Ava Scarlett woke this morning, calling for me. Actually croaking, is more like it. Her voice is hoarse from all the crying she did yesterday, I think. First day of preschool. First day being separated from mummy in a strange place. Poor little lamb.
During the first few days of the school year, a single teacher meets you at the front door, ready to take your child from you, so you can run walk away without watching your child pitch an enormous fit with the others on the playground. It’s better this way. I rolled her stroller up to the front door, handed over her required school stuff, like the change of clothes, bag of diapers and wipes, and the snack for the school kids that day (yes, I was chosen to be the first-day snack mum… like I needed more to do that day!) and Madame got out of the stroller, walked straight into her teacher’s waiting arms. I said a quick goodbye to her, but she was too eager to get inside. She knows this place. She would visit with me from time to time, here at her brother’s former school, for class performances or special parties… she knows this place. She always has a GREAT time there! She didn’t seem worried at all, but of course, she didn’t see me actually leave.
And I certainly had no tears about it all. I actually skipped half the way home, with the biggest shit-eating grin on my face, I’m sure I looked like a lunatic. I thought better of cartwheeling home since a) I was wearing a dress, and b) because I don’t think I’ve done a cartwheel in many, many years, and I was afraid of doing serious injury to my person. Still, I was out in the world WITHOUT a child at my side. Not ONE! Oh, glory be… it felt like a fucking miracle.
Anyway, there was no time for tears, even if I had any to shed (and I didn’t) because I had to get home to prepare brunch for about fifteen mummy-foxes in my midst. I do this completely on purpose. You can’t be all sad and crying while you’re preparing quiche. It’s much better to have something else to focus on when your day-to-day suddenly becomes weirdly quiet like this. Nobody should go home and cry alone… come cry at my house, over yummy quiche with veggies and pancetta, and toasted croissants with ham, swiss and béchamel (so freaking dirty-good that sammich!) and mini bagels with lox and cream cheese, and hazelnut torte, mini carrot muffins, and fresh fruit… and bubbles in your orange juice. Mimosas are so nice… and much better than crying, alone in your car on the way home, no? Yes. Much better. Nothing like getting half-crocked in the morning with your homies.
So we nibbled and chatted, caught up after a too-short, crappy summer, and made merry about the fact that school is ON again, and most of us have a bit of free time, in the mornings at least. And just like that, it was 11:45 AM, and time to fetch my baby girl from her first day.
When I arrived, I could tell she’d been crying by the dried snot in her nostrils and her tear-streaked cheeks. Poor little lamb. She was very happy to see me, and started to cry a little bit again… it was nice to be missed just the same. She will be perfectly fine in a few days.
I spent her nap time cleaning up after the party, and reliving it, while I sipped on the last of the champagne. Champagne is good.
When we fetched Oliver at 3 PM, and I asked him how his day went, he said, “I didn’t cry today, but I missed you.” He’s still a bit fragile. The day before, he said, “Well, after we hung up out coats and sat on the bench together, I cried into my sleeve a little bit…” Oh, sob. Pauvre petit. It’s still been touch-and-go with him this week.
He tells me he doesn’t like his teachers. He tells me he doesn’t understand what they’re saying. It’s all still very new for him, and he’s a bright, capable kid, but at the moment he’s stifled by not knowing how to communicate well in this new language… but he will learn. I find myself shutting out thoughts of him during the day though, because the idea of him, away at this new school, missing me and worried, feeling like he understands very little about what’s going on, feeling like the other kids know what to do, and he doesn’t… well, the very idea makes my eyes smart with tears for him, and for myself. But he will be okay. He will learn. I tell him of this many times a day, as a reminder for him, and for myself.
Last night there was a parents meeting at the school, so I dragged my Franco-husband along with me (okay, I didn’t drag him – he was eager to go, plus he knew I’d barely survive without him) and we got the rundown about procedures as to sick days, and proper lunches, gym attire, etc. Later we went into the kindergarden classrooms with the appropriate teachers, and were asked to search the little desks for our child’s artwork package with a written message from your child in their teacher’s handwriting. We scanned the other kids’ stuff, and I quickly realised that my kid was no artist. Some kids are really on their game in this respect – realistic-looking family figures, with rainbows and stars, some animals or faces, and lots and lots of colour. Oliver’s page was just a series of coloured dots… and the message read, “I cry every day because I miss you so much.” Oh. Fuck. Just kick me in my broken heart right now, why don’tcha?
His teacher walked us through the steps of their daily doings, and it all sounds right to me. We searched the bulletin board for the family portraits the children were asked to draw. Again, there were plenty of great-looking pictures up on the board, with the stage-appropriate image of the child in question, drawn as the biggest, most prominent figure on the page, usually flanked by a smiling mum and dad, and siblings, sometimes with a house, or a stunning sun or tree in the background. Oliver’s was drawn entirely in navy blue marker, with five of the saddest-looking stick figures you’ve ever seen in the picture. (I guess the smallest stick figure was our dog, Charley.) He barely drew eyes on any of the faces. Not one of them was smiling. Oy. My darling boy. He’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine…
And though he cried in my arms for a quick moment again this morning, I assured him that everyone was still missing their mums, I that would be back to get him at 3 PM. Just like yesterday. I will be back. I fled so he wouldn’t see the glassiness of my own eyes. Mustn’t let him see mummy’s wobbling chin.
He’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine… Oh fuck, this mantra is not working. I’m not nearly as tough as I seem…
G.G.
