For the first day of school Vonn chose a Hawkeye football jersey, his black Nike shorts and his new shoes which he picked out because they had toggles instead of laces.
I videotaped him brushing his teeth.
I also videotaped him eating his breakfast.
He had Fruity Cheerios and I let him win the fight over not drinking his orange juice. He did after all, indulge me and answered my eighty questions on camera. He also, ate all three of his vitamins.
When it was time, I took him out the front door to get his picture on just the same spot he had two years earlier for the first day of preschool. This time he was at least three inches taller and had a little brother to pose with. Vonn struck a sporty-boyish pose and leaned in toward his brother’s big belly and scrunchy smile.
He looked like he was ready to tackle kindergarten.
I had prepped him for much more than ‘plays nice with others’.
- We had played on the school playground at least ten times.
- I had made a photo book from photos I had taken at orientation.
- We introduced ourselves to the new teacher, the secretary, the principle, the custodian and whomever else was there during the summer.
- We had read Franklin Goes to School and The Kissing Hand a gazillion times.
- I requested the class list and arranged three playdates with future classmates.
- We practiced our morning routine down to driving to school, walking him to his classroom, finding his seat and saying goodbye.
- We practiced opening his tupperware containers, go-gurts and pretzel bags for cafeteria lunchtime.
- I introduced him to anyone who looked kindergarten-size at the school’s ice cream social.
I prepped him so much that he was ready for kindergarten to start so the prepping would be over. I felt the same way.
……….
The first day was rough. I left him at his seat with his face crumpling up and his shoulders slumped down. When I picked him up, his face was splotchy and his eyes were swollen. It was obvious he had been crying and crying hard. He confirmed it when he told me at nap-time he got all boogery. Which as his Mom, I know that he means the kind of upset you get when you have boogers running down your face and you don’t care. The kind of upset you get when you can’t get your breath and it feels almost good because it’s physically EXACTLY how you FEEL emotionally on the inside: messy, panicky and out of control.
On the car ride home he didn’t say much. But he perked up when we walked in the door. I had cupcakes waiting. I asked him all about his day. We talked, laughed and shared some tears. We hugged really good hugs. There were some good parts to his day and we threaded those out and made something small, hopeful and warm out of them. I felt really loved and needed as a Mom. In an age where Spongebob-humor and sassy iCarly-talk has more of an influence on him than I’d like, I felt like there was a really good exchange between us that day.
It wasn’t that he had the perfect, most amazing first-day-of-school which made it so special. Rather, it was one that had a little struggle, a few tears and in the end, a small triumph. It was a day where he needed a little coaching and I, as his Mom, was JUST the coach he needed.
