School Days

After 5 weeks of counting down the days, and 1 week of regretting all of the things I failed to do with Bear during his time off, school is back in session.

When I enrolled him in school last March, Bear was a fragile 3-year old who spoke 3 to 4 word spontaneous sentences at best, but during our second site visit, to the classroom that he finally was placed in, he mostly just screamed "No!" as Randy the program specialist and I each grabbed a hand and drug him across the small campus. Thumper, then just 2 months old, was snuggled contently against me in his Bjorn as I was throwing his older brother, my precious first born, to the lions. The only thing Bear was remotely interested in was the long line of little yellow school buses in front of the school.

I stood in the office as the school secretary gathered together a stack of forms for his registration. "Here is the number of the bus company" she said, jotting it down on a post-it note. "Oh, no, we live close by." I said "I'll drive him." I thought of the poor, scared, delicate little soul now in tears and trying to pull me out the front door. I thought of the admittedly short drive from our house to the school, with the one curve in the road that everyone takes too fast, and the accidents I come across there at least once a month. I tried to imagine Bear staying put without a carseat, and trying to explain to him that he would be riding by himself, without me. He wouldn't even ride the merry-go round at the zoo by himself. There is no way I could let him ride the bus to school. A couple of days later, the bus company called my house to set up service. "Oh, no, we won't be needing bus service" I reiterated.

The first day of school last year got off to a shaky start, but it was harder on me than on him and by the time I left he was fine. The second day went even better, and by the third he scarcely glanced back over his shoulder at me before running off to join his new friends. When I picked him up that day, his teacher asked if he would be riding the bus. "One of the bus drivers was asking me because they have him on her schedule." Damn, these people are tenacious.

By the end of the school year, Bear was a completely different kid. He talks more, listens more, is more mature, and less attached to me. Over the summer, I began to agonize over whether or not I should let Bear ride the bus home in the afternoons. I knew on the one hand that Thumper's nap schedule would at some point coincide with Bear's 1:30 pick-up time. And I knew Bear was dying to ride the bus. But I felt guilty about asking the school district to provide busing for my own convenience and my son's amusement. I had overheard one bus driver yelling at one of her charges as I dropped Bear off at school one morning, and another telling his teacher about the wrong child being placed on her bus the afternoon before - a situation which was surely traumatic for all involved. And there is still that treacherous curve in the road.

Today is the second day of school, and this morning I was, for once, organized. I got Bear up, dressed, and set down for breakfast in record time. He wolfed down three pancakes, drank his milk, and asked for an apple as I packed his backpack. As we sat at the table looking out the front window, a small yellow bus came down the street. I wondered if another child on the street was riding the little bus to school. Then it stopped. It backed up. It stopped again. It was coming for Bear. He had noticed it too. "School bus" he said. The horn honked. I looked at him. He was dressed and fed, his backpack was packed, his hair was relatively smoothed down. Technically, he was ready to go. "Do you want to ride the bus to school?" I asked. "YES!" he answered. I hesitated. "I won't be able to ride with you, you have to ride by yourself." "OK." Suddenly, after all of the months of over-thinking and worrying, the decision had been made for me. I got up and scrambled for his shoes and socks. The horn honked again. I ushered Bear out onto the front porch to keep her from honking again, shoved the socks and shoes onto his feet, licked my thumb and wiped at the pancake smudge on his face. To my relief, the bus had seat belts and I buckled him in. "Now, stay in your seat, and when you get to school your teacher will come get you off the bus." I said. "OK!" There was no apprehension in his voice. He was literally quivering with excitement.

And then he was gone. The moment was past. A milestone, life-changing moment. Another step towards self-sufficiency. I had had no chance to prepare for it and now it was over, and I hadn't even recorded it in a 12-photo series as my sister-in-law had with my niece's first day of kindergarten. The house was silent and I had no idea what to do with myself. I felt as if I had just sent him off to college.

Twenty minutes later his teacher called to let me know he had made it to school, and that he was very excited about his bus ride. "I had been meaning to talk to you about this, I think he is ready for it." "Yes, he is ready." I agreed. I knew he was.

But I wasn't.