The dreaded day has come.
OK, so Matthew has been in either day care or preschool since before he turned two years old. So, Kindergarten shouldn't be a big deal, right? And I'm not one of those crying mamma's-boy mammas. I'm more like drill sergeant mamma. I'm mean. I'm tough love.
Right. So, that's why I'm the one in a puddle leaving Matthew at the Kindergarten door this morning. Kindergarten! A) How did he get this old? and B) How did I get this old?! It started to sink in the other day at the elementary school's new parent orientation meeting, right about the time we were approached by the PTA president who was asking for volunteers. I am a PTA mom. Starting next week I will be a soccer mom. I am a volunteering-at-the-school-once-a-week mom. Last time I checked I was running around in a backpack myself, with a pierced eyebrow and a bag full of textbooks which had barely been cracked, riding from upper to lower campus on the shuttle bus and thinking more about flirting with boys than anything of any grownup flavor. How and when did that little flake turn into PTA mom???
Maybe it's time to run out and get a tattoo.
And how did Matthew get this old? This tall? This independent? Kid ran into his classroom this morning SO excited to be there. No nerves at all, ready to make friends and start bragging to his teacher about what an awesome reader he is before she's had a chance to catch her breath...
It was a very surreal morning.
And it started out with Matthew doing AWESOME getting ready by himself. We've spent the last few weeks practicing getting ready as quickly as we can, which was such a good idea. He had his bed made, clothes on, teeth brushed in ten minutes flat. Oh, that it will go this smoothly every morning, especially after Baby P. arrives and throws a wrench in the routine.
We made peanut butter french toast sandwiches, which, of course, Matthew was too excited to eat. I was so nervous all day that he'd go to school and get sick and be forever known as "that kid who barfed on the first day of Kindergarten." Luckily, this did not happen. The french toast didn't get eaten, either, but it's the thought that counts.
And then, of course, we did the typical parent thing of taking three dozen pictures before school.
I like you better when you stand next to Dad. You are littler.
Mom hasn't turned into a puddle yet.
Here's one at the school entrance. Matthew is a big fan of this entrance. I don't even want to think about how many pairs of jeans are going to be ruined as he climbs in and out of this circle every time he comes or goes from school.
Maggie was not sure what to think about her boy going to school. She stowed away in the car when we dropped him off and tried really hard to jump out and follow him in. And then she spent the morning pacing back and forth between his bedroom and the front window, waiting very patiently for him to return. Maggie doesn't like when her boy is not around. It makes her cry. (This is particularly annoying when Matthew goes to Grandma and Grandpa's house for slumber parties.)
She was very happy when he returned.
So was I. He reports that his first day was "great," that he made two friends on the school bus, that he didn't learn anything like we said he would, and that there are legoes in his classroom and lots of toys that he has never seen before.
I am so proud of him. Definitely a big puddle of proud.