My 6-year-old crept into my room at 6:40 a.m., leaned down close to my ear, and whispered, "I can't believe it's here! My first day of school!" I chuckled and ruffled his hair. "Yes, kiddo. It sure is."
When he ran off, I closed my eyes and let the gratitude soothing my heart settle deeper. I hushed my anxiety. I needed this moment, this milestone. Because at the beginning of the pandemic, I felt robbed.
Last year, I mourned the missed milestones
The pandemic abruptly separated my then-preschooler from his very first best friend. For a 4-year-old, video chats couldn't help my son process the loss he felt for his friend, as well as for his beloved teachers whom he still talks about almost 2 years later. However, my son found one way to help himself cope: My sweet boy named a tree in front of our house after his best friend, so in his imagination they could still play together.
As for me, I will never have photos of the preschool graduation that motherhood had promised me. No cap. No gown. No little feet marching awkwardly to "Pomp and Circumstance." My heart still mourns the loss of that milestone.
My sweet boy named a tree in front of our house after his best friend, so in his imagination they could still play together.
Moreover, we opted to homeschool for kindergarten. We had wonderful days. We had horrific days. Regardless, I still regret (perhaps even resent) that I didn't get my turn to experience that iconic kindergarten moment: I didn't get to walk my first child into his first classroom on his first day of school.
However, whenever I start to mourn the loss of that moment too, I remind myself about the positive: We made our first day of school rather special. The kids unwrapped shiny new school supplies—glitter pens, stamp sets, do-a-dot markers, and more. And the kids loved helping me make homemade chocolate chip waffles.
This year, I celebrate amidst fear
But this year, while nothing like life before COVID, we took our first steps back to normal.
After my now 6-year-old ran out of my room, I took three deep breaths and set a timer for 5 minutes. As my anxieties drifted by, I exhaled them away. I let my mind be still. Quiet. Calm.
Then I heard my kiddo run upstairs, two steps at a time, and swing open the door to the room he voluntarily shares with his 3-year-old brother. After flipping on the lights, my 6-year-old made his bed and wiggled on his clothes. As I passed him on the stairs, he marked done the first two tasks on his visual routine chart that I made. He giggling with glee and then danced his way back downstairs.
After breakfast, he brushed his teeth, all on his own, and asked me four times to sniff his breath as proof. I watched him jump up and down as he marked more tasks as done. He then waited for me by the front door, with his shoes and backpack already on, and declared that we needed to leave—20 minutes early!
I await the day that I post about methods I use to coax my child out the door...
Of course I still fear life during COVID. My 3-year-old in particular seems to always suffer the worst whenever a stomach bug hits our family. During his infant years, he struggled to overcome respiratory infections. I wish I could wrap my babies in impenetrable shields, but then they'd never experience anything, ever. And that's not what I want for them either.
So whenever my anxiety creeps up, I ask my husband to distill the data for me, and I remind myself that we and our school have taken precautions.
Last but not least, in between the fear, I celebrate and savor the precious moments, like today: When my first-grader spotted me at pickup time, I watched a grin spread across my sweet boy's face that lit him up like sunrise stretching over a horizon. As he ran into my open arms, my momma's heart refilled to the top. Although our first day of school may not have been quite what I envisioned, that moment was definitely a precious milestone.
Featured photo by Erin P.T. Canning: My 6-year-old, confidently and happily walking into first grade, 2021
