Tears? Not a One

My 4 year old started Preschool on Tuesday. In our school district preschool means that for two and a half hours a day she attends a district paid for program which is also known as 4-year old kindergarten. For three years my little love stayed home full-time with me. As I progressed in my graduate program she went to daycare for a year and a half (summer off) part-time while I fulfilled my practicum and internship requirements. When it came time for her to go to daycare we were both equally excited, she was so ready to start. I remember her saying she was ready to go to “school” because she wanted to learn.

 I didn’t cry so much as a tear.

Preschool was no different. She was disappointed that her older brother started school last Thursday but she had to wait until after Labor Day. First day excitement was flying high and boy was she ready. After dropping her off I didn’t cry so much as a tear.

My son, on the other hand, started daycare the day after he turned three months old. After being off of work for three months for maternity leave I was ready to go back to work. Most moms don’t admit that, but I am and was not afraid to be honest. When I dropped him off I didn’t cry so much as a tear.

I love my children, they are the center of my world. I would even describe myself as an emotional person. So why have I never shed so much as a tear at these big moments? It’s easy. At all of these times I knew my child was in a safe, caring environment. I trusted my child with these various adults because I trusted them. I do not easily give trust away when it comes to my children. I was confident that the daycare center was reputable; I visited several times, including the week before my son began as an infant. When he was one I was invited to be on the Board of Directors and jumped at the chance. My daughter and I “peeked” in on the preschool room one day to prepare her for the changes, albeit minor, that had occurred in the room since her brother was there. That’s right, the preschool is located in this very same daycare that I trust and love. The teachers are the same as when my son was there. They are the same teachers who worked there when he was an infant. They are an amazing threesome and I am so very appreciative and fortunate that my daughter gets to learn from them for two and a half hours a day. They each foster a love for learning, using their unique personalities and passion for teaching that reflects on my children.

At the time my son was born I had a job to do and I loved it; I was the sole children’s advocate at the domestic abuse shelter. Those kids NEEDED me. I knew and trusted that my child would be fine without me for a few hours. The shelter kids didn’t have enough safe adults in their life. Can any child ever really have enough?

So, here is a story of when I did shed a tear.

A three-year old Hispanic girl came into shelter with her mom. The girl spoke no English and had never been away from her mom. Due to the abuse the mom experienced from the dad she now had to get a job in order to financially support her children. I was the first person outside of her mom to watch her. I watched her while her mom filled out job applications, went on interviews, went to court, and attended a support group. My high school Spanish did nothing short of making her laugh and we bonded through building trust and nonverbal communication. Her mom got a job and she was enrolled in Head Start. Mom lacked a driver’s license and a car. Transportation to and from Head Start would be provided through the school bus company. Mom and daughter were equally frightened when the school bus pulled up that first day to take her away (to school). I was not yet a mom myself but I felt the sobbing tears of the daughter in my heart as mom put her, literally, on the bus. Walking back to the shelter mom let her tears fall as I comforted her. Upon entering shelter I bee lined for the seclusion of my office, where I closed the door and talked myself out of crying, but not before a few tears rolled down my cheek.

On the second day I dropped my three-month old son off at daycare another mom asked if I was going to cry again today. I said, “I didn’t cry yesterday.” Her response was, “I saw you wipe a tear.” “Oh, I must have had something in my contact because I didn’t cry,” I said. She may have thought I was defensive but all I could think about was that three-year old from my past. I knew my son was safe, I was confident and comfortable with my choice to enroll him at this center…all the things the mother at shelter was not. I couldn’t help but think that I had no reason to cry, even if I missed my baby all day.

So fast-forward seven years to this past Tuesday. I was asked if I cried when I dropped my daughter off at preschool. No, in fact I did a little happy dance in my mind. I was thrilled to have two hours (free) to myself for the first time in five years! My daughter knows how happy I am, but in the sense where I have praised her for being smart, polite and oh so ready to be in preschool.

I truly enjoy every phase and stage my children are in. I savor their breath, their hugs, their kisses, their words, and their being. I am grateful to be a “stay at a home” mom, even if seven years ago I ran back to work after my maternity leave. I really can believe that I have a second grader and a preschooler. For the most part I don’t feel like time has gone too fast. Because along the way I have stopped to smell the roses many, many times.