Actually, and off she went. Larissa, my five year-old baby, started school on Monday. Now, that's a brutal reality check for parents, if there ever was one.
In a mixed emotional state of excitement, apprehension and sadness, I prepared her uniform for her first day at school at Serra Catholic. I got her dressed in her navy blue skorts, white polo shirt, forest green socks and black Mary Jane shoes. I brushed her blond hair, which is a mix of honey and wheat during the summer, and put on her blue/green plaid headband. She was the picture of adorability (is that a word?), and I just wanted to squeeze her tight and never let go.
We got to the school around 8:15 a.m., late by normal standards, but the administrators have acknowledged that parents need a bit more on the first day, especially those of us for whom it is the-very-first-day. We were welcomed by the principal, Mrs. Trudell, a bubbly, warm and very charismatic lady of Italian descent (no, she's not the matronly type; think blond, California tan, impossibly-high heals, and an unabashed love of everything pink), got to the lunch area where we were treated to coffee and donuts, and eventually made our way to Miss Hunter's classroom, the only Jr. Kindergarten class in the school. There we got to say hi to her and her assistant teacher, Mrs. "B" (her last name is virtually unpronounceable to the kids), take pictures of our precious little baby, see the classroom, say hi to other parents, and feel welcome and cuddled. Eventually, we left. I took care of a bit of paperwork, and then we said good-bye to Serra Catholic until later that day.
I have to admit that some tears found their way through my cheeks, but all in all, I think I was very brave. I did spend the day in kind of a blur, anxious to go back and pick her up from extended care at the end of the day, and feeling guilty because she is there - never mind that she's been in daycare from 8 a.m. - 5:30 p.m. every day since she was three and a half months old. Eventually we were reunited, and the world was right again.
Now, let's skip all the little details of going home and yadda yadda yadda. It's time to fast-forward to day two and the military precision of this small Catholic school...
We got up early and managed to leave the house by 7:18 a.m., three minutes behind schedule, but then I had until 7:40 a.m. to drop her off, and the school is five minutes away... BIG MISTAKE.
The line on one of the access arms was two blocks long, on the other arms I didn't bother to try and imagine. It took me more than fifteen minutes and several lights to make it past the intersection and onto the campus. I didn't drop her off until 7:45 a.m., and here is what I'd like to focus on - the military precision of the drop-off and pick-up system at this school will be left for another blog. Let's just say General Patton couldn't have mapped a more thorough strategy or trained his troops any better. If Lincoln had encountered Mrs. Trudell and her troops instead of Gen. Lee's and his, the Civil War might have had a different ending.
There I go... I digress again. So, back to the drop-off. Once I made it through the organized chaos of lanes and cars vying for the precious piece of land adjacent to the school that signifies you're on your way to actually drop off your kid, I was directed to the inner part of the campus. There, staff direct you to your lanes and direct traffic to stop or go, help pedestrians, and, to my relief and my dismay (yes, both), the assist children out of the car and to their classrooms.
I say to my relief because (a) my baby isn't dropped off curb-side, where any lunatic can snatch her from right under my nose, or in later years where she could potentially meet "the bad kids" and skip school; (b) she doesn't have to figure out how to get to her classroom at the very tender age of five; and (c) it's just reassuring to know that someone is looking after her and helping her with her disproportionately big backpack.
I say to my dismay because (a) I am not the one taking my baby to her building or classroom and kissing her good-bye once there; (b) somebody else, again, not me, is escorting her at the very tender age of five - and this somebody else isn't someone I have necessarily met already; and (c) she doesn't need me anymore. My heart broke. I could feel the weight and the pressure, and I could feel the start of panic rising in my chest as I struggled not to wail and sob while running like a lunatic across the lanes to hug my baby and let her know for the millionth time that I love her.
To say that I sobbed is an understatement. Considering I had my other baby in the car with me as well, I attempted to be somewhat restrained. I'm sure whoever was driving ahead of me had quite the show to keep her distracted while we may our lengthy way out of campus. I kept drying my tears, only to have some more find their way through. I managed to calm down for a few seconds between bouts, and finally decided I needed to talk to somebody. My husband was busy - he tried to make himself available, but I didn't want to interrupt, especially since I felt that I was behaving quite absurdly. My mother was nowhere to be found. My dad was on a meeting. With each failed call my sobbing gained strength.
I finally composed myself in order to drop off Katarina at the daycare, where she clung to me for dear life. Isn't that ironic? As she clung and refused to let go, I thought "but you have to become independent"! There was my last baby clinging to me, while I was mourning the fact that my older baby was growing up and becoming more independent, and all I could think was that my little one needed to let go. Life is just a series of contradictions.
Luckily, we do get used to things and are able to adapt. I got chocked up yesterday, but managed to keep my composure. And today it was a bit easier still. In the end, I am so glad to see her do this well. She's not cried for me or her dad, and she plays with her new friends, whose names she doesn't quite remember yet, or doesn't want to tell.
Blessed be our children and the roller coaster on which they take us. I never knew love like this until they came, and I'm resigned to bawl with every new stage.
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