First Day of School

Bry started at his new daycare today. We had been talking up the experience with Bry for weeks, highlighting the kitchenware and trucks that he would be able to play with in this mythical land called "school." On our intake visit, we were taken on a tour of the facility, Bry included, and when he glimpsed the TWO play kitchens and ginormous sand pit outside, it was all we could do to drag Bry away from the place with only the promise that he'd be able to return, someday.

Every night before bed, Bry and I snuggle in the rocking chair for "dreams," which mostly consists of me recapping highlights from his day and sometimes, speculating about what fantastical things he might dream about that night. Usually, doing "dreams" consists of rehashing endless kitchen play sessions, during which Bry cooks up cumin-pepper-ketchup-salmon cookies (he's got limited ingredients in his kitchen), or recalling every single piece of construction equipment Bry has ever seen. Once, I made the mistake brilliant choice of spinning a tale in which an excavator knocked over a water tower (thus incorporating Bry's two current obsessions in one grand tale). That was maybe six weeks ago, and he's been talking about it (and willing Steve and I to make it happen - but that's a different story) ever since.

So, for the past few weeks during "dreams," I've been talking with Bry about all of the exciting, awesome, supercool things he would get to do once he started school, with the hopes that my relentless propaganda would win him over. I referenced our intake visit over and over, citing the pots, pans, and colanders that Bry would get to play with ("Two colanders! Stack them!" he always reminded me). I worked in bits about the giant sand pit and Bry filled in the rest on his own - "Dump trucks! Two! Bucket truck! Fill! Sand! One shovel!" I'm not sure why Bry always insisted that there would just be one shovel, but I went with him: "One shovel!"

Last night, before his first day at school, the anticipation was at a fever pitch. We talked about Bry's new teachers and the other kids. We talked about eating at a table and drinking from a cup with no lid! About digging in the sand and playing with the blue pots! About how he might feel scared or sad or overwhelmed, but that he could hug his magical shirt of sleep to feel safe and happy. "Safe, happy," he repeated.

And this morning, we finally went. I stayed with Bry through the morning, and we left shortly after lunch. At breakfast, Bry sat in the teeniest chair imaginable, scooping applesauce off of a plate and dribbling it all over himself. He bussed his plate and cup to the sink and lined up to have his hands and face washed. He endured the disappointment of leaving behind the already beloved pots and pans to have his diaper changed and sunscreen applied. He reveled in the time outside, scooping shovelfuls of sand into assorted vehicles and the gas tank of a toy lawnmower. (Meanwhile, I had sand dumped onto me by various children, carried on semi-coherent conversations with three kids in the under-three-foot set, and helped right one top-heavy kid who toppled over face-first into the sandbox.) Bry then endured the disappointment of going back inside, washing his hands, and sitting down for lunch. He had about 5000 orange slices, two bites of quiche, and one bite of beets for lunch. The whole time, I watched my little boy getting a little older as he learned new routines, tried new things, and navigated the social sphere. I comforted him when he got knocked on the head by an overzealous kid wielding a plastic pan and my heart hurt a little when I thought about not being around to console him following future, inevitable hurts at school. It ached a little more when I thought about not being able to do "dreams" in as much detail with him, because so much of his day will be unknown to me.


Is he too young to be forced into growing up like this? I don't know. Is this what parenting is all about? Sending off your kids with as many reinforcements and reassurances as possible, and then hoping that it's enough? Hoping that you can help them when you're around and that they can advocate for themselves when you're not? Simultaneously wanting them to grow up and longing for them to stay small? I'll stay with Bry again tomorrow morning, to help him recognize that school is a safe place, and then I'll leave him in the very capable hands of his teachers, with the hopes that I've given him enough to go out on his own in this small way. I realize that this moment of letting go will be followed by many more moments of letting go, and that Bry will probably come to love this daycare as much as he loved his last one, if not more. But, since we try hard not to give Bry the message to buck up when he's feeling sad, perhaps we can give ourselves the same latitude now, by grieving this one little loss, this letting go of our little man.