The Answer to the Question, "How's Rohan Adjusting to Preschool?" is...

 

Check out the comment at the bottom. I removed the girl's name, but this would be the 4th little girl whose name I've heard mentioned in connection with Rohan. Three weeks into school and my boy is already a Casanova.

 

I asked him about the girl because I don't know who she is. His response? "Oh, she said I can come over to her house sometime to watch movies together." Trollop.

 

I'd say he's adjusting just fine, thanks for asking.

Learning to Let Them Go.

Last night before bed, Luca picked her outfit for the first day of kindergarten: a brown dress with pink polka dots and her new brown shoes. Rohan asked me to get his orange 'buttons' shirt, and I selected some new khaki shorts to go with it. I packed Luca's lunch, cutting her turkey sandwich ino a star and a letter 'L' and including a strawberry cupcake she chose at the grocery store. I scrawled 'Rohan K' on the inside of an old t-shirt and pair of shorts with a Sharpie and tied them into a bag with his name on the outside. Extra clothes for school, in case he has an accident. Luca's bag was packed with her purple pencil case and a towel for after-lunch rest time. Everything was ready to go.

We took a bath together, the three of us, washing the manes and tails of every My Little Pony in the house and also washing Luca and Rohan's new hairstyles. Hers: bangs. His: short and neat.

Before bed, Luca told me she was worried about kindergarten because even though she can count, "Sometimes I skip a number." I assured her it was ok, and that lots of kids skip numbers and she was goign to school so she could learn how to remember ALL the numbers when she counts. That seemed to satisfy her, and before she rolled over to close her eyes she smiled at me and told me she was excited to start school.

This morning both kids were still sleeping when I got out of bed, so I went and woke them by rubbing their back and telling them it was time for school. Luca jumped out of bed, excited to put on her pretty dress and take her new backpack to class. Mo was a little slower going, telling me several times that he didn't want to go to preschool. I got them downstairs, dressed, and sitting in front of Bubble Guppies so I could finish getting everything ready to go.

The morning was punctuated with Rohan's sadface, as he told me several times he didn't want to go to preschool. I didn't know what to say to him other than to fill him with platitudes about how preschool is super fun and he's going to make a lot of new friends and learn new things. It didn't work. He was curled on the recliner in a ball telling me he didn't want to go. Even Luca chimed in, telling him how she was worried about preschool but it ended up being so fun and she made lots of friends. He still wasn't convinced entirely.

We parked down the street from the elementary school, following a crowd of other parents as they led kids large and small to the playground to line up for their first day. Each of my hands held a tiny hand of one of my children, and if you think for a second I didn't feel the power of that moment you must never have met me.

We got to school a few minutes before the first bell, found the spot where Luca's class lines up in the mornings, and waited. I could tell Luca was nervous, and Rohan could too which made him nervous which in turn made ME nervous and on the verge of tears. We stood together in a cluster eyeing the other kids and their parents. I was trying to guess which kids would be the nicest and hoping my kid would be seated next to them, and Luca was probably admiring all the Hello Kitty backpacks jealously. Her teacher made her rounds, checking to be sure all the right kids were in her line and she knew how they were all to get home every day that week and I tried to look friendly by half-smiling at the other parents while behind my sunglasses my eyes nervously scanned the group of new kids and parents.

I leaned in close to her, feeling very sentimental as every ounce of mama love burned in my throat, and whispered into her cheek, "Luca, I'm so very very proud of you and school is going to be amaz--" and she cut me off. "Mom," she said impatiently, "your breath stinks like coffee." Sentimental moment over.

I wasn't sure how Luca would do when the time came to walk into the school with her class. After two years of preschool this is sort of old hat to her, but it was a different school and this is a new teacher and new classmates and new rules and a new schedule. Leading up to the first week, she was really excited, so we went with that and played up the excitement in the hopes it would pay off the first day. And while she was a bit nervous, clinging to my hand most of the morning, when the time came to kiss her good-bye she was ready to go.

We stood there, Mo and I, watching her walk away from us and into big kid school. She turned several times and waved, blowing kisses as we enthusiastically waved and blew kisses back. I snapped pictures through tears I'd held in until that moment, and as she passed through the doors and disappeared down the hall to her first day of Kindergarten, I turned with Rohan, took 4 steps across the basketball court, and was stopped cold by a wave of heavy tears. Rohan was looking at me sadly, so I scooped him into my arms as I cried, and he burrowed his head under my chin, his right cheek flat against my collarbone and his left arm stretched wide to pull me into a hug.

That moment? I will never forget it. And when I looked down into my son's big blue eyes, he was crying too. We stood there for a moment, holding each other together, then he walked beside me to the car holding my hand the whole way there.

The ride to preschool for Rohan's first day was quiet. My right arm was stretched into the back seat, and he held my right hand in both of his for the whole drive. We got there much too fast and before I knew it I was unbuckling Rohan's carseat and pulling his backpack out to rest it on his shoulders. Thankfully, his hesitation and nerves had calmed some and he didn't try to change my mind about leaving him in preschool that day. Because, I swear, if he'd asked me at that moment to let him stay home one more day I would have burrowed him to me and whisked him home so we could snuggle on the couch together for a whole day.

There wasn't much time for long sentimental good-byes once we got to preschool. Most of the kids were there already and the class was just sitting down for circle time. One of the high schoolers that works in the class came right over and greeted Rohan, taking his hand and leading him to his space on the rug. And suddenly, I had two kids in school. Just like that. Babies, done. Kids, here.

I knew I should leave, but I couldn't. I needed one more hug and kiss from my son. Needed to sniff his skin and feel the softness of his blonde hair and remind him to be good and kind and listen well. So I waited patiently for circle time to end and the kids to go wash their hands and I grabbed him and held him close to me for a kiss. And then, I watched him walk away and join the other kids at the little circular table for snacks.

I walked out alone, sat in my car, and let the tears come. I was crying from pride that a new phase of their lives is starting, and in equal measure from sadness that the last chapter is ending. No longer can I even pretend they are my babies. They are big kids now, with classmates and teachers and lunch bags and friends. They bring home pictures and classwork with their names scrawled across the top. They ask questions such as, "Mama, how does a car turn all the wheels the same at once?" (him) and, "Are whales mammals? Because I know that dolphins are and whales feed their babies milk too."

Learning to let them go and let them grow up is hard for me. I absolutely adore the people they are becoming. I beam at the praise from their teachers. I smile when I hear about new friends and eating in a cafeteria and recess and music class and share day. My throat tightens and my heart feels like it will burst as I witness them growing minute by minute into the little adults they will someday become.

This will be a big year. I'm trusting my kids to teachers and other families and their kids. I'm letting my kids go and grow. And I cannot wait to look back at this time in our lives and remember it sweetness.



Relief.

Ok, fine, so I am neurotic. I worry about Luca and preschool and 19 other kids and no brother around and and and and....

Relief. "She is doing very well." Aside from the fact she's not eating much at preschool (which anyone who knows Luca knows is pretty par for the course with her and if she was eating her whole lunch I'd have to pay them extra for creating a miracle), she got a fabulous 'report'!

On top of it, she's started to talk about people there aside from the student-teachers (Miss K and Miss V) and teacher-teachers. She made friends with a 'new Madison', not to be confused with 'the real Madison at Laura's house'. She talks about Kate, with the pretty hair and dresses every day. And then, today:

Me: "So, Luca, there are 14 boys in your class. Have you made friends with any of them?"
Her: "Um, no. Well, sort of."
Me: "What are the names of the boys you're friends with?"
Her: "Um, I eat next to Aidan." (they have chairs with their names on them, where they sit at lunch)
Darrick: "Do you think he's cute Luca?"
Her: "No!" (giggle)
Darrick: "Are there any boys you do think are cute?"
Me: "I'm not ready for this."
Her: "No. Well maybe there is onnnnne."
Me: "No."
Darrick: "What is his name?"
Her: "I don't know, Dada! His name is kinda weeeeeird."
Me: "What does he look like? What color hair?"
Her: "Cute hair, Mama."

Oh holy hell. She is 3, and she has her first crush? For the record, we then suggested that she point him out to us next time he's there when we drop her off or pick her up. I am going to be keeping my eye on that boy with the weird name!

I Let Go.

I helped her pick some new clothes. I packed her backpack with a blanket, a stuffed frog, and an extra t-shirt and shorts. I brushed out her golden hair and wrapped a 'pretty' around the piece in front "to show your pretty eyes". I gave her a pep talk refresher from Sunday, including "You are smart and funny and beautiful and kind and everyone will love you if you are yourself."

We took pictures in the backyard.

We packed up in the car, Luca hugging her frog and Rohan hugging his snoring pig.

As we drove west, she asked me where the sun was hiding, and I explained that it rose in the east, so it was behind us. She asked me if the cow jumped over the sun like it jumped over the moon. I said no, because it was too hot for the cow to clear. She agreed, telling me if the cow fell on the sun it would burn, and then asked what would happen if it fell on the moon. She thought for a minute, then said, "Well, I think the moon would fall down and then we wouldn't have a moon. And I think that would be very sad."

Meanwhile, he pried open the velcro on the back of the pig and attempted to use his fingernails to pry open the battery pack. When that didn't work, he pressed each of its 4 feet and both ears to see which ones made which sounds occur.

Together, they are going to be the ultimate mad scientist.

She came with me to drop Rohan off with Laura. They love Laura. Hers was one of the first names Luca learned to say, and on Monday when we pulled to the curb in front of her home, Rohan pointed eagerly and said, "Woah-wuh! EEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" which  I believe translates loosely to "Well hot damn, it's Laura's house! I love Laura!!"

Luca showed her the backpack with the Princesses on it, and Laura told her to be brave and make sure the other kids were nice.

And then, it was just we two, driving away and headed to her first day of preschool. On the way there, I asked if she was excited. "I will make lots of friends because I am smart. And nice. And funny. And pretty. And I have cool shoes!" she replied, echoing the pep talk I'd given her twice over the past day. I wished there was someone there to give me a mommy pep talk. Something like "Your baby will be ok and will make friends and learn new things and you're making the right decision." And even if I had to give myself the talk, I knew no matter what she would be ok, and I was so happy that the family and friends who have helped get her here, to 3 and to preschool, helped us put those words and thoughts and beliefs into her mind. She is a sponge, and if what she soaks up is self-confidence and a sense of herself, I am certain we've succeeded.

And then we were there, pulling into the parking lot with my heart in my throat and tears burning at my eyes. I put my brave face on and swallowed hard as I helped her from the backseat and laced her backpack through her arms. We walked, hand in hand, and I watched her and saw the nervousness in the way she bit her upper lip.

I know I can't hold that hand forever. But I am going to hold it for as long as she lets me.

When we got through the door, Luca was immediately greeted by two teachers and one 'student' teacher (a high school senior who gets credit for working in the center), and I felt the heat of her anxious little body press to my leg as she rubbed a cheek against my hip. She does that, when she's nervous or scared, as though she is trying to retreat into me and disappear. I leaned down to kiss her hair and her eyes were wide, expectant, looking for an answer in my face. Waiting for the look in my eyes to say, "This is bad and we should leave." or "This will be fun and you will be amazing and there is no reason to be scared!" I forced a smile, assured her it would be fun and asked if she wanted to follow Miss V. (student) to the wall to put her blanket and frog in a cubby for naptime. Nervously, she let my hand go and followed.

I let her go.

I signed her in for the day, spoke to the teacher for a minute, and then turned to find her again and saw her looking at me, waiting for my next move. I straightened up a notch taller and walked over to where she sat in a tiny red chair, poised to create some art, and I asked if I could take one picture. She smiled, and in the few seconds it took me to snap the shot, she drew one tiny, perfect pink circle on the page. I kissed her face, told her I love her, and walked out the door without looking back.

I sat in my car outside, heat rising behind my eyes and that damn traitor heart back in my throat. I thumbed through the pictures, and came upon that last one, and the tears came. I felt it all right then: happy and proud and wistful and excited and anxious for her. But then I saw that one perfect circle she drew, and the way she was looking at me so square in the eyes, and I knew she would be ok.

I know this without a doubt: This experience will test her and teach her and make her grow in beautiful and perhaps painful ways. There will be days she is eager to put on her pink backpack and run out to greet her friends. There will be other days, days I will wish away, when she will cry and ask to stay home and break my heart into a million guilt-ridden pieces and leave me wishing I could walk through the world 4 steps ahead of her at all times to slay all dragons and push away all hurt and lay down a path of daisies in my wake for her to tread on. I will wish that I could make the world a perfect place for her, and protect and hold her close to me at all times.

And then, in equal measure, this I also know without a doubt: I cannot hold and protect her in every moment and every experience. She will meet beauty and love hopefully more often than she meets ugliness and cruelty. But no matter what road lies ahead for her, what is within her is us. Our deep and immeasurable love for her, which seeps into her soul. We have spent 3 years able to control who was around her and the things she was exposed to, and in those years if we did our job as parents and as people, we have given her the gifts of self-confidence, understanding, compassion, joy, acceptance, humor, and self-worth. We have helped her to be the best Luca she can be and to turn her inner light on and shine it on those around her and bring them into her world of fairy dust and golden butterfly wings and laughter and joy and love.

She is magic. She is ours. We have set her free into the world, baby steps at a time, and we do so with the confidence that the world will love her because we do.

Big Girl Weekend.

We've got a big girl in the making, and although I know there is nothing I can do and time will continue to barrel over me like a huge wave, I want to put on the brakes. And, at the same exact moment, I want to celebrate the beautiful girl Luca is blossoming into.

At meet-the-teacher Friday night, she assimilated by diving into solitary activity, retreating into a corner of one of the rooms to play with baby dolls and sort wooden flatware by type and then color. I watched her from a distance so she wouldn't realize I was looking, and saw her pick a baby doll up, hold it to her shoulder, and rock back and forth, patting its back and saying, "It's ok, baby. Mama is here." Before I was a mom, I had no real experience with the feeling I had right then. How is it possible for the human body to feel both soaring pride and that huge lump of sentimental sadness at the exact same time?

The night was a success, though she did break in one of the students (the center is in the high school where Darrick teaches, so there are certified teachers as well as students who are in child development classes) by having an accident because she didn't know where the potty was.

She wore one of her new dresses that night, carefully chosen and accessorized by her with a Princess ring and a green bracelet. Over the weekend we got her a backpack, also Princess per her request. I am unsure how I ended up with a girl so infatuated with pink and Princesses and yet so firm in who she is and so independent.

Today was what we call 'A Day' for Luca, as in "She is having A Day." These happen sometimes, and our generally independent and self-assured little girl becomes sort of a mess of sorts, all big tears and tantrums over inconsequential things and an apparent regression to infancy. She begs to be carried everywhere. She throws epic meltdown tantrums over her milk being poured from a cup into a sippy so it can be shared with Rohan. She breaks down in the mall. And, a new addition to her repretoire, she has a new comeback when she is mad about something she's being asked to do or not to do: she replies through tears, "No thank you, Mama! That is NOT the deal!"

It's hard to be mad about a 3 year old telling you what the deal is and is not.

She's a sensitive girl, my little pixie love, and she does things on her own time and her own terms. She withdraws or snaps back when she feels attacked, depending on her mood and the offender. So I decided we needed to do something special, just for us and just to make her feel grown up and bonded with Mommy. She's been begging lately to help with things in the kitchen and we had a lot of frozen blueberries from a co-op basket I bought a few weeks back, so we decided to make some lemon-blueberry bread.

She is obsessed with butter. If you leave it on the counter she will stick her fingers in it, scoop some out, and eat it by itself.

Rohan's contribution to baking is to take everything out of the bottom two drawers.

Igredients: eggs, blueberries, skim milk, fresh squeezed lemon juice, sugar, flour, baking powder, salt, and melted butter.

Stir, stir, stir.

Little helpers.

Sometimes you need to stand and stir.

Blueberries and lemon zest.

Rohan decides to 'help' by eating a few.

Stirring in the berries.

Sneaking a taste.

She approves!

The finished project didn't photograph as well as I wish it had, given how delicious it is! It's so good, in fact, that when Darrick got home and tried a slice, he accused me of using a boxed mix. From him, boxed mix = compliment as his mom didn't bake and so in their house growing up you hoped your mom would use a box mix rather than try to bake from scratch.

So, here it is Sunday night, and Luca's backpack is packed. Her outfit is picked out for tomorrow. She's sleeping in the tent in her room, like a big girl. And I am torn again between feeling so proud of her and confident that when she spreads her wings tomorrow the wind will carry her far, and terrified with a lump in my throat over just how far she will go. She's only three, but in many ways she holds the world in her hands, drinking it in with her curious eyes and memorizing every detail. She is forever my baby, and yet with each day she becomes more her own girl and less dependent on me. And so I find myself torn between wanting to keep her my baby and carry her in my arms, letting her warm cheek press against my neck and waking up in the morning with her curled up into my side or letting go and giving her the push of self-confidence to move forward and walk on her own feet and sleep in her own bed and be brave and bold. A balance I'm not sure I will ever perfect, but there's one promise I've always made to her and which I intend to keep: I will always love her and let her be who she is and I promise to help her grow and give her the freedom to learn and grow and fail or thrive, but I will also remain the safe place where she can curl up and cry or laugh or fall or fly.