The Other Side of the Door

Summer winds down and school looms on the horizon, sharpened pencils waiting to etch names onto crisp paper, colorful Flair pens doodling in the margins, backpacks overwhelming small frames.  The first day of school holds the promise of a fresh start, anticipation and excitement hanging in the air, hiding behind shy smiles and jokes between friends.

I’ve faced the first day of school as a student, moving from decorated cardboard supply boxes and kitten adorned Trapper Keepers to overpriced college textbooks and reams and reams of lined paper soon to be covered in notes and doodles and office hours.

As a teacher, I started a few weeks before the students, carefully choosing fabric for my bulletin boards, buying supplies in bulk, rearranging my classroom too many times in anticipation of group work and testing and access to different areas in the room.

This year, the first day of school looms, and I’m wavering between excitement and denial from moment to moment.

This year is the first year I am facing back to school as a mother.

Abbey is going to preschool.

She is beyond thrilled to be starting school next month.  A small smile spreads into a grin on her little face when she talks about it.  Lately, she wants to play teacher and student, a game that works out better when she doesn’t try to include Dylan as a student.

I am thrilled for her.  She loves stories and writing and playing games and dress-up and pretend.  I watch her attempting to write letters and carefully counting, and I can picture her in a classroom, sitting at an impossibly small chair, a pencil clutched in her hand.

My mental picture expands, seeing the other children in her class, and I feel my stomach tighten with worry.

Slow to warm up to new people and new situations, will her new classmates be kind?  What if they mistake her hesitation for disinterest?  Will her teacher understand that she grows quiet and retreats to the periphery out of shyness and not defiance?  When her voice drops to a whisper, will someone lean in to hear her, encouraging her lovely voice to speak more confidently?

Helping her make this transition is part of my job; I know I need to happily urge her forward into this new phase.

Yet as the summer days drift closer to fall, I find myself reaching for her hand more than necessary, catching her eye to bestow an extra smile, reminding her of how much I love her, hugging her eleventy-billion times each day. 

I yearn to envelop her with all of my love, to make that love tangible to tuck away in a pocket of her backpack, comforting her throughout the day.

I have been a student.  I have been a teacher.

This year, I am a mother, and for the first time, I will be on the other side of the classroom door when the bell signals the beginning of class.

But I will be waiting for her at the end of the day, my arms and heart ready to welcome her home.

going to dance with her little backpack

she's going to look so funny with a regular backpack!

today I'm pouring my heart out about Abbey starting school

come back tomorrow when I talk about a part of back to school that ALWAYS gets me excited...the shopping!