Fist pump and they're off. In seconds, they are off to rekindle friendships they had to put on hold for what seemed like "FOREVVERRRR," or 82 days, depending on your perspective. I chat with a fourth grade father who I would describe as capitol G double E... okay let's just say...the electrical engineer type. Actually, in the two minutes we pointed out our daughters he managed to tell me he was newly divorced, relocated and his daughter was being picked up by Grandma just like mine. Daughter reassured him she and her best friend would take care of his daughter with a quick chin bob and "sure thing.". With a quick hug and a reminder Granma was the pick-up goddess today, I head over to second grade. One more fist pump to the cool cat in blue, and out of there before the bell rings at 32 seconds past 9:01 am, according to my watch.
There are times in the course of parenting when you are thumped on the head and hear the whisperings, "They are growing up?" My son changing his clothes in the men's locker room unaccompanied is a great example. Also, my daughter asking to use the phone in her room so she could talk for an hour about "stuff" with her girlfriend is another. Walking into class on the first day of school unaccompanied, with no tears, and a fist pump instead of a hug is another one.
We have come a long way finding acceptance in where we are in the space in time in which we exists. I say we as I reflect that it was me who got teary eyed when I sent Daughter to her first day of Mom's Day Out at the Sunflower Farm. Yes, she didn't fuss. She twirled around to the dress up clothes, put on some fairy wings, and jumped up and down wanting to feed the baby goats. Son was more hesitant at his first day of Farm School a year later, but he had his sister shoving him around to this goat pin and that chicken coop. "Use the sanitizer after you feed the animals," she instructs the rules in her three year old speak.
Transition to inside school was pretty smooth as the move was made as it was getting cold and snowy. This preschool was two days of painting, crafting, numbers, and letters. Really, the teachers were quiet excellent so we stayed on through four year old and pre-K. Well, that is not the only reason. My cancer journey started during those preschool years and the church preschool was so supportive of my needs as well as having a lunch hour option when I needed more time to recoup from treatment.
Starting at the public school was a whole different demonstration of attachment on the first day of school and beyond. Regardless of the fact that we had just gone through a hard year of surgeries and chemotherapy and daughter technically didn't attend Kindergarten, her first grade year was full of tears. Each morning, I pried her off my leg crying. I blessed the teacher and left trying to keep calm. Luckily Son's pre-K started before his elder siblings, and he missed the drama except on Fridays.
Maybe watching his sister's drama once a week was enough of an example. The next year, second grade, Daughter gained her courage and entered class a little more smoothly. She would hold me for a little too long at the door making us late. Anyway, we often just made the late bell due to Daughter or Son having a fit at the house about going upstairs to get socks, shoes won't tie themselves, hair doesn't want to be brushed, or shirt is too itchy. This was the year, Kindergarten, for Son to write his own screen play drama called "I Don't Want to Let Go of My Mom's Apron Strings." Since the room door was on the inside of the building, I had to literally pick him up and put him inside. Some mornings I just walked him down to the principal's office to "collect" himself because I had an appointment at 9:30. With assistance of the teachers and school counselor, both kids found their way into their classrooms by the end of the year.
Last year was touch and go on wanting to be away from me. The year started well as Son got to go in to his classroom prior to the school year starting to "help" his teacher. This was so he could work out with her some special needs he had before starting with all new kids. They created their own "sign language" and he started off as a leader in the classroom. Or, maybe the year started off so well because Daughter had the same teacher the past two years...or because Mrs. D. is so totally awesome! Daughter was a bit of a struggle as she had reading tutoring at 8 am. pretty tough year for her always thinking she was "stupid" because she was "one of those kids." One of a dozen kids from her grade level.
Whether it is accurate or not, I put stupid cancer to blame for my children's attachment issues. I was pondering the other day how growing up in a cancer family effects them. I know lots of children have a hard time going to school. I know it is age appropriate to spout off to your mother one minute that she is "ruining" your life by asking you to where you are going, who you are calling, not letting you go there because she hasn't met those parents, and did you do your chores. And then, the next minute, turn around and cry when you are asked to leave her side. My children are old enough now that they talk about their past four years. Jack told his friend the other day, "You never saw my mom with long hair, huh? I can barely remember what she looked like." There is a family portrait in the living room taken the Sunday before my surgery. Son is three. Daughter is four. Husband is, well 40 ish. And, I had just turned 34. When I heard this comment by my son, I realized his only memory of me with hair is that portrait. Daughter has talked to me at night before bed that she is sometimes afraid to go to sleep at night because she is scared that I won't be there in the morning. She says that she was too scared to sleep when I was gone for ten days (brain surgery) last October, she didn't know if I was coming home...ever.
This summer, I heard the whisperings, "They are growing up, Mom." They rode bikes over to friend's houses, called peers to set up their own play dates, learned phone manners, jumped off the top of the houseboat with the teenagers, climbed a 14er, rafted class 3/4 rapids, learned to ride a bike with only hand breaks, didn't really want me around in the pool but did want me to teach them how to swim correctly, and they even flew to my in-laws all by themselves so I could attend my high school reunion. It has been a crazy summer of cutting the apron strings. Okay, I refer to it as more like making the apron strings bungee cords. They bounce right back to my apron folds when they fall, get picked on, get frustrated, or even when they are totally excited. I love you kiddos! I am so proud of you for walking into school without drama nor fuss especially when you are going home with Granma because it is my treatment day. Yes, don't forget your fist pumps. Id rather have a hug, you know.
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