My Heart Hurts

This is a picture of my boys this morning.  My boys.  Both on their way to the same school this year.  Both.  My feelings for each one could not be more different. Scootle is an "elder" in his primary class, his last year of the three year Montessori cycle (this year, he is in the equivalent of Kindergarten).  He is a school pro at this point.  This is his third year with the same teacher, in the same classroom.  Dropping him off at school made me happy today.  There were no tears or even a glance back from him.  I am happy because he is in his element.  He gets special privileges this year for being an elder and he was excited.  He is still there right now, as I write this.

Boo-boo is an entirely different ball-game.  This is his first year at this school.  Last year, he only went for two mornings a week to a pre-school.  It felt like a little safe nest, with kids his own age,  three teachers that adored him and lots of toys to play with.  Now he joins Scootle at a wonderful public Montessori school just a few minutes drive from home.  We visited his classroom at the end of the school year last year and again last week.  We spent a lot of time getting him used to the new environment.  He loved it.

But this morning, on his first day, there were other kids there.  Big kids (the class is for 3-5 year olds).  Boo was the youngest there - even the other 3's were months older than him.  I had no idea how that would affect me.  It was really hard to be putting my little guy out there in a big school, looking so small.  His teachers haven't learned his ways yet.  His signals are not yet known.  I felt so completely protective of him!  It was a tough morning.  There was one child there crying loudly and uncontrollably the entire time, two others crying softly.  The loud crying put everyone on edge.  Boo's teacher is out on maternity leave for a few more weeks, and the sub seemed overwhelmed.    There were too many people, too much noise, too many big kids, too much talking and crying.  The parents of the three year olds were required to be there for an hour with their kids (weird district policy), even though the threes won't start school until after Labor Day (which I am very thankful for). 

I know this is good place for Boo.  I have been in and out of the school for two years now.  His head teacher is kind and gentle.  The co-teacher is also wonderful.  And she is chocolate, as Boo points out, copying Scootle's observation.  I feel like we made a good decision.  But I was not prepared to come home and fall completely apart.  I sobbed as I talked to Bill at lunch.  Totally unexpected. 

When Scootle went to school at three, it was such a different experience.  He had been home from Ethiopia a few months, but I think he missed being around kids.  Going to school and being around other kids seemed to ground him.  He loves a challenge and has really taken well to Montessori.

Boo, on the other hand, has been pretty glued to me since he came home.  Because of his birthday, he is 7 months younger than Scootle was when he started at this school.  His speech is somewhat delayed, so it is hard to explain to him why Scootle stayed at school longer, why we left after one hour and that he won't go back for another couple of weeks.

Part of me doesn't want him to go back ever.  I have nothing but good feelings about sending my five year old to school today.  I feel guilty for sending my three year old (in the very near future).   I feel guilty for not keeping him home until he is older. Yet Boo never once cried at pre-school last year.  He thrived.   I know that I have been wanting more ME time for a long time now.  I do have a part time job, as well as a spiritual life and a body that desperately need tending.  I will be a better mother for having 3.5 hours to myself five mornings a week.  I know I will.  I also have a suspicion that Boo will continue to thrive at this big-kid school.  I may even have the audacity to complain that I only have 3.5 hours to myself a day.  But right now, my heart just hurts.  A lot.  I could not be prouder of my brave and strong five year old.  But my three year old growing up breaks my heart.