Ana Starts School

So, the thing is... I'm really okay.

My oldest daughter, Ana, started school today. Pre-school. She's there right now. At school, I mean. With fourteen other kids. At school.

And I'm okay. I'm really okay.

Last night was a bit rough. We had storms which triggered a migraine for me but I took some medicine and felt better. Plus, Jane was up teething and inconsolable until about three o'clock when I finally slipped her some Tylenol. Then I went downstairs and read for a while. I had just fallen asleep when Jane woke up at about 5:30 and wanted a bottle. And then, my alarm didn't go off so I awoke with a start at 7:15. We had to leave at 8:00.

I rushed around, getting the last minute school stuff together. I woke Ana and gave her some breakfast, which she was really too excited to eat. Dressed her. Helped her brush her teeth and hair. Packed her lunch, gulped some coffee, woke up Jane, grabbed the new backpack and we were out the door.

My husband skipped his normal Monday morning meeting so he could go with us. We took separate cars so that he could leave from the school and go to his office. We pulled into the lot and got the kids out of the car. He videotaped Ana walking up the sidewalk into her building. There was a group of fathers standing in front of another door, blocking the way into class. “There's some crying going on in there,” said one dad to another worriedly. “Poor guy,” I thought. Because I was okay. I was really OKAY.

We got to Ana's classroom. She went in and sat down, sharing a seat with her best friend Aaron, who is also in the class. I kissed her goodbye but she didn't really acknowledge my departure, already engrossed in this very cool magnetic board game. I stopped by the director's office to drop off the tuition and the supply money and made sure she understood that the third check was for the fundraiser they had back in June when we were out of town. “There's more where this came from,” I thought, staring hard into her eyes. “You just be very, VERY good to my girl.” I was fine. I really was just fine.

So, then we walked out into the parking lot and out of nowhere, tears started leaking out of my eyes. They just... came out. My husband put his arm around me and worried that perhaps he should have driven me so that I wouldn't be so distracted driving back home. But I was okay. I was really okay. I just had these tears coming down my face. But I was FINE. Really.

And then this woman who had just dropped off her child came walking out. “Look, she's CRYING!” she said to her husband. I resisted the urge to say something... harsh. Something about unfeeling, cold-hearted, judgmental POD MOTHERS. I resisted the urge to yell “I told your kid you're never coming back!” Because I was really just fine. I was fine.

So then I drove home, still leaking a little. I resisted the urge to stop at a convenience store and buy a pack of unfiltered Marlboro cigarettes because, well, I don't smoke. And Jane, the nicest baby in the world, was making some discontented sounds at this point, which I interpreted as “HELLOOOOO? You woke me up after a hard night. You stuffed me into my car seat without my blanket. We dropped my sister off at school and I didn't get to stay. I was just wondering if anyone wanted to give me some friggin’ breakfast this morning? Hello? Anybody out there?”

So we came home to our unaccustomedly quiet house. I fed Jane. Then I resisted the urge to do anything productive like housework and I got on the floor and read twenty-seven books to Jane. Oh wait, it was the same book but we read it twenty-seven times. We rolled around on the floor. I changed her diaper. We played Crawl Tag. I kissed her all over her little head and she gave me open mouth kisses without me even asking. Occasionally, another few tears trickled out but I was okay. I was really fine.

Jane went down for a nap, falling asleep in my arms in a leisurely way in the rocking chair. She let me hold her for a long time, that nice Smiley Jane. I put her in the crib. I resisted the urge to call the school. I called my mom instead. She wasn't home.

I checked my e-mail and had a funny note from a friend who said on HER daughter's first day of school, she actually stalked the playground. I had thought of that but Jane really needed a nap so I tried to look up the teacher's home address instead. Unfortunately, I can't find her last name anywhere in the paperwork from class. I just left my three-year-old, completely perfect daughter in the hands of a woman whose last name I don't even know. I'm fine. I'm really fine. I'mfine.I'mfine.I'mfine.I'mfine.

There's no chocolate in the house.

But that's okay because eating chocolate as a response to stress would be childish. And I'm fine; I'm really fine. It's 11:00. I go get Ana at 12:30. We've done an amazing amount of preparation for this day. We read books --about three hundred books. We enrolled in a dance class so she would get used to going into a classroom without me. We did dry runs with her lunch box last week --I packed her lunch in the box and she opened it and ate it like a pro. I even put in a note every day. (She made paper airplanes out of them.) Last night, her dad and I gave her a Thomas the Tank Engine backpack. She was so excited that she packed it right then for school --she took two small stuffed animals, three books, a flashlight and a wall clock. She is clearly prepared for anything.

And as for me, well, I want to be the kind of mom who lets her children go with grace. I am proud of myself for showing only my happy face to Ana. I'm proud of myself for the preparation we've done for this day. I'm proud that I had the perspective to see how much she needs this experience and that I didn't hold her back just because I wasn't sure *I* could handle it. And I'm so proud of my smart, beautiful and articulate little girl that I could just BURST.

I'm all right. I'm really okay.

I’m going to be just fine.

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Barbara Cooper is the mother of Ana (3) and Jane (ten months). She lives in Austin, Texas and she is getting in her car to go pick Ana up this very minute.