First day and since
At ten til seven, I kneel beside his bed, put my hand on his back, and silently pray for him. A few moments later, he stirs, opens his eyes, and smiles at me.
We talk for a bit. Not about school. I don't want to kick off the nerves, in case he has some. And maybe I don't trust myself.
Aden calls for me from his crib, and so everyone is up and moving.
I crave pancakes all day long I know the importance of a good breakfast and am determined that Trey will get something wholesome before starting his big day. He says he's not hungry. I plop down a super-nutritious bowl of Fruit Loops in front of him and tell him he needs to eat anyway.
But cereal was not in the cards.
What was in the cards was an adrenaline-pumping, left-turns-only race around the kitchen table. Trey shouting, "School day!!" Aden shouting, "Ani go!!"
(Aden calls himself Ani and thinks it's hilarious.)
Seriously, they need more energy.
By some miracle I manage to wrangle flailing arms and legs into the carefully and lovingly selected first-day outfit. Brush teeth to do away with yucky brontosaurus breath. Drench, smash down, and dry some seriously wonky hair.
Thank God from the bottom of my heart for a crazy whirlwind morning. Hard to cry when you're herding cats.
Take a deep breath and walk out the door.
It was at this point that Trey stopped talking.
One mile later, and we pull in the parking lot. Climb slowly out of the car. I can feel my heart in my throat.
Onto the sidewalk. Brandon is wrangling Aden. I am close to losing control, and try to distract myself by getting the camera ready.
Trey is staring at me. Reading me. Looking for reassurance. I quickly smile and then jerk the camera in front of my face to hide the tear that slipped out.
Click.
We inch closer and closer. Trey clutches my hand. I clutch back. I need him as much as he needs me.
We stop a few feet from the door. A teacher is there, greeting Trey and reaching for his hand. He lets go of me and I can barely breathe.
Just push the button.
The teacher tells Trey to say goodbye to us. He turns and smiles, walks through the door, and doesn't look back.
Which is good, as I am at the threshold of the ugly cry.
The rest is history. It took exactly two days for Trey to tell us he didn't need us to walk him to the door. No, now he jumps out of the car and bolts for the door when we drop him off.
He loves school. Praise, praise the Lord.
As smoothly as Trey's transition to Kindergarten went, the rest of life is a bit upside-down right now. We're not big change people. Takes us a while to get used to, well, name it.
At first Aden missed his brother. And then he sat back and thought about it a while.
First off, the run of the household is something he has never before experienced. Turns out it's a pretty sweet deal. He is so pleasant, y'all. Energetic and stubborn, but somehow when Trey's not around Aden's terrible twos aren't as terrible. Not terrible at all, in fact.
We are learning letters, numbers, colors, and shapes at a frantic snail's pace. It's a little different than it was with Trey. Or just completely different. Trey never once in his toddler/preschooler-hood took the vacuum cleaner apart or climbed into the dryer. And so, great creativity - the out-of-left-field sort - is required in teaching this boy-beast.
He's going to be an inventor. Or a demolitionist. Or a youth pastor.
Our schedule is topsy-turvy. Aden was a professional after-lunch napper. Two, and more often three-hour stretches. Except the pick-up time for Trey occurs smack in the middle of said timespan. We're trying the super-early lunch, early nap approach, which doesn't always work. And with Aden, nap is a one-shot deal. So on the days the early nap doesn't work, there is a cranky pants little blondie around here.
No way we're giving up naps. Just need to power through.
Trey, fresh home from school, is a new creature. While the stimulation and learning and social interaction he is receiving are all very important, school seems to be creating in Trey a great impatience, a sense of entitlement, a boredom with all things home-related. This tends to manifest itself in horrific attitude and bullying of Aden.
I've yelled a lot over the last week. Not proud of it, just saying.
So yeah, a lot of adjustments to make. The routine is a good thing. Both boys having an opportunity to develop apart from each other seems to be a good thing. Laundry has grown exponentially, and with the eating schedule the way it has to be, both kids require four meals a day.
Yep, it's all good. A new season, a lot to learn, memories to make. Praise, praise the Lord.
We talk for a bit. Not about school. I don't want to kick off the nerves, in case he has some. And maybe I don't trust myself.
Aden calls for me from his crib, and so everyone is up and moving.
But cereal was not in the cards.
What was in the cards was an adrenaline-pumping, left-turns-only race around the kitchen table. Trey shouting, "School day!!" Aden shouting, "Ani go!!"
(Aden calls himself Ani and thinks it's hilarious.)
Seriously, they need more energy.
By some miracle I manage to wrangle flailing arms and legs into the carefully and lovingly selected first-day outfit. Brush teeth to do away with yucky brontosaurus breath. Drench, smash down, and dry some seriously wonky hair.
Thank God from the bottom of my heart for a crazy whirlwind morning. Hard to cry when you're herding cats.
Take a deep breath and walk out the door.
It was at this point that Trey stopped talking.
One mile later, and we pull in the parking lot. Climb slowly out of the car. I can feel my heart in my throat.
Onto the sidewalk. Brandon is wrangling Aden. I am close to losing control, and try to distract myself by getting the camera ready.
Trey is staring at me. Reading me. Looking for reassurance. I quickly smile and then jerk the camera in front of my face to hide the tear that slipped out.
Click.
We inch closer and closer. Trey clutches my hand. I clutch back. I need him as much as he needs me.
We stop a few feet from the door. A teacher is there, greeting Trey and reaching for his hand. He lets go of me and I can barely breathe.
Just push the button.
The teacher tells Trey to say goodbye to us. He turns and smiles, walks through the door, and doesn't look back.
Which is good, as I am at the threshold of the ugly cry.
The rest is history. It took exactly two days for Trey to tell us he didn't need us to walk him to the door. No, now he jumps out of the car and bolts for the door when we drop him off.
He loves school. Praise, praise the Lord.
As smoothly as Trey's transition to Kindergarten went, the rest of life is a bit upside-down right now. We're not big change people. Takes us a while to get used to, well, name it.
At first Aden missed his brother. And then he sat back and thought about it a while.
First off, the run of the household is something he has never before experienced. Turns out it's a pretty sweet deal. He is so pleasant, y'all. Energetic and stubborn, but somehow when Trey's not around Aden's terrible twos aren't as terrible. Not terrible at all, in fact.
We are learning letters, numbers, colors, and shapes at a frantic snail's pace. It's a little different than it was with Trey. Or just completely different. Trey never once in his toddler/preschooler-hood took the vacuum cleaner apart or climbed into the dryer. And so, great creativity - the out-of-left-field sort - is required in teaching this boy-beast.
He's going to be an inventor. Or a demolitionist. Or a youth pastor.
Our schedule is topsy-turvy. Aden was a professional after-lunch napper. Two, and more often three-hour stretches. Except the pick-up time for Trey occurs smack in the middle of said timespan. We're trying the super-early lunch, early nap approach, which doesn't always work. And with Aden, nap is a one-shot deal. So on the days the early nap doesn't work, there is a cranky pants little blondie around here.
No way we're giving up naps. Just need to power through.
Trey, fresh home from school, is a new creature. While the stimulation and learning and social interaction he is receiving are all very important, school seems to be creating in Trey a great impatience, a sense of entitlement, a boredom with all things home-related. This tends to manifest itself in horrific attitude and bullying of Aden.
I've yelled a lot over the last week. Not proud of it, just saying.
So yeah, a lot of adjustments to make. The routine is a good thing. Both boys having an opportunity to develop apart from each other seems to be a good thing. Laundry has grown exponentially, and with the eating schedule the way it has to be, both kids require four meals a day.
Yep, it's all good. A new season, a lot to learn, memories to make. Praise, praise the Lord.
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