The buzz last month over MommyBloggers was everywhere. I think all the hub-bub is part of the reason I began typing up my own ramblings and whinings. But until today, my topics have been far removed from my mothering. No reason really, but today I need some blog therapy. Today I need to cry on your blog-reader shoulders.
This morning, my P started in her brand new two-year old room. To say the morning was rough would be a huge understatement. Lets just say the photo at the top is not from my child’s preschool. It’s never a good sign when Mommy is driving out of the parking lot with tears streaming down her cheeks.
I’ll start at the beginning. Two weeks ago, our preschool underwent some room remodeling and this caused a major hiccup in the way of transitioning from one room to the other. And by hiccup I mean there was no transition. Ususally the children will go visit the new room for a couple hours a day the weeks leading up to the move. This was not possible. But I’m rolling with it.
I’m told on Friday that they have arrived at a decision on the new head teacher in her room. Until Friday, I was under the impression (mainly because that is what they told me) that it was going to be someone internal, someone I had likely already met. No, not so much. This new person, Teacher M, was just decided on and her first day at the school will coincide with P’s first day in her new room. We’ll all be new together! But again, I’m rolling with it. Her credentials are fantastic: she is billingual, working towards her masters, kids of her own, the list is long. So, I’m rolling with it. Rollin’. Rollin’. Rollin’.
P and I have been talking about this new room and the new faces she’ll be seeing all weekend to prepare her. I must admit I was getting excited too – her days will be so much fuller, so many more activities as she is older and more able. The baby-days are gone. Oh crap, the baby-days are gone? (This might have been something for Mommy to work through on her own time earlier – oops.) But again, we’re rolling.
We arrive this morning, say our hellos to the director and assistant director. We make our way to the new room. All is peaceful and calm, a chill runs up my arm like a ghost of days gone by. I turn to P and exclaim, “Here’s your new room, do you want to go meet your new teacher?”. P replies yes in a soft voice, but she is shaking her head convincingly.
I open the door and shuffle her in – do you know the preschool shuffle? Set to the tune of the Mexican Hat Dance, you get your kid in as quickly as possible so no other kids escape and make a run for it. This shuffle requires much agility and speed on the part of the parent. It only takes one fast toddler to knock you slightly off balance to serve as enough of a distraction for all the other toddlers as they flood through the door. But no escapees this morning – I’m getting quite proficient at the shuffle.
Once in, I can feel P’s grip tighten in my hand. I look up to find that we have somehow been transplanted to a war zone. A miniature war zone, but a war zone nonetheless. There are about fourteen children in the room upon arrival, ten of them are screaming hysterically. And not in the “Oh boy, what fun we are having” kinda way, more like the “Why the hell did my Mom leave me in this miniature war zone” kinda way. P’s eyes swell to the size of apples and she is unable to look away. Mommy is unable to look away. It is impossible to look away.
It is at this point that rolling with it, changed to tears rolling.
Luckily, there was a familiar face in the room – Teacher A, P’s most recent teacher. She sees the panic on my face and helps get P settled in while I meet the new teachers and try to calm myself. Thanks Teacher A. I think if it hadn’t been for her, it would have become TAKE YOUR DAUGHTER TO WORK DAY for me.
Teacher A assures me she’ll keep a close eye on her and check back from time to time. I’m sure she will and I’m grateful. But do you have any idea how difficult it was to leave her today? At what point do you listen to that twitching inside telling you something is wrong? Is this just the kinks that need to be ironed out? Or is the kink in your stomach a warning? A Mommy-sense of something?
I called my husband, who always finds me to be dramatic and highly prone to overreaction. Screw him. There is some truth to that occasionally I’ll admit. He said to give it a couple days and see how I feel. And that is what we will do. One bad morning can’t define this relationship I have had with this school for nearly two years, right? Right? Answer me!
Okay readers, now is the time – I need happy thoughts and horror stories. Tell me I’m being paranoid, worrying for nothing. Tell me that all will be well and she’s not feeling nearly the stress and anxiety I am feeling. Yes readers, lie to me if needbe.