Clay has already been plugging along for two weeks. But our younger two have been on a staggered schedule and have attended only two half-days. During those two days, only a portion of their classmates were also in attendance.
Today is another half day, but all the kindergarten students are there, so the classes are complete. And they look huge compared to what Spencer and Allison have seen on their preceding two days.
The kindergarten teachers sent home notes asking parents to discontinue walking their children to class once the half days are over, when they begin attending the whole school day. That's tomorrow.
Last week when they went, and today when I dropped them off, I parked the car in a nearby lot and we walked to where the car riders are dropped off. It's a different entrance than where my kids have been going in near the school office. I just wanted them to feel comfortable tomorrow when I drop them off as car riders, confident that they can walk to class alone.
Last week, they were very confident.
"We can do it. You don't have to show us. We know where our classes are."
But I insisted on doing it again today. I told them I wasn't going to say anything. I was simply there to follow them.
I walked five paces behind.
Clay warned me as we approached the building that I shouldn't hug him or kiss him outside of his classroom. I told him, "Whatever, buddy. I'm throwing you down right there in front of everyone and covering your face with all kinds of kisses. And when I finally let you stand up, then I'm hugging you."
"You're kidding," he deadpanned. But just to be sure, he added, "Right?"
Yes, I assured him, I was kidding.
As we got near his door, he sidled up to me and gave me a one-arm half hug.
It was enough for me. And more than I expected.
I continued walking behind Spencer and Allison. They were quiet as we walked the halls today.
They do, in fact, know exactly where their classes are.
Allison's was first. She hugged me. And hugged me. And wouldn't let go. Finally, she loosened her grip, and took one step, but before her hands let me go, she turned right back toward me and hugged me some more.
I blocked the doorway for a few minutes, trying to disengage. There were no tears, so that was good. Then, like a little trooper, she faced the firing squad of a much larger group of kindergartners.
Meanwhile, Spencer was on the other side of the hallway, saying, "C'mon, Mom. Let's go."
After Allison sat down, I walked Spencer to his classroom where he, too, was greeted by the sight of way more kids than he'd previously been in class with. He paused then, in no great rush to get to his seat.
I got my kiss and hug and sent him on his way. I slipped to the side of the door, out of Spencer's sight, intending to peek on him a bit. But before I could sneak a look, he ran back to me with a questioning, "Mom?". I loved on him some more, he smiled and then he went to his seat.
I peeked a second later, and he was fine.
Then I walked back down the hallway and checked on Allison on my way out. She was okay, too.
But I was drained.
Who would have thought there would be delayed separation anxiety? I was not at all prepared for that today.
And then I remembered a friend who, last time I heard, was struggling with her little man and his own kindergarten-inspired separation anxiety.
I figured God used my children to bump me to remember to pray for that friend.
That's what I'll be doing as I paint some more of our porch this morning.
Dodging wasps, praying for peace, and hoping I don't spill paint all over the place.
What a Monday!
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