I experienced a very traumatic event yesterday - I registered my oldest (Thing 1) for high school. I knew the day was coming and had been dreading it with an ache so deep I couldn't even discuss it with my husband or my friends. I literally got teary eyed each time I looked at the registration form. I couldn't focus to even help him choose his course track. I had such a busy weekend leading up to the dreaded Monday that I didn't have much time to dwell on it.
But the quiet moments I did have...they were sad ones. I remember his very first day of school like it was yesterday. I was very pregnant with Thing 2 so I was emotional anyway. I was very anxious about the influence classmates, teachers, and others would have on my oldest. He has always been such a sweet soul - affectionate, caring, a heart as big as Montana. I didn't want that spoiled or soiled. So I had fears, anxious moments, etc. I was also afraid he would be scared himself. I wasn't sure how he would act when I left him at the classroom during the first phase-in day (phase-in days are just a fancy term schools use that translate into "ripping that final umbilical cord from between you and your beloved child as slowly and painfully as possible" - they're not fooling me.
First day of school dawned, I dressed him in his special "first day of school" clothes, loaded up his brand new school supplies in his shiny new backpack and navigated our way to Mrs. Ruehling's Kindergarten classroom. Right off the bat, I noticed he was one of the biggest kids in the class. They all looked so small compared to my big strapping young man. He was head and shoulders taller than the others. I also noticed that he walked in, found his table area, and never looked back at me once. There were no tears, no clinging hugs, no pleas to go home with me. He was ready for his adventure.
For eight years now, I have seen him remain "head and shoulders" above the other children in his classes. Of course, that's through a mother's eyes. I do believe he is a special little soul and so many people say such kind words to me about his manners, his ease of being himself, his comfort in his own skin...that I think there really is something there that's unique. And it's all him...not me or his dad. It's all him. He shines like gold.
Registration Monday dawned and, being tax season, I was swamped at work. Literally didn't have a moment to look up. My plans were to leave at 3 PM, putting me at the high school at 4 PM for the brief orientation meeting, then off to the library to choose classes. I noticed my computer clock at 3:15 PM and realized I was in trouble. I flew out the door, drove fast enough to lose my license, and pulled into the high school parking lot at 4:10 PM. I ran to the weight lifting room to pick him up (where he's been training for the freshman football team) and we sprinted to the meeting, which was just letting out as we got there.
We followed the group to the library to sign up for courses. I was thrilled to see that I knew six out of the eight counselors there (just more potential spies to help me keep an eye on him the next four years). We were second in line and within the short time span of 10 minutes, waiting in line time included, my oldest son was signed up for high school. It happened so quick that I didn't have time to mourn.
We drove home in silence. I didn't know what to say. I was struggling with a lot of feelings and emotions. But I realized it hadn't even dawned on me how he might be feeling. I reached over and laid my hand on his thigh and said, "So, how does it feel to be an incoming freshman in high school?" I held my breath - waiting...he said, "I'm so excited I can't stand it."
I bit my lip and nodded, composing myself enough to say, "Oh, so am I, sweetie. What fun you'll have!"
I'm not excited - I'm sad and remorseful. Where did those young years fly off to? Did I do all I could do to prepare him? Did I show him enough love? Does he know how much he means to me? Does he know how much potential he has? Does he have enough confidence to face the cruel days of high school? And enough wisdom to enjoy the blissful ones?
Time will tell. I'll grapple with this milestone quietly and I hope that sometime this summer the sadness turns to celebration by the time this fall rolls around ... all too quickly I fear. (Photo 1 is Thing 1 with his best friend then - and now - Zach. Photo 2 is Thing 1 before his first football game in fall of 2007)
But the quiet moments I did have...they were sad ones. I remember his very first day of school like it was yesterday. I was very pregnant with Thing 2 so I was emotional anyway. I was very anxious about the influence classmates, teachers, and others would have on my oldest. He has always been such a sweet soul - affectionate, caring, a heart as big as Montana. I didn't want that spoiled or soiled. So I had fears, anxious moments, etc. I was also afraid he would be scared himself. I wasn't sure how he would act when I left him at the classroom during the first phase-in day (phase-in days are just a fancy term schools use that translate into "ripping that final umbilical cord from between you and your beloved child as slowly and painfully as possible" - they're not fooling me.
First day of school dawned, I dressed him in his special "first day of school" clothes, loaded up his brand new school supplies in his shiny new backpack and navigated our way to Mrs. Ruehling's Kindergarten classroom. Right off the bat, I noticed he was one of the biggest kids in the class. They all looked so small compared to my big strapping young man. He was head and shoulders taller than the others. I also noticed that he walked in, found his table area, and never looked back at me once. There were no tears, no clinging hugs, no pleas to go home with me. He was ready for his adventure.
For eight years now, I have seen him remain "head and shoulders" above the other children in his classes. Of course, that's through a mother's eyes. I do believe he is a special little soul and so many people say such kind words to me about his manners, his ease of being himself, his comfort in his own skin...that I think there really is something there that's unique. And it's all him...not me or his dad. It's all him. He shines like gold.
Registration Monday dawned and, being tax season, I was swamped at work. Literally didn't have a moment to look up. My plans were to leave at 3 PM, putting me at the high school at 4 PM for the brief orientation meeting, then off to the library to choose classes. I noticed my computer clock at 3:15 PM and realized I was in trouble. I flew out the door, drove fast enough to lose my license, and pulled into the high school parking lot at 4:10 PM. I ran to the weight lifting room to pick him up (where he's been training for the freshman football team) and we sprinted to the meeting, which was just letting out as we got there.
We followed the group to the library to sign up for courses. I was thrilled to see that I knew six out of the eight counselors there (just more potential spies to help me keep an eye on him the next four years). We were second in line and within the short time span of 10 minutes, waiting in line time included, my oldest son was signed up for high school. It happened so quick that I didn't have time to mourn.
We drove home in silence. I didn't know what to say. I was struggling with a lot of feelings and emotions. But I realized it hadn't even dawned on me how he might be feeling. I reached over and laid my hand on his thigh and said, "So, how does it feel to be an incoming freshman in high school?" I held my breath - waiting...he said, "I'm so excited I can't stand it."
I bit my lip and nodded, composing myself enough to say, "Oh, so am I, sweetie. What fun you'll have!"
I'm not excited - I'm sad and remorseful. Where did those young years fly off to? Did I do all I could do to prepare him? Did I show him enough love? Does he know how much he means to me? Does he know how much potential he has? Does he have enough confidence to face the cruel days of high school? And enough wisdom to enjoy the blissful ones?
Time will tell. I'll grapple with this milestone quietly and I hope that sometime this summer the sadness turns to celebration by the time this fall rolls around ... all too quickly I fear. (Photo 1 is Thing 1 with his best friend then - and now - Zach. Photo 2 is Thing 1 before his first football game in fall of 2007)
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