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Lily continues to struggle with the morning drop off. I know she likes it at school and keeps up with the work, but saying goodbye is proving too difficult for her. And for me too. I can stay in a funk for hours after the separation because I wonder and I worry. Any suggestions or recommendations leave me more confused than just minutes earlier. I wish I knew what would be best for her. Should I take her in alone, without Didier and Virginie? Should I forgo the trip altogether and let Didier drop her off? Is she crying for me or is she truly scared and overwhelmed?
This hits me at my stuff. Psychiatry speak for "this feels really familiar and I am being triggered by the entire experience, reflecting back to myself." I feel shame and fear around Lily's crying. I never felt safe as a child to cry or show my feelings, especially sadness or fear. There was something about not feeling strong enough, tough enough to "take it like a man," which of course I was not and, as should be noted, am still not. I was silent a lot, difficult to imagine now, but I would bite the inside of my cheek and try not to let tears or a shaky voice reveal my fright. I know the loneliness, the feeling of alienation that makes crying involuntary. It just wants to burst out. When I see Lily's little quivering face, I already know what's coming. I feel it too.
So is it my fault if I have a four year old preschooler who is tearful? Who responds to criticism and teasing with sadness, even shame? Who doesn't want to leave me and tells me she misses me already before we have even let go of hands outside the classroom? Apparently, yes. It is always the mother's fault. Have I been overindulgent because when she feels sad or hurt I hug her and let her express her feelings? I wonder, should I have told her to buck up and hold it together?
After a great first week, save Friday's teasing episode, Lily has been melting into tears before we even walk away from her at the drop off. She got the gene. And she got it from me...and Didier. We are sensitive. I am often emotional when I am frustrated or moved by love or beauty or fatigue. I try my damnedest not to cry in front of the girls, but they know that Mommy has feelings. I suppose this is a choice to let them see me as a human being and not an automaton/autopilot mommy. My mother was quite stoic, still is, and rarely showed any emotion other than a slight smile and blank eyes. I think she was taught that this would actually protect her from feeling her feelings. My father, try as he might, has puppy dog eyes, much like Lily, and his hurt showed in his eyes, so he barked loud and fast so you would never see the tears. I want Lily to know that all emotions are fine. That they are part of our human experience. I love that she can tell me how she feels, but hate that I often can do nothing but hug her and tell her how I love her.
I cannot take the sting of being lonely from her. I cannot show her that she is loved even when she is not the center of a group telling jokes and getting all the attention. I cannot convince her that clinging to someone else, even a teacher or aide, will not ease an unsteady heart. She must learn, like we all must to trust herself and love herself in the midst of the teasing and ignoring and loneliness and stillness. When the eyes of my beautiful girl well up with tears, I want to drink them away, to take the pain on myself, but I can't. She is entering the race and the soft fuzziness of babyhood is getting rough from wear and tear. Reality is meeting Lily on the school yard and in the classroom and it is a shock to her tiny little system.
The first day of school came with such drama and fanfare, frustration and fatigue that it seemed only fair to consider the week as a whole. After a twenty minute drive to the school orientation one week before, on the first day, we found ourselves boxed into hellish traffic unable to move as we were on a tiny road with only one lane in each direction. What we'd prepared to be a forty-five minute drive at max, turned into an hour and fifteen minute stress-builder that included a crying baby, frustrated pre-schooler, near to exploding driver (Didier), and to my embarrassment, a just released from hospital kidney stone survivor forced to pee in a cup in the standstill. All of this before Lily had stepped one foot on campus that morning.
When we finally arrived at school, some of the kids in Reception (which is basically a pre-school, kindergarten combo) were in their games/PE/gym tshirts and Lily, like many others, was in her full uniform. Turns out the weekly schedule had been changed without notification to half the class's parents. Due to some interesting scheduling, half of the class had started school the Wednesday before to prevent mass hysteria amongst the 4 to 5 year old set not used to spending the day away from their parents. Those parents were told of the schedule change. The rest of us, not. As the kids are required to participate in activities with a tshirt, the remaining parents were forced to purchase tshirts with the school crest. Uh huh. Those, as one can imagine, cost quite a bit more than a regular tshirt from Woolworth's.
Lily loves big school and her teachers. Her full time job as a student at Blossoms Nursery School prepared her well for the long hours and her teachers were just as sweet and caring as they could be. They are enthusiastic about Lily, which makes me happy, and she is excited about learning. I can ignore the whole uniform thing which I really am not into and tolerate the excessive religious indoctrination. There's a lot of praying and singing and talking about the Lord. I was raised in the Christian church and have a healthy relationship with my God, but my little four year old is like "Jesus's love is bubbling over." OK.
