their last day. my last one.

16Jun11

Today was the day before the last day.  Tomorrow is the end of the school year. Tomorrow afternoon I will have three kids in elementary school.

Three.

Eight weeks from now I’ll be gearing up for the beginning of the new school year. Fifth grade?  Second grade? Kindergarten?  Bring it.  I love beginnings.

Preschool ending?  Forever?  I’m not so good with it.  Maybe I’m feeling nostalgic. Perhaps it is guilt because I’ve wished so many of these hours and days to go by faster.  I can’t put my finger on it but I know that I’m not OK.

Recently, #3’s taken to reminding me of all the things that I forget.  I forget lunches, I forget to change the laundry, I forget my purse.  I overheard her explaining to her girlfriend that I’m a “forgetty” mom.  She may be right – I do spend a lot of time backtracking and re-doing things.  For the better part of five years I’ve been waiting for #3 to stop hanging on me, to go to school without crying, to be out of the house for seven hours a day. When she starts school, I won’t have anyone around to judge my forgetfulness.  I won’t have to explain myself.  That’s good, right?

Year 1: First "Friday"

Tonight I am remembering #3’s first day of preschool – the beginning.   She was tearful.  She wanted to be brave but she was only one. She cried.  But her tears were lost on me – she was my third.  I was tired.  I wanted to be free, to let someone else hold her for a few hours.  I walked away.  It was the right thing to do (or so I’ve told myself) because I knew she’d be fine.  I’d spent hours sitting in the same room with the two older girls that had come before her.  I’d coddled them. Reassured them.  But with #3,  I walked out.  I hesitated outside the door and listened but I didn’t wait until she stopped.  I left.  For one year, one day a week, I spent three hours alone.  And every Friday when I returned she ran into my arms and I loved the moment when we came back together again.  I was renewed and optimistic.  A better mom for the break I’d had.  The one I deserved needed.

Year 2: First day drop off

When she was two we raised the bar and sent her two mornings a week for three hours.  The math here isn’t complicated; it was six hours a week.  But, it was another step towards finding my sanity, crawling out of my depression and creating some healthy boundaries.  Out of all of my daughters, #3 is the sweetest and the neediest. The six daytime hours when my legs where not locked down with her fingers and arms wrapped around me were rejuvenating.  We made it through the short year and, nine months after she started, #3 sat on my lap and we watched her big sister graduate.  In August, I would pull into the preschool parking lot with #3 and drop her off alone.

Year 3: First day of school with no siblings!

Then it grew quiet.  We, #3 and I, fell into a comfortable pattern of walking to the bus stop and walking home.  Two were gone and we fell in love with our morning runs, breakfast and coffee (she’s one hell of a barista!) before school. The third year of preschool for #3 I gained nine hours of solitude.  She gained an attitude; she was sassy and stubborn and sweet.  She wanted me and needed them [read: school] so we struggled between wanting to hold on to legs and learning, instead, how to hold hands.  As the year progressed, the biggest issue became not having enough time at school. She wanted to go everyday like her sisters and the 25 other kids at the bus stop in the morning.  I reassured her that she only had one more year; I promised her that she’d be off like the big girls soon.

Year 4: First day of the final kindergarten countdown

Last September #3 was four.  She started her last year of preschool with gleeful anticipation.  For the record, she still clung to my hand from time to time, but she’d “arrived.”  She had friends, a carpool, lunchdates, playdates and, from time to time, we squeezed in a mommy date.

Tomorrow, it’s over.  I will drop off my baby at nine, a preschooler, and four hours later I will pick up a kindergartener.

I’m overwhelmed (maybe it’s PMS since I’m also eating chocolate peanut butter ice cream?). I am ready for them to grow up.  I want them too.  I’ve talked so much about needing and wanting some space and time for myself that I’ve convinced myself this growing up gig was all good.  Tonight, I’m not so sure.

#3 is only five.  She’s not going anywhere anytime soon.  But, she’s going. . .

They are all going.  And the end of preschool marks the end of idol worship; I’m more of a mom than a mommy.  It marks the end of unstructured anything; it’s all about the structure from this point forward.  It is the end of little feet and pitter-patter and all the other noises that make me feel at home.

I hope that #3 still holds my hand next year when she walks up to her classroom.  I wonder if she will look at me with tears in her eyes and a quivering lip.  I hope she holds her head high and runs in to her new world without looking back. If she does, I’ll be smiling and waving and walking away.  She can handle it.

But tomorrow? I’ll be holding her hand tight.  My lips are already quivering, my eyes brimming with tears.

This is one moment I’m not soon to forget.

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