School: The Verdict

Note: I wrote this post last week, but forgot to publish it. Things have changed (for the better!) since then, and I'll write an update, but I thought I'd post this anyways, 'cause it definitely fit for the first three weeks of school.

It's painful. And it's also wonderful. So I guess if you average it out, the verdict falls somewhere in between.

The painful part is at dropoff. Bry hates, hates, hates being dropped off at school. He's gotten into the habit of emphatically saying, "Stay home!" in the mornings as soon as it looks like I'm starting to pack up. Pretty much every day he also pleads, "No thank you, mama work." In other words, "Don't go!" It's heartbreaking. We get through the 20-minute drive in high spirits as Bry calls out the changing traffic lights, "Green! Go!" tells me when we're almost to the freeway ramp, and looks out for every manner of truck imaginable: dump truck! excavator! bulldozer! cement truck! garbage truck! semi truck! oil truck! tow truck! mail truck! Fed Ex truck! (yes, really) crane! bucket truck! And so on. As we pull up to the building, Bry's excitement at glimpsing the two trailers that are permanently parked in the parking lot (it's not quite as country as it sounds) is quickly eclipsed by his dawning realization that mama is going to take him into the building and leave him there.

Some days he tears up a little as we're getting out of the car, but recovers when he sees the trash can outside the door. What can I say? The kid likes trash cans. We say hi to the fish in the lobby and sit on the climbing steps. Then we walk past the "red room" where the babies are, to the "green room," Bry's room. Outside the door we examine all of the art that's been posted and find Bry's drawing on the wall. Then we go into the "foyer" (this daycare is particularly fond of naming all of the different areas), where I fill out Bry's daily sheet, sign him in, and try to untangle his limbs from my body long enough to put his coat in his cubby.

At this point, the fact that mama is leaving imminently must become very, very real for Bry, because he asks, nay, demands, "shirt! blanket! lion!" and frets while he warily scopes out the other kiddos in the room. We still haven't worked out a good goodbye routine. The teachers are great at trying to coax Bry into joining whatever activity is going on - scooping sand in the table, reading stories, drawing with chalk - but Bry's response is always the same: "No." Eventually, after we've read a story or built a tower, I let him know that I need to leave and most days, one of the teachers has to physically take him from me, and I leave as he's crying out. Most days I make it to the parking lot before I start tearing up myself.

But, for the past few days, I've waited out of Bry's line of sight, and he always calms down within about 30 seconds of me leaving. His teachers report that he is content, busy, chatty, and at times, sensitive, especially when other kids are noisy or crying.

By the time Steve or I pick up Bry in the afternoon, he's usually engrossed in whatever he's doing - digging in the sand, going down the slide, stacking blocks - and not so interested in leaving. This is heartening, but the mornings, well, the mornings are still difficult. Someday he'll get used to this, right? We hold out the hope that someday, the pain of leaving won't be so acute. We think to ourselves that that hope is for his sake, but really? Really, it's for our sake too.