You know how some people are perpetually late to everything? Some of us just don’t know how to get to work on time, make it to the party before the first guests are actually leaving (or passing out drunk next to the pool) or even just being ready for a date when the doorbell rings? Well, for the most part, I am not that person. I arrive fifteen minutes early for just about everything. Really. In fact, I recently had a job interview. The letter of confirmation specifically said that my appointment was at 2:00 p.m. and to arrive fifteen minutes early. I was there by 1:30. I spent a few minutes in my car, fixing my make-up and going over my resume and the application packet I was told to complete and bring with me.
That said, I am going to admit that I am coming into this blogging thing way late. I skipped over the adorable “Oh, look at her sleeping” phase of blogging. I ignored the urge to write about the Terrible Twos that stretched into the Terrible 3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 and 11’s. I even managed to avoid keeping a journal on the drama of starting school and having an awful first grade teacher who allowed her to be bullied and may have even pitched in.
My daughter started middle school this morning. Her school is a block away from us. It would have been ridiculous beyond reason to drive her to school and she would have been mortified if I had insisted on walking with her. So, though my Mommy Senses were screaming in their own paranoid way, I fought my natural instinct and let her go by herself. She walked out the door in an outfit of her own choosing, having packed her lunch and her bag herself. She never even considered looking over her shoulder and I fought the urge to open the door and stare after her as she walked down the hall away from me and into a whole new world.
Every year since kindergarten, this first day of school has been a trial for me. I usually spend it in tears. During the first two years, I understand that it was seeing my baby girl start something new. After that, I suffered more anxiety because of the teacher/bully thing I mentioned before. It was five years of worrying about who would be in her class and whether the teacher would protect her from those who would hurt her. After fourth grade, I realized that my little girl would be just fine. She’s a lone wolf. She loves friends and socializing and can talk a mile a minute, but she is also more than capable of doing her own thing. If the other girls all wanted to play hop scotch and she didn’t want to, my little flower would go hang on the monkey bars and watch the girls play, happy as a clam. But we still had to have that talk every year the night before school started about being strong in the face of adversity and she wanted one of us to take her to school on that first day. Just in case.
This year, I should by all rights be a gooey mess of emotional trauma. I am surprisingly fine. I haven’t shed a single tear today. I have to assume that this is for one of two reasons. Either I have completely burned out my capacity to feel, having been kicked around like a soccer ball in the last couple of years or there is another reason. I have learned to trust my daughter.
Okay, I don’t trust her in big picture of the world. I recently had to take away her computer because we caught her looking at dirty, dirty stuff that made me blush AND she used my credit card to buy memberships to three different kid friendly websites. If she wants to use a computer at all, a parent has to be present. End of story.
But, what I do trust is her confidence. She was so calm about starting school this year. She never had a moment of doubt about having six teachers or a locker or changing for gym. She walked out the door this morning, without looking back because she knew that she could handle this. And who am I to second guess that?
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