As I reflect on the month of September and how quickly it passed, I feel exhuasted in every way imaginable.
The month began with a lot of tears and ended with a lot of sparkle, with retirement and anniversaries and many other events plunked in the middle.
Summer came and went without my being able to prepare myself for the giant yellow school bus coming my way that was literally and figuratively taking my daughter away. And unlike lots of other moms who were so looking forward to the start of a new school year, I spent two full hours crying uncontrollably on the night before Meg's first big day. My tears were only interrupted by my husband's sporadic warnings to not let my daughter see me in such a state the following day or he would seek professional help and question my ability to be home during the school day with my two year-old.
So, as the bus pulled away the next morning, I smiled and waved and felt a sense of pride that I have never felt before despite the other feeling of complete emptiness that was still creeping around in my heart. I realized that the previous five and a half years were mine. Mine to teach and learn and mess up and laugh and cry. But most of all, they were mine. I was the one that was responsible for all of the good and all of the bad (within reason, of course). And now all of these other people were involved, most of which I didn't even know. And all of those other people didn't love her 1/100th the amount that I love that little girl. (And so begin the tears again as I type.)
How would they know when she was upset and why? How would they know that she was nervous when she started asking a million questions? Or that she is tired when she starts to twirl her hair? And what would happen if someone was mean to her? How had I lost control of everything so quickly?
So in typical control freak manner, I did frequent and VERY slow drive-by's of the school, filled the teacher's inbox with lots of detail-oriented emails, volunteered in the classroom, chaperoned the field trip and still considered pulling her out of the school and moving her somewhere else.
And then one day at the Y, I heard myself talking about my struggles (emphasis on the MY since Meghan seemed to be managing pretty well), and what I heard got on my OWN nerves. And it was then that I realized that the teacher and school were not going to determine my daughter's success. It was those five years that were going to do that. Those years that were mine to teach and to learn and to laugh and to cry now needed to start to pay off. I needed to be confident in Meg's ability to thrive in any environment and confident in the last five years of my parenting to make her that way.
I read all of the parenting magazines about helping your child transition to school and how to let go and it all sounds so obvious and easy. But none of those prepared me for the true feeling of moving onto this new stage of both my and my family's life. But every time I start to feel that pit in my stomach, I remember what my sister in law told me the day before school started.
"We do the best we can do so they can fly. Let her fly tomorrow. She will be amazing."
And tears. Again.
