It’s quiet in the car. The radio i
s off as it often is so I can hear what the kids are saying from the back seat.
There is no one in the backseat.
No buckling. No “When we home can we . . . ?” No “Is Melissa open? Can I get a donut?”
I pull my own seatbelt across me. Click.
It’s quiet. Still.
It’s not so much that I want to cry as that I am aware of the space around me. This space and quiet I’ve yearned for.
I waited so long. It went so fast.
My baby girl has been ready for this day—first day of preschool—for two years. She knows the routine: hang up backpack, wash hands and sing ABC, sign in. Today, what’s different is she gets to stay.
I squat next to her at the busy play dough table. Watch her, check out the other kids, the other moms. Ask what she’s making. I glance at the clock. It’s almost meeting time.
“Can I have a hug? I’m going to go now.”
It takes a minute for her to pull herself away from the play dough. She looks at me and lunges into one of her superhugs—arms and legs entwined around me. She lets go with one arm, presses her cheek to mine—one arm hug.
She doesn’t like hugs herself, but she has a whole repertoire to give, each tight, each heartfelt, each connected. Her hugs lift me and fill me like Henry’s smile used to.
I remember when my big girl started preschool, how I waited impatiently for the end of her day to find out how it went. I worried and wondered how she was feeling and doing in her new environment. This one, I’m not worried about. I don’t imagine her thinking about being there alone without me, the way I find myself focused on being here without her.
From now on, when I go to the market or stop for coffee after drop off, I won’t unbuckle and buckle. I won’t field requests to buy a pretzel or a donut or put money in the piggy bank for the ambulance fund. I’ll buy what I need, chat for a minute. Go back to the empty car. Drive home. Do what I need to do.
I told people it wouldn’t be all the different this year. I’m used to doing drop off and then working most of the morning.
But I’m not used to the empty car as I pull out of the school lot. I’m not used to coming into the house alone. Maybe once we settle into routine, it won’t feel so strange, but right now it feels empty, quiet, still.
I waited so long for this. It went by so fast.
Your Turn
Write with Me:
Have you ever had somebody say to you, “Enjoy every moment! It goes so fast”?
You hear it often while you’re up every couple hours to feed a baby or recovering from (or still dealing with) a meltdown in the grocery store. That really little stage does go fast, though it doesn’t always feel like it at the time.
Today, I started with the idea of it goes so fast. Try that or pick another cliché. How do you feel when somebody says it to you? What situation from your life does the saying apply to (or not apply to)? You might respond to the cliché, use it as a theme, give an example, or tear it apart. Write your cliché at the top of your paper—then just write what comes to you.
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Whether you have a little extra quiet, still time with the kids back in school or you’re still dreaming of it, take a little time for three days for yourself. Write What You Love starts next week. Sign up now.
I remember that moment so well. . .dropping Daniella off at preschool. . .a place she had traveled to since she was born. It was finally her turn. It was her turn to get to play with ponies and the big legos and the train set. She wouldn’t have to be interupted after 3 minutes, when I told her it was time for us to leave so the big kids could start their day. She ran up the stairs with her new owl lunch box and first day dress, looking over her shoulder, shouting to me, “Come on mama!”. She was my kid that knows half the town already. . outgoing and ready for school. She was also my kid, my only kid, who melted into a puddle of tears when I said I had to go. The only kid I had to pry off my legs and tell her I would be back in a few hours and she would have fun. I knew it was best to leave like pulling off a bandaid. . .1,2,3. . .go. I pulled her off me, said goodbye and walked out the door., her teacher reassuring me, “She’ll be fine.” I walked down the stairs to two other mothers waiting, listening to see if their children had stopped crying and settled down. I didn’t stop to wait. I knew she would be fine. And even if she cried the entire day (which she almost did), she had to get through it. . .and the only way that would happen is if I left her to figure it out. I was surprised by her reaction, but I shouldn’t have been. She is daring, crazy and fun. She is outgoing and friendly and a risktaker. But, she’s my shadow. . .my “best buddy”. . .my permanent hug. It took months of preschool drop off before she finally would go in without crying when I left. Every drop off day, I would leave her , feeling a brief moment of sadness and guilt that she was feeling so sad to leave me and I was so happy to leave her. It was only 3 hours. . .but it was THREE HOURS! 3 hours of my very own thoughts without interuptions to break up a fight or hear a nonsensical joke or answer questions about who invented dirt. 3 hours of music with questionable lyrics or subject matter. 3 hours of eating ice cream from the container before lunch while watching horrifically bad tv. 3 hours to take a nap without someone “snuggling” with me. I had looked forward to those 3 hours for 6 years. Not because I don’t love to be with my kids, but because I am a much better mother when I have a little time to think about myself and what I want and need. . .because I hadn’t had a break in 6 years. . .because I loved them even more when I had the chance to miss them a little.
Enjoy every moment of your time apart. . .it will go by so fast 🙂
I will definitely enjoy those three hours. So many things I want to do: more writing, running, maybe getting back to yoga after almost five years, catching up with friends and actually having a conversation, organizing the craft closet. First up, though was just sitting in that quiet.
Sitting here in Bangalore reading this, lovely vignette, can just see them, makes me feel not so far away
I sent you some of what I have been writing.
Helen, I didn’t get your writing, but would love to see it. Enjoy your trip!
I just went through the exact same experience. My 3-year old started Pre-School 2 weeks ago. My emotions were mixed. A little sadness because my time with her is getting shorter. But I’m also proud that she’s growing up and becoming independent. It gives me joy to see her making friends and having experiences without me.
On the darker side, the words “it goes by fast” cause some guilt. Am I’m spending enough time with my daughter? Will I regret time I spend doing things for myself? Am I being the best Mom I can be?
At the end of the day I try and let these negative feelings go. We do the best we can with the time given to us. 🙂
Sally, I love seeing the new things my kids can do too. Even now, my three-year-old is engrossed in her own play, not needing me at the moment to be part of it, though that’s not always the way. As for the guilt, I know I am a calmer mom and often a more focused one, when I take some time to do something for myself (which doesn’t always mean I take that time).
Beautiful. I’m there too. Last week both boys headed off – daycare and preschool. I walked home to an empty house. Quiet. The time was mine and only mine to do what I needed to do. It’s so different but oh how I love it. How I need it. I am a better mother when I have quiet moments for my thoughts, my writing, my work.
Lovely post Sara. You’re a beautiful writer.