I know I just posted, but it really does seem like so much has changed. Lilah Rose has changed.
She hasn't been helpless in a long time, but she has always vacillated between independence and laziness, wanting to do everything for herself except when it comes to chores and boring things she should actually be doing. But I am astonished at the change in my child after only 4 days in kindergarten.
The first 4 days I walked her to her hallway and every day, she wanted to do more and more on her own. She wanted to hang up her own backpack, despite the hook being taller than she was. She remembered to mark herself down for bag lunch. She tried hard every day to remember her routine, to get her lunch bag into the correct bin, get everything she brought back into her backpack to take home. By Friday it was apparent she didn't need to be walked in. She kept telling me, echoing Chihiro's last line in Spirited Away, "I can handle it."
Lilah helped me all weekend with anything I needed, from chores to shopping to baking. She visited her cousin in the hospital. She spent 4 hours making muffins and bread with me. She slept in and snuggled in the mornings, but kept talking about how she couldn't wait to be back at school. My heart felt so at ease. She said she was so happy she chose Kennedy to be her school.
On the way to the store, she requested (per usual) her Pandora station instead of whatever I was listening to at the time. I switched it on. She chirped song after song until For Good from Wicked came on. I looked in the rear view mirror at the happy face of the little lady in the backseat and my eyes blurred. I was so proud of who she was, small as she was. She was my every shortcoming made right and I was so blessed she had chosen me to be her mother. I have always felt like she was my redemption, and few times more than that moment, for whatever reason. Half in jest but half in earnest I sang the first few lines to her.
"I'm limited. Just look at me. I'm limited. And look at you, you can do all I couldn't do." Never to be outdone, of course she joined in with equal parts drama and sincerity.
"I've heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason bringing something we must learn, as we are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them, and we help them in return. Now I don't know if I believe that's true. But I know I'm who I am today because I knew you. Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes a sun. Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood. Who can say if I've been changed for the better, but because I knew you I have been changed for good." She cocked her head and widened her eyes, nodding at me to cue me in. I laughed at her.
"It well may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime, so let me say before we part: so much of me is made from what I learned from you..." I choked and stopped. It was wholly how I felt. No, of course we weren't separated friends never to meet again like Elphaba and Glinda. But we were inexplicably linked to one another and she has truly taught me as much as I could ever hope to teach her and now she was making her way in the world without me. No tears escaped, but I couldn't sing the next line and shook my head. Lilah knew. She always knows. She picked it up.
"You'll be with me, like a handprint on my heart." She smiled and laid one hand over her heart. I got it together and by the last chorus, we sang it together.
"Like a ship blown from its mooring by a wind off the sea. Like a seed dropped by a bird in the woods. Who can say if I've been changed for the better. I do believe I have been changed for the better. Because I knew you, I have been changed for good."
This morning, Lilah Rose took a rolling backpack filled with zucchini and dark chocolate muffins for snack as well as her own backpack, lunch, and water bottle. I unloaded her from the Versa and nudged her across the parking lot once there was a break in the line of cars snaking their way through the drop-off line. She went in with a friend, waving behind her. I told her to have a good day, and that I loved her, and she disappeared into the school. I had a harder time with that than her first day of kindergarten. I texted Dano how she'd gotten on, what she'd done. He asked how I was. He, like Lilah, always knows. I thought about it. How was I doing? I looked at the double doors of the elementary school and pictured my only child walking confidently down the hallways, happily looking forward to learning and friends and her teacher. Such a strong, amazing girl. I truly am who I am today because of this tiny human. I texted him back.
"I'm just so proud of her."
Monday, September 8, 2014
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Leaving the nest
A little back story. We all went to the kindergarten Open House and Ice Cream Social the week before school started. Lilah got to meet her teacher, find her locker, and explore her classroom. She found that they did indeed have toys (we weren't sure. Public school these days seems all business). She cuddled a baby doll, played with a kitchen and cash register, built something at a work bench, and found at least 4 toy phones to talk on. One had princesses. She asked her new teacher, Mrs. McNeil, why there were so many phones and where they had all come from. She informed Lilah that parents through the years had donated phones, and her own boys had grown out of their phones and they had all made their way to the classroom. "Everybody likes phones." Something about this conversation drew Lilah in, because she left what she was doing and meandered over to where I was filling out questionnaires.
"Mama, I have school questions."
"Well babe, I don't have those answers. How are you going to solve this problem?" She thought about it and walked cautiously to her teacher.
"Excuse me. I have some questions." I stopped writing and watched. She smiled at Lilah and asked what kind of questions she had. "How is school going to work?" Mrs McNeil laughed. I tried to beam my thoughts into her head. Don't blow her off. Make her trust you. Let her know you can solve problems she has. This means more to her than you know. This is a test. I watched her take Lilah to a little table. She got down and had a chat with her. She told Lilah that it was her job to teach Lilah about letters and their sounds, and Lilah's job to be a curious learner, to learn how to learn, that they would be scientists and mathematicians and scientists. The list went on and Lilah beamed, telling her she was already working on those things. "I'm really glad I'm in your class!" She happily went back to playing and I choked back tears but a few got out. She was excited to start school, learn, and have a new teacher. She was nervous and wanted to know what to expect and this woman had put her mind at ease. It might just all be okay.
That day I was mentally avoiding crept up on me, mostly due to Dano's surprise party being my primary occupation for the holiday weekend. A great crowd of people, burgers and brats, water balloons and cake made for a memorable birthday and Labor Day. I spent the latter part of the evening wandering around like a ghost, trying to find more stuff to clean so I wouldn't have to think about the next morning. Which inevitably came.
Lilah Rose was up and out of bed with bright eyes and a smile. She poked ceremoniously at her raspberry scone, got dressed in a crazy-looking, mismatched outfit before remembering she had laid out a back to school outfit the night before. Uncharacteristically for me my stomach didn't hurt with anxiety. I was just focused on getting us all out the door on time. My stomach did start to hurt on the drive there. Dano and I walked her to her hallway, to her locker. I took so much comfort from seeing other parental anxiety on the faces of parents I've known and grown with through preschool, birthdays, snow days, and sick days. Now our kids were in school together for the foreseeable future. There were seasoned parents with encouraging smiles and friendly nods. Lilah walked confidently into her classroom and started building a tower, proudly sporting a name hat. She hugged us, we stood there awkwardly for a few minutes, and just sort of backed out of the room. I followed Dano down the hallway to the cafeteria where the PTA brunch was about to start. You know that feeling when you leave your purse or your phone someplace, that naked, exposed, forgetful feeling? It was like that, times a thousand. Dano said how proud he was of her, that we'd given her all the tools she needed to handle today. We mingled during brunch then drove home. We spent the afternoon at Ikea replacing flood losses and buying Lilah a big girl twin bed to surprise her after school. I checked my phone a hundred times. We went home to put the hellish Ikea furniture together. I checked my phone some more. The last time she had been at a school, she'd gotten a concussion.
I counted down the hours until I was finally on my way to pick her up after the longest day ever. It had felt so wrong. Like having a phantom limb. We'd spent 5 years keeping her alive and close by. Leaving her with strangers all day felt counter intuitive. I collected her from the line of tiny people, re-entered the school to collect most of her things that she'd forgotten to grab, and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to extract information about the day. She'd loved everything. The worst part of her day was leaving school. The tiny anxiety voice in the back of my head whispered, "They still aren't learning anything yet. It all might change then." She did have a blue note in her backpack indicating she'd broken a rule and we were supposed to talk to her about it and return it the next day. It didn't say which rule or what had happened. Lilah had circled "Safety" and "show respect" and drawn a stick person on it. My heart sunk and I emailed Mrs. McNeil, who apologized for the mix up and said it was just in the scrap paper pile the kids colored, not to worry.
Today Dano picked her up, and while I made dinner I again asked 50 questions in hopes of getting 5 answers. She told me that she'd felt upset at one point and had missed me, so she took a break in the bathroom to cry and calm down. This broke my heart, but I took comfort in the fact the teacher hadn't mentioned it, so it couldn't have been too bad and she had handled it on her own. During her bath she kept going on and on about the letter B. I asked her what she was talking about Bs for.
"B is for Belle, Mama. Mrs. McNeil asked me to go get a B, and I did, and I brought it to her and we talked about Bs. They say ba ba ba, B B B. Ba ba ba. I know all about Bs and she said 'Great job!'" I was brushing her hair after her bath at that point, and for the first time I had to fight hard to keep the tears from flowing. She had learned so much, grown so much over the summer. We had found a great learning/fun balance and she had come far with her letters, numbers, shapes, and colors. It's not reading or anything, but the first learning-related thing I'd heard about, it sounded like she'd done what she was supposed to do. It was all happening so fast but she was doing so well. I couldn't be sad in good conscience. She loved school, loved her teacher, was excited about learning and trying new things. I liked seeing her principal very present at the school, high-fiving kids and greeting parents. The school and PTA was excellent at communicating goings-on with parents. Lilah was eating her whole lunch and playing hard, coming home and eating ravenously. She was happy and well adjusted and we're so proud of her. I'm taking it one day at a time, emotionally. It doesn't feel real, or maybe it feels a little too real. How on earth did we get here?
"Mama, I have school questions."
"Well babe, I don't have those answers. How are you going to solve this problem?" She thought about it and walked cautiously to her teacher.
"Excuse me. I have some questions." I stopped writing and watched. She smiled at Lilah and asked what kind of questions she had. "How is school going to work?" Mrs McNeil laughed. I tried to beam my thoughts into her head. Don't blow her off. Make her trust you. Let her know you can solve problems she has. This means more to her than you know. This is a test. I watched her take Lilah to a little table. She got down and had a chat with her. She told Lilah that it was her job to teach Lilah about letters and their sounds, and Lilah's job to be a curious learner, to learn how to learn, that they would be scientists and mathematicians and scientists. The list went on and Lilah beamed, telling her she was already working on those things. "I'm really glad I'm in your class!" She happily went back to playing and I choked back tears but a few got out. She was excited to start school, learn, and have a new teacher. She was nervous and wanted to know what to expect and this woman had put her mind at ease. It might just all be okay.
That day I was mentally avoiding crept up on me, mostly due to Dano's surprise party being my primary occupation for the holiday weekend. A great crowd of people, burgers and brats, water balloons and cake made for a memorable birthday and Labor Day. I spent the latter part of the evening wandering around like a ghost, trying to find more stuff to clean so I wouldn't have to think about the next morning. Which inevitably came.
Lilah Rose was up and out of bed with bright eyes and a smile. She poked ceremoniously at her raspberry scone, got dressed in a crazy-looking, mismatched outfit before remembering she had laid out a back to school outfit the night before. Uncharacteristically for me my stomach didn't hurt with anxiety. I was just focused on getting us all out the door on time. My stomach did start to hurt on the drive there. Dano and I walked her to her hallway, to her locker. I took so much comfort from seeing other parental anxiety on the faces of parents I've known and grown with through preschool, birthdays, snow days, and sick days. Now our kids were in school together for the foreseeable future. There were seasoned parents with encouraging smiles and friendly nods. Lilah walked confidently into her classroom and started building a tower, proudly sporting a name hat. She hugged us, we stood there awkwardly for a few minutes, and just sort of backed out of the room. I followed Dano down the hallway to the cafeteria where the PTA brunch was about to start. You know that feeling when you leave your purse or your phone someplace, that naked, exposed, forgetful feeling? It was like that, times a thousand. Dano said how proud he was of her, that we'd given her all the tools she needed to handle today. We mingled during brunch then drove home. We spent the afternoon at Ikea replacing flood losses and buying Lilah a big girl twin bed to surprise her after school. I checked my phone a hundred times. We went home to put the hellish Ikea furniture together. I checked my phone some more. The last time she had been at a school, she'd gotten a concussion.
I counted down the hours until I was finally on my way to pick her up after the longest day ever. It had felt so wrong. Like having a phantom limb. We'd spent 5 years keeping her alive and close by. Leaving her with strangers all day felt counter intuitive. I collected her from the line of tiny people, re-entered the school to collect most of her things that she'd forgotten to grab, and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to extract information about the day. She'd loved everything. The worst part of her day was leaving school. The tiny anxiety voice in the back of my head whispered, "They still aren't learning anything yet. It all might change then." She did have a blue note in her backpack indicating she'd broken a rule and we were supposed to talk to her about it and return it the next day. It didn't say which rule or what had happened. Lilah had circled "Safety" and "show respect" and drawn a stick person on it. My heart sunk and I emailed Mrs. McNeil, who apologized for the mix up and said it was just in the scrap paper pile the kids colored, not to worry.
Today Dano picked her up, and while I made dinner I again asked 50 questions in hopes of getting 5 answers. She told me that she'd felt upset at one point and had missed me, so she took a break in the bathroom to cry and calm down. This broke my heart, but I took comfort in the fact the teacher hadn't mentioned it, so it couldn't have been too bad and she had handled it on her own. During her bath she kept going on and on about the letter B. I asked her what she was talking about Bs for.
"B is for Belle, Mama. Mrs. McNeil asked me to go get a B, and I did, and I brought it to her and we talked about Bs. They say ba ba ba, B B B. Ba ba ba. I know all about Bs and she said 'Great job!'" I was brushing her hair after her bath at that point, and for the first time I had to fight hard to keep the tears from flowing. She had learned so much, grown so much over the summer. We had found a great learning/fun balance and she had come far with her letters, numbers, shapes, and colors. It's not reading or anything, but the first learning-related thing I'd heard about, it sounded like she'd done what she was supposed to do. It was all happening so fast but she was doing so well. I couldn't be sad in good conscience. She loved school, loved her teacher, was excited about learning and trying new things. I liked seeing her principal very present at the school, high-fiving kids and greeting parents. The school and PTA was excellent at communicating goings-on with parents. Lilah was eating her whole lunch and playing hard, coming home and eating ravenously. She was happy and well adjusted and we're so proud of her. I'm taking it one day at a time, emotionally. It doesn't feel real, or maybe it feels a little too real. How on earth did we get here?
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