Buddies

This cool-as-a-cucumber-on-the-first-day-of-kindergarten mom is a blubbering mess day 3. My first a.m. drop off and I have no idea where I am supposed to park. E has me on a bit of a wild goose chase going through the neighborhood away from the school when I snap out of it and realize I am taking directions from my 5 year old who doesn't know where he's going. I flag down a school crossing guard who kindly directs me back to the lot I started to park in, but had initially hesitated. My anxiety is up as his Dad has already alerted me that breakfast is a bit chaotic, a lot crowded.

Chaotic and crowded is right. I feel like a giant hovering over what seem like hundreds of babbling boys and girls. As we make our way over to the cafeteria, E is met with a round of smiles and "Hey!". from several kids that don't look familiar to me, but he obviously knows. The breakfast line is pretty uneventful and he's able to type his passcode into the keypad at check out with just a little help from me. Once in the the cafeteria, two boys rush over and sit with us. A (now he's a boy I remember!) is a sweet boy and was a bit quiet at the start of last year. He was in Kindergarten when E started preschool and now he's a big-time first grader who can show E the ropes. A was much more chatty this time around, happy to tell me how much he loved his Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal and smiled as he poured his chocolate milk over the crunchy squares. I grimaced elaborately and said, "Ewww, that looks gross." In total seriousness he looked up at me and said, "No it's not. It's really good."

I asked the three of them if I could take their picture and they happily obliged showing off, acting goofy, having fun, not a care in the world until E looked across the table at me and said, "Mommy! Where's my backpack?"

CRAP. It was in the car.

I looked at the Dad of the other boy, and asked if he would be there for a minute with them and I ran out to the car. When I got back, the boys were wrapping up and ready to go to the playground for the first school bell.

"Let's go, A!" E urged.

"I can't. I have to go back and get my backpack from the room." A replied.

E hesitated.

"It's okay. I can meet you guys on the playground," A assured him.

They scooped up their trash and we headed out. It was amazing the number of children on the campus. How quickly I have forgotten how crazy a campus can be. I was trying to just take it all in and the experience caused me to actually catch my breath.

The big clincher came when a gaggle of more big-time first graders clamoring for a piece of him on the playground surrounded us. They were so excited to see him. It was already a routine of smacking high-fives, hugging, hoarding secrets and running out onto the field arms grabbing and dragging one another all the while. I stood in amazement, wrestling with pride, comfort and a bit of angst as they laughed and talked over one another, poked and prodded and behaved like such boys.

I watched from afar and saw E in a new light, one of more independence and one that was fast forwarding way too quickly, splashing a whirlwind of images of what's to come. I almost felt frozen in time, while everything was spinning madly on. Abruptly, I was snapped back into reality when the friendly smile and cheerful greeting of one of the mother's of E's preschool friends walked up and gave me a hug; I hadn't seen Christine since the end of Spring. And that's when it started and came on fast--big sloppy tears and a heaving chest.

"My goodness, what's wrong?" Christine asked.

"Oh, nothing," I sobbed. Yes, sobbed. "This just all hit me. Right here. Right now. And I was fine on Monday; really I was."

She consoled me and offered such nice words of encouragement. She has two boys and has been through this with her older son. It was like she was in my right place at my right time. I was able to regain my composure and blow a kiss to E before heading out. It seemed I would never make it out of the school. The path was littered with children ages 5 - 12 all coming toward me, as though I was going the wrong way on a one way street.

I was almost to my car when I saw another preschool mom, Jennifer. Another safe and friendly face on this overwhelming day and the floodgates opened again. I was able to recover more quickly this time around after a good hug and agreement to catch up over lunch or Starbucks.

I ambled slowly over to my car as the events of the day replayed themselves in my head. I got in and just sat there savoring the quiet, the morning madness fading. I sat in there and cried. I sat in there and reflected. I sat in there and smiled and had an a-ha moment: This journey of his--our journey--of growing up and growing out is happening right on time just as it's supposed to.