The Bus

So, first thing's first - I took the summer off, forgive me. If anyone read this enough to care, anyhow.

Now that that's out of the way, let me tell you, friends, that I've been replaced. Stood up, snubbed, pushed out, betrayed, whatever. Trumped, by a big yellow beast and the school that hired it. My baby started Kindergarten yesterday. Today, he started being a "bus rider."
For weeks, months, heck, even years, he's stated emphatically that he will not be going to school. First it was cute, then funny, and then recently, scary, as I pictured myself having to drag him there, explaining to the teachers that he may have to be roped to a chair if they wanted him to stay. Yesterday was day one. He rode with me, because there were abbreviated hours, and parents were invited to orientation. He complained the whole drive there, that he did not want to go, and didn't see why he couldn't just stay home. Then something changed. He entered this classroom, full of brightly colored posters, and bins of things like Legos, and blocks, and crayons and pipe cleaners. He found a seat at a table that was already labeled with his name. He became very excited.

Today is day two. My child did not complain, no, he shot out of bed like a cannonball and quickly - I mean quickly put his clothes on. All these years of saying "Okay, and now where are your pants? Don't you have another sock?" must be over. He had everything on, in the right place. He sat and ate his cinnamon roll Toaster Strudel and drank his juice without complaint as well. He even commented on how good it tasted, which really never happens. Next, he mentioned that we better "go wet this hair down" because did I see "how crazy it is!?" Prior to this day, I swear to you, this child would walk around with hair wilder than Albert Einstein and not care.

I kneeled before him and said "You know that you have to listen to the bus driver, and you have to do whatever he says. You can't get off until you're at school, either." He said to me, I kid you not: "What, am I stupid or something? I know what my school looks like."

We walked silently to the spot, only about 300 ft. from our front door, where the bus stops. My stomach was in knots as I clutched my coffee cup. I needed something to hold onto, because I knew that today, it wouldn't be his hand. Two little girls, fifth graders, were already standing there. I started nervously speaking to them, like I was on a first date: "Do you come here often? I mean....you ride this bus every day?" And then I continued with "This is my son Isaac, he's in Kindergarten, would you girls make sure he does this whole bus thing right?" Isaac glared at me, and turned to the girls and rolled his eyes. "I've ridden lots of buses before" he told them. Um, no you haven't. Whatever, I get it. Can it, mom.

The bus pulled up, and I braced myself for the big goodbye hug, the promise to see him in just a few hours, the "I'll miss you, have a wonderful day." And as I stood there, white-knuckling my mug and running through the dialogue in my head, I watched my little blonde-headed boy bounce onto the bus without looking back. I froze. That's it? No big, dramatic goodbye? What?

The bus driver looked down at me from his throne, his big vinyl seat of authority, and said "Kindergarten?"
I nodded.
"He'll be fine."
I barely whispered, "okay."

As I heard the engine kick up, and the bus pull away, I stood there on the pavement, a little stunned at what just happened. But as I walked back home, a smile spread over my face, thinking of how exciting this all is for my boy. How he must be on top of the world right now, heading off to school like a big boy with his Spiderman backpack and new shoes.

I can't believe how quiet it is here. I realize the other two will be up momentarily, and the house will come alive. For now, though, I'm not sure what to think. Other than that I think I am going to need more coffee.