• The Second Day.

    Date: 2016.08.17 | Category: Family, Home, Life, Me, Norah, Sarah, School | Tags:

    Let’s talk about Day 2 of school.

    So yesterday when I picked the girls up from carpool, Norah’s rather harried and worn out teacher desperately said to me, “WHAT IS KIKI?!” And I had to quickly explain the blankie lovie that Norah sleeps with and takes comfort from whenever she is upset. She looked at me dead in the eyes and said, “Put Kiki in her backpack tomorrow. Norah is loud.”

    Er, yea. So prior to starting pre-school, we received a note of things they were not supposed to bring with them, which included a list of toys and items from home that might get messed up or cause fights. For some reason, in my infinite and exhausted wisdom, I extended this to mean Norah’s Kiki. Because obviously she would do just fine in a completely new environment and be expected to nap with no issue without Kiki. What was I thinking?!

    Fast forward to Day 2. We had Kiki safely and securely packed away in Norah’s backpack. I was going into the day with more confidence and optimism. I kept chanting my new found mantra, “We have Kiki! We can conquer the day! Yes we can!” with great positivity and gusto.

    And all was going well. The pouring rain stopped as we pulled up to school and both girls even enthusiastically let me take their photo together in front of the school. “Yes,” I thought, “Behold the power of the Kiki!”

    We walked into school without trouble, made our way into the multi-room for morning assembly. Sarah bolted off to her section and I went to follow and take Norah with me… and then the meltdown started. That little Norah howler monkey scurried up my leg and onto my torso and next thing I knew I had a screaming little girl clinging to the side of my body and I was saying a quiet thanks that I had worn pants that morning as I physically pried her off of me. I stood by her side during morning assembly as she periodically turned around and begged me not to close the door – which meant leave her in the classroom with the door closed.

    I soon got a full report of Norah’s attempts on the first day to make every teacher there do her bidding. So despite the waterworks, obviously she hasn’t lost all hope of bringing the entire school under her will just yet.

    But as soon as it was time for us to make our way to the classroom the tears started rolling. And when we caught up to her classmates, she let out a howl that instantly spread to her fellow three-year-olds and several of them started crying as well. Bless our assistant principal’s heart, because she gallantly scooped up my screaming little girl and wrestled her into the classroom.

    Off I went to work, head held low, questioning whether putting her in K3 was indeed the right move.

    The day wore on. I continued to worry and question myself before finally emailing the assistant principal and checking in. She got back to me instantly and assured me Norah was doing just fine. Relieved, I tried to rally my morning optimism for the car ride home. But once again, when I got to carpool pickup, she was screaming and crying and making me feel generally terrible.

    On the car ride home, Sarah told me that Norah cried throughout recess while her little friends stood around her and asked her why she was crying. Sarah, in great detail, explained how the three-year-olds cleared a path for her, the big sister, to make her way to her sobbing little sister. Norah, however, was having none of it and told Sarah to go away. So Sarah, not wanting to waste any moment of playtime with her new found unicorn soul sisters, scampered off and left her to it. She told me Norah spent recess next to the teacher because she was sad. Part of me kind of wonders at this point if this is all an elaborate ruse to gain attention. But still.

    So as we’re discussing this issue on the way home, Sarah says, “Hey Mama! I have a great idea! Let’s read The Kissing Hand tonight before bed and you can give Norah a kissing hand to take to school with her tomorrow!”

    (Note: The Kissing Hand is about a mama raccoon and a baby raccoon who is about to start his first day of school and he’s scared, so she kisses the palm of his hand and he can press it to his cheek and feel his mama’s love any time he’s upset at school. A beautiful, generally tear-inducing book).

    I think Sarah may be a better parent than I am sometimes.

    After I dropped them off at home, finished up my work day and darted through the downpour to my car and make my way back home, I walked into the house and everyone burst into tears. I have no idea why the sight of their mother brings all my children to tears, but without fail the youngest three lose their minds when I walk through the door.

    What followed was an overwhelming amount of things to do in a three hour time span. Sarah had her first homework assignment, and even though it was very basic kindergarten math, my mind immediately began to spiral to all the homework I’m going to have to help four children with in the short time between getting home from work, cooking and somehow getting them into bed at a decent time over the coming years. Maybe it was the children holding onto my legs screaming while I tried to cook, or maybe it’s adjusting to our new wake up time, but this felt like a very real serious life crushing thing.


    Somehow though, I read the homework instructions to Sarah over the screams and in between stirring pasta and she made quick work of her homework and asked me to make up some more homework for her and Norah to do. I hope this bodes well for her future.

    But while I was proud of myself for cooking, helping with homework and hurdling over screaming toddlers while Mark mopped up the mud and dog pee filled hallway, that joy was soon crushed when I discovered Norah had snuck off with Sarah’s homework scissors and lopped off a chunk of her hair. I mean, WHY? Fortunately it isn’t terribly noticeable and I can probably braid that section back in a discreet fashion.

    And then, before bed, per Sarah’s suggestion, we read The Kissing Hand together and all practicing kissing hands and pressing them to our faces… that is until we got to daddy and he told Norah she couldn’t kiss his hand because it still had dog pee all over it. Fair point Mark, fair point.

    So, tomorrow, I think my new mantra will have to be: “We have Kiki! We have a kissing hand! We can conquer the day! Yes we can!” And let’s hope that works. If not, Starbucks and I have a date, first thing.