Thud; Something (I think her blue bear) hits the ground; Stomp; Stomp; Stomp; Door slams: This is her response. Uh-oh. Not the response I was anticipating. I walk upstairs with C on my hip and open her door. A is sitting on her knees with her head laying on the bed. "I not going to school."
"Why not, sweetheart? I thought you wanted to go to school." The tears begin to flood, and I watch a tantrum unfurl. I truly have no idea what to do.
"I'm not going to school. I not wanna go to school," she sobs, heavily. I walk over to her closet and pull out a few dresses.
"Hey, sweetie, why don't we pick out what you're going to wear today?" A opens the drawer and begins to throw all of her clothes out into the floor. I put C on the floor with a toy, sit down next to him, pull A to my lap, put my arms around her, and begin to rock her, while stroking her hair. "Calm down, deep breaths, big breath," I say. "Why don't you tell mommy why you don't want to go to school?"
"No," is my response. This isn't exactly how I pictured the first day of school, but things don't usually tend to go the way I picture them. I say a small prayer for wisdom and try to remember if I've read about how to dissolve back-to-school fears in a magazine article or book. Can't recall.
Ah-ha. A loves Chick-fil-A as much as mom. Sure it's not textbook, but hey, it might work.
"Pumpkin, do you want to go to Chick-fil-A for a special first day of school breakfast?" She turns to look up at me and stops crying.
"Chick-fil-A" she musters pitifully. "Umm-hmm," I say. "You know, A , it's okay to be nervous about school. That's how you feel, nervous. You aren't sure what to expect, are you? That's scary." How profound is mom?
"I want chicken rolls, mommy." So much for my profound wisdom. I help her get dressed, pick up C , and walk downstairs. A follows us, in a much better mood. She almost seems excited. She even lets mom take some first day of school pictures. Maybe she just needed to express some fear and frustration the only way she knew how. Of course, I would have preferred expressing frustration without completely emptying the drawers, but I try my best to empathize with my baby, I mean, big girl.
After a trip to Chick-fil-A, we head to carpool, where we eat breakfast while waiting in line. I point out the playground, some people we see that A knows, and talk school up in a big way. A is growing more excited, and I breathe a sigh of relief. And, yes, I'll admit it; I wouldn't have been devastated if she had just refused and we'd waited until next year. But as I watch her get out of the car and walk into the school, I know how much fun she has waiting for her in the classroom, and I am filled with an enormous amount of pride, proud that she expressed frustration, took a big breath, and went to school despite her apprehensions. That's my girl. I can't wait until I can tell her just how proud I am of her when I pick her up in four hours. I look back at my sleeping baby boy and know it won't be long until his first day of 3K. Sigh...
"No," is my response. This isn't exactly how I pictured the first day of school, but things don't usually tend to go the way I picture them. I say a small prayer for wisdom and try to remember if I've read about how to dissolve back-to-school fears in a magazine article or book. Can't recall.
Ah-ha. A loves Chick-fil-A as much as mom. Sure it's not textbook, but hey, it might work.
"Pumpkin, do you want to go to Chick-fil-A for a special first day of school breakfast?" She turns to look up at me and stops crying.
"Chick-fil-A" she musters pitifully. "Umm-hmm," I say. "You know, A , it's okay to be nervous about school. That's how you feel, nervous. You aren't sure what to expect, are you? That's scary." How profound is mom?
"I want chicken rolls, mommy." So much for my profound wisdom. I help her get dressed, pick up C , and walk downstairs. A follows us, in a much better mood. She almost seems excited. She even lets mom take some first day of school pictures. Maybe she just needed to express some fear and frustration the only way she knew how. Of course, I would have preferred expressing frustration without completely emptying the drawers, but I try my best to empathize with my baby, I mean, big girl.
After a trip to Chick-fil-A, we head to carpool, where we eat breakfast while waiting in line. I point out the playground, some people we see that A knows, and talk school up in a big way. A is growing more excited, and I breathe a sigh of relief. And, yes, I'll admit it; I wouldn't have been devastated if she had just refused and we'd waited until next year. But as I watch her get out of the car and walk into the school, I know how much fun she has waiting for her in the classroom, and I am filled with an enormous amount of pride, proud that she expressed frustration, took a big breath, and went to school despite her apprehensions. That's my girl. I can't wait until I can tell her just how proud I am of her when I pick her up in four hours. I look back at my sleeping baby boy and know it won't be long until his first day of 3K. Sigh...
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