It turns out that they do NOT play tug of war with your arms in first grade (Maia's only concern about school) and there is chocolate milk in the cafeteria alongside the regular milk. There are new friends and old friends and work that "wasn't too difficult."
It turns out that the younger sister didn't miss the older one as much as I thought she would. She was in the best of moods, happy that she could get Isabelle out of her crate every time and didn't have to take turns. She came to work with me, excited to meet a new baby sitter who knew about Rainbow Loom. Our car rides were void of chatter. So much so, that it made me think that I should make an effort to converse with my kid.
Hey Ruby, what are you thinking about?
What?
What are you thinking about?
What?!
(Maybe she can't hear me. I speak very slowly and clearly) What (pause) are you (pause) thinking about?
Thinking about what?!
What are you thinking about in your head?
Nothing!
...
Silence is nice too.
I'm not really one of those people who dwells on the past or gets too sentimental about memories. Living with babies was not my favorite. And taking care of babies is demanding and terrible. I didn't hate it, but as they get older everything becomes more fun and interesting. I find myself confused when I get a tight throat with tears threatening to spill out of my eyes over experiencing my first child be at school all day.
However, I suppose those early years of wiping butts, exhaustion, and non-stop care act as the strongest bonding agent imaginable to man. I mean, I kept something alive for 6 years, and she's actually flourishing! And now I have to entrust a good part of her development to someone I don't yet know.
That's a lot to ask of a parent. I can either let worry overtake and debilitate me, or I can take a deep breath, allow a few tears to roll down my cheeks and choose to trust that it will all work out. I've spent the last two weeks reminding myself that most children go to first grade all day and generally everyone survives.
Kids aren't ripped apart by tug of war. One carton of chocolate milk every school day won't be the end of the nutritional world. (But seriously, what the what?! Don't we have an obesity problem in America? Why don't they just offer milk or water?) And I'll learn to let go bit by bit. At the heart of the matter, it's not really about my child is it? It's about me and my desire for control over this messy thing we call life.
So the best I can do, from now until forever, is to send my child off with a hug and a reminder to be loving and kind. And let myself have a cry when I need it, trusting that they'll come running home, whole and happy.
You can ask Emily, but I believe we had a deal when she was eating lunch at school Grades 1-3. She got to have chocolate milk a certain number of days a week--2? 3? It was on the honor system, and I remember she had a rationale behind which days she chose. She also got to pick one day a week to get school lunch. She would look at the monthly menu and pick her days accordingly. The rationale behind those choices was definitely somewhat suspect. I once remarked that I was surprised she would eat a particular entree, only to be told that she picked based on which day they had orange wedges as the fruit or a favorite dessert. Not sure if she actually ate the entree or not. Since it meant I didn't have to pack a lunch one day a week, I didn't inquire too closely!
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