My First Day of School Blues (i.e. Five-Year-Old Agony)

With school starting in a few days, I have been thinking of my years in the classroom. For most of the 13 years that I attended public school, the first days of each year were nothing less than a nightmare for me. Let me explain. I know you want me to. :)

I like to be at home. People who aren't my family scare me a little (or a lot) before I get to know them (or learn to avoid them at all costs). This is not new. It has always been.

Kindergarten messed with that. Big time.

Come to think of it all of the other grades did that too.

I remember visiting kindergarten for the first time clutching my mother's hand. The kindergarten classes were held in what I can only describe as a house trailer pulled onto campus. We climbed the steps together and we walked in the room. I remember hula hoops in a box under the windows that were letting in bright sunshine to our left. I loved hula hoops and sunshine as long as they were at HOME. Here they mocked my pain.

We made our way to the front of the room. I tried with all my might not to break down like the girl who was crying so hard that she was hiccuping. If she was that upset, it must be as bad there as I thought it would be. Maybe Mama wouldn't leave me.

Even though I ended up loving my teacher, I didn't know her yet and on that first day it did not help matters that she penciled on VERY arched eyebrows. Like there was no real eyebrow left. Just enormous arches above her eyes. My mom hardly wore any make-up so to see this face fully and deeply painted was a bit shocking to me. She might as well have been green because this is the image I saw:

We were introduced and then I was shown my desk. And then the unthinkable happened. My mother left me there. All alone. Well, the 25 other kids and 2 teachers didn't count.

I couldn't help it. I began to cry. I was silent though. No wails or hiccups. Just restrained misery.

Somehow I made it through that day.

Guess what?

My family expected me to go back.

I know.

Horrible.

Guess what?

This time I had to ride a school bus.

Yes.

Horrible.

The only help was that my big sister, Emily, was with me. We stood at the end of our long driveway waiting at the crack of dawn for the large yellow bus to come and take us to the torture chamber some referred to as school. We would turn back and wave to my encouraging, smiling mother (whom I now know being a mother myself had to be the most stouthearted mom alive to pry me off of her leg everyday. I'm so sorry, Mama) and my oh, so fortunate little sister, Rachel and brother, Seth. How good they had it. Home. All day. Bliss.

Ms. Tammy was a great bus driver. She turned out to be a long-suffering one as well. Because we were some of the first riders on, and probably because of my pitiful look, I got the seat right behind her. She probably regretted that move later. I felt I had no recourse but to stand behind her, cry and beg her to take me back to my mama. I knew how I would handle Mama if she would just take me home. I could walk in and say, "Well, I had to come back. The bus driver wasn't going to take us to school. Now let's have no more of that nonsense. Who wants to go play?"

Now that I'm grown up I realize how patient Ms. Tammy was and how kindly she dealt with me. It was an hour long bus route--one hour to drive a filling school bus and to listen to me blubber behind her. God bless her.

She tried at first to tell me how much fun I would have. "Kindergarten is so fun!" I didn't buy that. I'd been there already. She didn't know how awesome home was. She would go on to say that she couldn't turn the bus around. The kids had to go to school. After that didn't work, she just said, "I'm sorry, sweetie" a million times until we got to school.

Emily would walk me to my class (as she did every school day until the middle of my first grade year when my teacher told her not to anymore--Insufferably mean woman) and I reluctantly let her leave me after the teacher told me to let go of her so she could go to her class. I can still remember the sick feeling that rose from my stomach and lodged in my throat. I would just try to stare ahead of me and not talk because the hot tears were spilling. (The hiccuping girl didn't cry anymore after the first day. So that just left me to be the big baby.)

Something miraculous happened during the day though. I must have had fun. Something took my mind off of the homesickness and when the day was over, the hard-hearted Ms. Tammy who wouldn't turn around that morning became the most wonderful woman in the world in the afternoon. She was taking me HOME!!

In recompense for the morning hysterics, I stood behind her and pulled out her gray hairs. It was ok. I just found them and then she would say, "Girl! Pull that out!"

I'm glad that I had some redeeming qualities (gray-hair plucker) and that she was a mightily understanding woman because even though the crying and begging only lasted several weeks, they returned with each fall. That's right. I cried for at least 2 weeks of the beginning of every school year until I was in the 6th grade. (That was the year that my mom became a teacher and taught across the road. Ms. Tammy must have had a shouting party when she saw her route assignments that year.)

All of you who love having my mom as a teacher can send me a thank you note. I feel like God probably said, "Sheesh! She isn't going to quit being a scaredy cat so I'll just have to send her mother with her." He's benevolent that way.

Yes. I cried when I went to college too. He sent me Kristen that time. 


(You must know that my kindergarten teacher became so special to me. I would never want to hurt her and I hope if she ever sees this that she knows that a 5 year old's perception of things can be a bit off. Also the "insufferable mean" first grade teacher has a little bit of my heart also. She knew I was the most scared kid alive and she hoped to help me by making me more independent. As you know by reading this, it didn't work, but God bless her for trying.)

I hope that this does not scare any parents sending their offspring to school for the first time this year. If it makes you nervous, just think about how well I turned out. 

Spreading hope. 

That's what I do.

Photo courtesy of imdb.com

The Fun Parent

I don't think we are the only ones, but in Eric and my relationship as parents, there is a fun parent and a not-so-fun-parent. I won't fool myself one bit by thinking that any of you thought I am the fun one. I know it. I own it. I'm the heavy.

It has been like this from the beginning. When Ty was just a baby, we lived in Melody Park, just off of Proper street in Corinth. We were across the street from the house where Eric spent his life from the age of 6 months. He started talking about how Ty would get big enough to ride his bicycle over to the "Y" (Sportsplex for you young folks), just like he did when he was a kid. When he mentioned this the first time, I am sure that I was stunned for a few moments, jaw dropped, and breathless with flashes of car crashes, child abduction, and weeping. When the flashes stopped, I think I went crazy on him. Over time, when the thought came to his mind and lips, I was able to calmly remind him that there is a bit more traffic on Harper Rd. now than there was in 1970. And that with Ty being 6 months old at the time, I couldn't imagine him going anywhere without his mommy, no matter how big he got.

I was fortunate to have relatives that would gladly watch the children while I grocery shopped but sometimes it didn't work out or I just wanted to make sure and not over burden anyone so I took them myself. When they were tiny and rode on or in the cart, it was much simpler. When they began to speak sentences and say, "I want to walk, Mommy" things became sticky. Now that the older children are 13, 11 and 8, I don't necessarily make them have a hand on the cart at all times as before, but I am always scanning the aisles like the President's bodyguards do when they survey a scene.

Eric, however, does not and has not ever required the cart-clutching that I enforced. Our small children would run at least (wincing here) 30-40 feet ahead of him. Sometimes, he doesn't keep them in sight. You can gasp. I know I do. There is nothing that makes me pray to the Lord for belief in His promises when Amelia announces like she had an adventure, "I got lost in the store today, Mama! Daddy said not to tell you."

To explain a bit about my shopping precautions, ingrained in my memory for all time is a story that my mom told me as a child. I believed my parents when they told me something. I remember being in the Wal-Mart on Cass Street. I don't know if we were acting up and running away from her (I really can't imagine doing anything of the sort) but she shared with us that a child had been taken from her mother in a Wal-Mart (I don't remember where). She was snatched from her mother, taken to the dressing room where the abductor changed the child's clothes and put a wig on it and took the child right out of the store. I'm pretty sure I steered clear of the dressing rooms and clutched the cart everyday after that.

Eric is not only laid back about security, but he is also a Coach. The man has a college degree in Physical Education.  P. E., people. You know? Everyone's favorite subject right after lunch? He has lots of experience and is very talented. If you have ever seen him in action, you'll know why I call him the Kid Whisperer. A gym full of wild 5 year-olds will become silent and do activities in an ORGANIZED manner. He's like the Pied Piper of children.

I however, like to sit quietly for long periods, or if moving, enjoy walking in nature silently absorbing God's glory. I watch old movies without color, some of which are musicals. I read excessively. I also love a good nap. If a child was going to list qualities they would like in a parent, I don't think any of the above would be listed.

I tell you all this to let you know that, today, I got to be the "fun parent". Eric and Tess have been gone to camp this week. That leaves Ty, Amelia and Dinah to hang with Granny and I. Granny hasn't been sleeping well again, so that means I haven't been sleeping well, which equals, not good. Granny has also began to be regularly confused more often. That means we all have to be more vigilant about making sure someone has their eyes on Gran as much as possible so that we can be ready to help her as needed.

Usually, Eric is home and he loves to find good things to do outside the house. Since he hasn't been here, I'm afraid Lancaster life has been a bit boring. I wanted to alleviate some of the monotony, so today, despite the chance of rain, Teresa came to sit with Granny so that we could go swimming at Bitsy's. Dinah had water day at school and Papa made sure that she was taken care of. So, early in the afternoon Ty, Amelia and I set off for Rienzi.

It was raining slightly when we got there, but we could see the blue sky coming our way (well, not really, the rain clouds were moving, not the blue sky, but it sounds good like that so I'm going to leave it. I just didn't want my scientific mother to be ashamed), so we camped out under her deck on a cool patch of patio and ate the Little Caesar's pizza we had picked up for our lunch. The rain and rumbles moved away just as we thought they would so we were soon in the sunshine and cool water.

I brought a book to read in between my lifeguard glances. I was kind of excited to be there without Dinah in tow. I could really relax. I had the book laying on the table. I just thought I'd get wet first so that I wouldn't be hot. After I was in the water, I thought floating around a bit would be nice. While on the float, Amelia asked, "Why don't you get in the water, Mama?"

I replied, "I'm in the water, Amelia."

Ty suggested, "Why don't you ask her why she isn't swimming, Amelia?"

"Mama, why don't you swim with us?"

"This is peaceful Amelia."

"Painful? Why is it painful, Mama?"

"No, Amelia, its PEACEFUL."

"Why would you do something that is pitiful?"

I was laughing by now. I slipped off my float, took off my cap and sunglasses and swam to catch her.

Before I knew it, my hair was wet, I was jumping off the diving board for two "judges", and wearing goggles that covered my eyes and nose that made me look "funny". Water went up my nose. I was breathless because I can't remember the last time I held my breath for anything. My thighs got burned because of the slap the water gave them when I dove too shallowly. I got consistent 5's from benevolent "judges" who gave me points for effort. I talked to Ty about playing "under water tea party" on the floor of the shallow end. (Please tell me someone else did it too. He had no idea what I was talking about. Was it a girl thing?) I lay on my back in the water and FLOATED. The last time I remember floating was in grade school on a pond.

Since Ty was born, there has always been a little one in the water with me. A child that if they didn't have to be held, needed to be watched carefully. My legs didn't see sunshine for at least 10 years. Only my shoulders tanned from my standing waist deep in the shallow end. Those years weren't always fun for me. There were days I would have rather been on a lounge chair with a good book or on a float making sure that my skin tone actually allowed me to buy something other than "ivory" foundation. A lot of those days instead of having fun, I was just keeping my offspring from drowning. I was good at that, though and that is what I needed to be doing so I did it willingly.

TODAY, I was the FUN PARENT. And you know what? I liked it.

Even without Eric there or maybe because he wasn't there, I was able to catch myself, weigh the comment before I made it, and hold back a little. I only reminded Amelia one time to not scream, because I would never know when she really needed help. I was able to let her squeal a little bit more today and not mind. I kept myself from telling Ty to quit hanging upside down off the side of the pool so that I didn't have to perform all the CPR I had practiced. I glanced his way a few times and then he went right-side up in the pool by himself after a few minutes. I choked back the cautious today and we were ok.

Eric and I balance each other well. If we were both "fun parents" all the time, you wouldn't want to sit by us at church or LET your children play with ours. If we were both cautious and predictable, we would be so boring, no one would WANT to be around us.

Eric helps keep my good fear (the common sense God gave us) from becoming a bad fear (the kind that Satan uses to control us). And, its okay that when he comes up with an idea that I'm there to mention the 30 ways it could kill us. We can make informed decisions that way. :) The rule follower, prudent side of me keeps us in check sometimes when we need to be watchful. Balancing trust in God and being wise isn't always easy. I'm glad, though, that I know we NEED HIS HELP and it is something that we spend time on, ponder over, and pray for.

I know that in the coming years as they leave my arms in life and say "I want to walk, Mommy" in a figurative sense, I'm going to have to do this over and over again. Because even though it scares me a little, I don't want my children to be cart-clutchers their whole lives. Today was good practice for the new phase of motherhood that is coming. The phase where I'll need to just pray more and boss less. Maybe, just maybe, their definition of a "fun parent" might grow to include black and white movies and a good read.