were ushered out of the classroom this morning.

The boys have left for kindergarten. Kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN. How did that happen? I remember when they were 2 months old and colicky. At five o'clock every night, they would commence screaming in an inconsolable, window-shattering way, and the only thing in the world that could stop it was driving over 55 mph. So Michael and I, on 3 or 4 hours of sleep, would put them in the car and drive to the mountains and back. The stress of the rush-hour drive was nothing in comparison to the sweet joy of silence. But when we returned, just as we were slowing down on the exit ramp, the screaming would begin again. It was as if they were saying, "You're not going to get any quiet for FIVE WHOLE YEARS."

And here we are. It's so quiet in the house I can barely stand it. I guess I should feel some measure of success, because we've come a long way in the last few weeks. Green, in particular, was concerned about the whole big-kid school concept. When I told him last week that we were going to his kindergarten orientation on Thursday at 1 pm, he said, "I think I'm busy at that time." And I said, "Clear your calendar, kid. The real world's knocking."

Lucky for us, Green found something to get really excited about: lockers. Ever since Green was a toddler, he has loved doors. Sliding doors could entertain him for hours. But lockers! That's new! We did a little video of each of the kids, where I asked them a series of questions like "What do you want to be when you grow up?" and "What's your favorite food?" When I asked Green what he was most looking forward to about kindergarten, he didn't mention learning to read, or art class, or recess. He said he was most looking forward to having that locker. "Why?" I asked. And he answered, "Because I get to open it."

Well, alright. Whatever works for you.

So they're off with their lockers, and I'm left trying to figure out what's making me so sad about this whole thing. Part of it is that my nest is empty. Michael said this morning, "But your nest will fill back up again at 3:00." That's certainly true. But the thing is, when they're not in my nest, I can't protect all of those fragile things about them: their enthusiasm, their silliness, their creativity, their joy. I have to let them protect themselves. And how can they do that when they can't even eat applesauce without spilling it down their fronts?

I know I'm not the only person going through this. After the post-drop off crying jag, Michael took me to the coffee shop to buy me a cream cheese danish. I find that it takes about 700 calories or so to soak up all those tears. While I was waiting, I must have looked pretty pathetic. A woman came up to me and asked, "Did you just take someone to kindergarten?" "Yes," I answered, and she smiled as if to say, "It's going to be OK." And I know it will. But for now, I have four hours to go before they come home. And I'm holding my breath.