Max's First Day of School

It was a momentous morning for us, but I'm pleased to report that Max (and his mom and brother) survived the first day of preschool! We've been talking up this preschool thing pretty heavily over the past few weeks, and Max seemed calm and mildly enthusiastic about the idea. My feeling was that he would do just fine and not experience much separation anxiety, but you never actually know for sure until the moment is upon you.

This morning Max got all ready to go, and we took a few of the obligatory first-day-of-school photos (see below). He LOVES his new alligator backpack, and that alone would have made the day for him. Once we arrived at school, we waited outside and met a few of the other families. Max's friend, Mick, arrived shortly with his parents, and it was nice for Max to see a familiar face.

A few moments later, Ms. Vee opened the door and ushered everyone inside. The three-year-olds were told to sit on the carpet, and parents took the tiny chairs around the circle. Ms. Vee had a lot of information to share, but it was hard to focus with all the craziness going on around us. Max did a good job of sitting still, but many of the kids were running around and getting out toys, including our own Henry G. who did not seem at all intimidated to be the youngest one in the room. He probably would have been perfectly happy if I'd left him there all morning to play with the three-year-olds! In any case, a few minutes later, the teacher told us to give the kids a hug and quickly make our exit. I told Max that I loved him and that I'd be back to pick him up in a few hours, then I left the building without looking back.

Outside, I paused to talk to a few other parents, and I kept my ears open for the sound of crying. Someone was wailing inside, but I knew that it wasn't Max. I was holding it together pretty well at this point and was feeling pleased with myself. All of that changed, however, when Henry and I got in the car. Henry kept yelling, "Mac! Mac!" and pointing anxiously back at the building. It was as though he were saying, "Mom! You idiot! You left my brother back in there!" For some reason, it was this that got to me more than anything else -- little Henry's sadness and concern over his missing brother. The two of them have barely spent and hour apart since Henry was born eighteen months ago. Well, I sat in the car, sniffled a little, imagined a midlife crisis when both of my children were in school and my life was lonely and empty of meaning, and then I pulled it together and went home.

Henry and I went for a walk, read some age-appropriate books, did an age-appropriate puzzle and generally reveled in the sorts of activities that one can never seem to accomplish when there is a demanding, camp-director three-year-old around. Occasionally, Henry would ask about his brother and wander around the house looking for him. The three hours passed VERY slowly and then finally it was time to go pick Max up.

The teachers had all the kids ready and sitting on the rug. Max was wearing his backpack and clutching his "homework" (an art project) in his hand. He gave me a huge grin and sauntered out of the room. I asked him a million questions, and got only the briefest of answers. Yes, he had a good time. Yes, the teachers were nice. Yes, he liked the other kids. On the drive home, a few more details came out -- "Some of the kids cried when their mommies left them, but I didn't cry," "On Wednesday we get to play with play dough," "Miss Katie is nice, " "I used the bathroom at school," "One little girl kept laying down on the rug."

It felt so strange to think that my little boy now had a life apart from me -- people he knew and things he knew about -- that had no relation to me. I'm so used to being involved in every aspect of Max's life -- his playdates, his "insider" jokes, his every meal and snack, his skinned knees, his warm hugs. What kind of kid is he apart from me? How will these new, independent experiences change him and shape him as a boy and not a baby?

There's a whole world ahead of Max, and I will be less and less a part of it the older he gets. That's the way things go. I know that, but knowing doesn't make it hurt any less. Sometimes being a parent breaks your heart.