Yesterday was the first full day of preschool. Better late than never!
At 7:00 in the morning, I had the following conversation with Miss M.
“Ema, can I watch something?” [I DVR Curious George and Reading Rainbow for her to watch when AM needs to go down for a nap, or on Thursday mornings when I am trying to straighten up for the cleaning lady.]
“No, Miss M. We’re going to get up and have breakfast and get dressed. You have school today!”
“Waaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!”
“Miss M, I’m sorry, there will be no television this morning.”
“But I…don’t…wanna…go! to! school! WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Oy vey. And there were two hours until school actually started.
So there was a lot of crying. And lots of circular arguments. She didn’t want to go to school because she was cranky. She was cranky because she was sad. She was sad because she was crying. Nothing in particular that she did not like at school, or was afraid of; she just did not want to go.
Nevertheless, we packed up at 8:50 and made our way down the block, with her blubbering the entire way. The teachers met us downstairs; after more hugs and reassurances, I peeled myself away from her and backed out. I heard her calling for me as she was led up the stairs, and another mom reported that she was crying so hard that she was making herself gag. Sigh.
I took AM to the park, clutching my cell phone and steeling myself for a call. When an hour had passed, I then wondered if I should call, just to make sure she was ok. But I knew that they weren’t going to tell me to come get her. This wasn’t camp, understaffed with 20-year-olds. These teachers have been doing this for a long time. I didn’t want to look foolish. I trust them, plus if she was really upset, would I want to know? I’d hear about it later anyway.
Oh, the guilt. The frustration. The rock. The hard place.
So I called my mom. [Just as an aside, how much do I love technology? My mom was not at home, where she often works, nor at her office, but rather had just arrived at the San Antonio airport, in Texas on business, and was waiting to meet a colleague’s plane.] I told her that Miss M was a mess at drop-off and I was feeling stuck about it. And I wanted my mommy.
“Oh, honey, she comes from a long line of criers. You cried every day of preschool! And you were a year older! I cried every day of kindergarten, and so did your grandmother. This is much harder on you than it is on her. But obviously with what you’re paying you are not going to give her the option of not going. Plus it would set a terrible precedent. [Pause.] I feel for you, though. I’ve been there.”
We agreed that she’d be fine. It was just nice to hear it from a veteran.
And indeed she was fine. Met me at 2:30 with a big smile and a hug and a list of what she had done during the day. (Which, by the way, is so much better than what I got out of her last year. Usually at the end of her day, when I asked what she had done at school, the answer was “eat lunch,” because it was the last thing she did before pickup.) The teacher reported that she had cried for a while, but when she had snapped out of it, that was it for the day. She also suspected that the tears were, in part, for effect and would lessen rapidly. “We’re old and jaded around here,” she said. “This isn’t new for us.”
This morning was still tearful, but already better. (Perhaps it was my bribe of safety scissors for the first morning she goes off without a fuss?)
Only 15 or so years until the roles are reversed, right? And I am the one crying as she marches off to school?
Come on now, Kate, remember your post from September 30 and think howw nice it will be to PEACEFULLY
…oops…
run errands with only one little monkey to deal with. Keep your chin up!
I remember a similar experience with Sean last year — it broke my heart to see him crying at school. And, like your daughter, he was absolutely fine when I picked him up. I hope that the rest of the week goes okay!
Ali, don’t get me wrong–I can now shop other places than Trader Joe’s (the only place I will go with both of them), but it’s still wrenching to watch her get so upset…even if I know it is for no good reason and that she will be having a great time five (or 10? or 20?) minutes later.
Glad it went well(ish). Hopefully she will overcome the crying in a week or two??
Awww, poor her and poor you. But seriously, this is why we need to surround ourselves with a tribe of women – women who are experienced, who have done this, who are, as you said, “jaded” to the tears and shenanigans. I say we all go back to living in communal long houses, nuclear family be damned.