Maggie Mae starts school on Monday and if I let myself think about it too much, I get a huge, gigantic lump in the back of my throat and butterflies in my tummy. She talks more about her ‘five year old skull’ than her ‘three year old skull’ because we drive past the local elementary school frequently and we’ve told her it’ll be her school when she’s five. I can hardly fathom the fact that we’ve arrived on the weekend before she becomes a true preschooler, let alone what she’ll be like when she’s five. My heart hurts to think about it, about the changes.
As a teacher, I feel like I loved and appreciated all my students, especially the quirky ones. It was once described to me that teaching is like getting 20+ new best friends in September and saying goodbye to them in June, and I really felt that way. Some years were a bit more wonky than others, but I loved learning with my students. Being home with my kids, and putting teaching on the back burner for now, has been one of the best decisions that I’ve ever made. Of course, I’ve mothered Maggie and loved her, but within that I’ve taught her, read to her, listened to her.
And then suddenly we’re here.
One more day stands between our family and Maggie’s first day of school. She’s ready and I know that I am, too. I now realize that I’ve had it backwards all those years that I was teaching. I was always a bit of a mama bird to my students on the first days of school, swooping them into my classroom with the hopes of getting a routine underway, feeling protective and compassionate towards them and their learning, not fully understanding the tearful parents overstaying their welcome or peeking into the windows. Perhaps I should have been more compassionate towards those parents on those first days, assuring them that I’d take care of their child. I’d listen. I’d notice the quirks. And most of all, I’d care.
These milestones arrive with such a perfect blend of excitement and apprehension. I’m going to hide a tissue in my back pocket and only let myself feel sad after I’ve said good-bye to my brave little chicken on Monday. It is my hope that this is the start of a really great thing. . .
