First Day of School! First Day of School!

This was me. The kids were actually happy to go.

Today I sent my last child to his first day of school. He's been confident and excited about this day for some time; in fact, one of my sole consolations for LAUSD deciding to move their start date up this year, thus depriving us poor burned-out parents of a month of summer vacation, was that it meant that Son #3 would get to start kindergarten that much earlier.

I could say that I was surprised that a weepy little boy crawled into bed with me and my husband at midnight last night, but I wasn't, really. Sure, he mumbled something incoherent about having wanted to clean up on the last day as he drifted back to sleep between us*, but I think really he woke up in the dark and suddenly felt a bit insecure about actually being one of the big kids. He's been running around our local elementary school ever since he could run, as we either dropped off his brothers or picked them up, but now it is really his school. It's a big ----ing deal, if it's kosher to say that about kindergarten.

As for me, I'm not weepy by nature, so I didn't cry when it came time for me to leave him in his classroom and head off to an empty house. I'm not sad that he's growing up, though of course it is sad to say goodbye to the cute things that he did and said at earlier ages. (For example, I did experience a real pang when his last true toddlerism--"bwefixed"--became a perfectly pronounced "breakfast.") It is so much fun to see his unfettered joy in his growing accomplishments and his increasing abilities that I can't wish him to go backwards, or even to hold still.

Still, I was glad to have a kindergartener to escort this year. Son #1 headed out the door with my husband to his first day of seventh grade, knowing only his homeroom number. A little asking around had confirmed Son #1's hunch that his homeroom teacher is the only teacher in the school who still requires his students to tuck in their shirts, even though it is no longer required in the school uniform policy. So he gamely tucked in the shirt**, and reported back at the end of the day that his classes seemed good and adequately populated with friends of his. Aside from the convenient ride home I provided, he didn't need me, and I'm awaiting the day when he asks me to just pull up to the curb somewhere instead of parking and getting out of the car to come meet him near the school gate.

Son #2, who I did escort to his fifth grade class before taking Son #3 to his class, dropped several broad hints that I didn't need to stick around (under the guise of concern that his little brother be on time). However, when I teased him that he was trying to get rid of me, he wouldn't own up. He definitely prefers that if I have to kiss him, I do it where no-one can possibly see. This morning I overheard him and his friends marveling at the fact that they're fifth graders now, with the air of old classmates at their twentieth reunion marveling at where the years have gone. It's hard to believe that once upon a time, when he was between one and two years old, his feet barely hit the ground because he always wanted to be carried--by me--everywhere. The little boy I once fondly called my barnacle is now most often seen receding into the distance as he runs off to be with his friends.***

So yes, it's nice to have a kindergartener, a little boy who assuages his anxiety by slipping a hand into mine as we walk down the hall to his new classroom. A little boy who greets me with a big grin when I pick him up the afternoon because he can't wait to tell me about his first day of school. (Apparently the highlight was when his teacher accidentally stepped out of one of her shoes, which the students all found hilarious.) Now that I know where those growing steps are leading him, I appreciate even more that I still have one boy who doesn't roll his eyes when I insist that I be allowed to kiss him in public.

*I have faith that one day they will invent a bed big enough to comfortably sleep two average sized-adults and one five-year-old. As Son #3 seems to turn into a giant octopus composed entirely of elbows and knees when he sleeps, the king-sized bed we own doesn't cut it.

**When I ask Son #1 to tuck in his shirt (say, when we're going to a nice family event and I want to pretend that my boys aren't next door to feral children in matters of personal hygiene and style), he usually reacts with a level of indignation indicating that tucking in one's shirt is a torture any right-minded society would ban. We can add this to the long and growing list of Things My Children Do Willingly Only When Asked By Someone Other Than Me.

***Don't worry. I know my barnacle will be back the very minute he realizes that the project he thought was due next Wednesday is actually due this Friday and therefore he needs a ride to the library pronto.